Chapter 1
Danny flies back to Montana on the first of March.
His dad doesn’t pick him up from the airport this time. He says he’s just feeling a little under the weather—nothing to worry about! Danny stares out the window in the back of the Uber at the swaying trees and the late-winter snow and worries about it.
At the house, when Danny knocks, no one answers.
Danny goes to the garage and lets himself in with the code, which has for the past twenty-five years been BISCUIT.
Inside, the floorboards creak. The soft murmur of a TV comes from the primary bedroom.
Danny pauses in the kitchen. Next to the microwave, three boxes of peppermint tea are stacked in a tidy pyramid.
Danny knocks on Cal’s door, which is ajar. “Dad?”
It creaks open.
Cal lies propped against his pillows. His cheekbones protrude against his skin like they might tear through it. It should not have been possible to lose this much weight this quickly. Danny tries not to look disturbed, which, of course, he is.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, kiddo. Safe flight?”
“Yeah, easy. How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m great. Just a little off, is all. You didn’t need to come all this way.”
“Dad.”
“How’s Eve? You told me to ignore anything I saw on the internet, but people sure are convinced she’s dead.”
“She’s fine. You, on the other hand—”
“Want to watch with me?” Cal says, nodding to the TV. It’s a sitcom about a big family getting annoyed at each other for big family things. Stealing each other’s clothes. Installing overly complicated stereo systems just before the big football game. Et cetera.
“I actually have to hop on a call,” Danny says, though Julian told Danny his attendance at this all-hands was totally optional and he could handle it alone, no worries.
“Oh, yeah, right, of course. Good luck, kiddo!”
Danny goes to his room and sets his laptop on his childhood desk but doesn’t open the lid.
He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and wonders why it is so hard to let another person see the depths of your love and the extent of your despair.
Why it should feel like such a shameful thing to present an emotion that requires a response.