Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
sea change (n.): a big and sudden change or transformation
“Whoa, what is that monster?”
From behind the stony rim surrounding the lake, a great dark cloud appears, moving steadily, ominously toward us. Within moments we’re in shadow.
“It’s not too early for snow,” Wyatt says. “Maybe we should get you back.”
“Nah. I’m rooting for snow.”
Wyatt turns to unzip his pack. “I hate to be a bummer, but I probably should have checked messages by now.”
“I probably should too.” Chase will still be at the horse ranch. Nevertheless, peace of mind. I dig out my phone.
“Oh, crud,” Wyatt says. “No signal.”
“I don’t have one either. I had three bars back at the car.” Reality check. I’m now dating a man with weighty responsibilities. “It’s okay. I understand if you need to go . . .”
Wyatt leans his forehead on mine. “Ugh. Sorry to be like that. But I’ve got to wonder how long we’ve been totally off grid.”
“It’s all good. This has been . . .” What’s the word for the thing that’s better than words?
The corners of his mouth lift sweetly. He takes my hands in his. Presses them gently to his lips and murmurs against my temple, “I can’t wait to spend more time with you.”
This man sets fire to my blood in a way I’ve never known.
We retrace our steps along the trail at a good clip. This time I’m especially mindful of where I place each foot, avoiding rocks and roots and the heels of Wyatt’s hiking boots.
All the while, I’m smiling to myself. So maybe I can juggle two actions, because the smiling part requires no focus. It just is. I’m free-spirited. Surefooted.
And I’m big-time falling for Wyatt Hayes.
Now and then as we hike, he checks his phone.
“Is it just me,” I say, “or does it feel like we’re on another planet, trying to get a tricorder reading?”
Wyatt laughs.
What a day of revelations this has already been. It’s possible I’m not below average in the grace department, after all. Hiking is my new favorite. And the scrawny boy I defeated in a middle school spelling competition has grown into an amazing kisser.
He and I must be on the same wavelength, because as we pass Lake Wannabe, he turns. “So . . . TMK?”
I laugh. “More like NEK.”
“Not enough kissing?”
“A-plus,” I say. “You and I definitely speak the same language.”
I swallow. I could get lost in this new version of the world where there’s an us. And never find my way back.
We reach the meadow and fall into hiking side by side, fingers entwined.
In my peripheral, I detect the moment when Wyatt’s jaw tightens.
“Everything okay? Got work on your mind?”
“In a way. I was just . . . remembering something. There were a number of times early on that my mom asked my dad to find a different line of work.”
“I take it he wouldn’t.”
“No. Police work was his identity. He didn’t know who he was apart from it.
” Wyatt turns to face me. “Listen, Lucy. It’s important to me that you know something.
I made a decision a long time ago. My line of work would not define me.
And if ever my job or anything else brought pain to my family, to my loved ones, I would drop it in a heartbeat. ”
“So you don’t see law enforcement as your calling?”
“At one time I did. But the way I see it now, my purpose isn’t the thing I do.
My purpose is what happens to others when I do whatever I do.
Watch your head there.” Wyatt lifts a low branch and waits while I pass beneath it.
“I’m not saying it would be easy to change course.
But we all have agency. We’re all becoming someone, right?
So I figure it’s my responsibility to define what I want that to look like and to direct my attention toward it. ”
He slides his arm around me. “Anyway, given the same situation as my parents, I would listen. I mean, if love doesn’t cost anything, is it even love?”
This man’s words are like a seven-course meal of deep thoughts. I’m still digesting them when my phone buzzes with a notification.
“Looks like we’re back in cell range,” I say.
Another buzz.
Followed by another.
We’re back at the parking lot.
Two more buzzes.
My throat cinches.
Wyatt clicks his key fob and watches me. “Everything okay?”
No. The first missed call came in at 11:19 a.m. from the youth ranch, followed by two from Nina, one from Dad, then two more from Nina.
Everything is not okay.
It’s all blurring together—the phone screen, my tumbling thoughts. Ignoring the voicemails, not to mention the pile of text notifications, I zero in on Nina’s name and tap. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”
A hand on my back, steadying me. Wyatt’s.
“Something’s very wrong.”