Chapter 24 #2
And yet, the couch feels emptier than the woods feel mysterious. The absence of her voice is louder than my mind’s relentless string of questions. The push to find the unknown burns less than the drive to keep the known.
Owen rests his palm on my shoulder and gives it a small nudge. Gentler than usual.
“She left because she’s scared,” he says.
I stare at him.
“She told you that?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
“You two are more alike than you realize.”
I’m offended on Daisy’s behalf.
“That’s not true,” I say, shaking my head.
Owen ignores my protestation and continues. “You both hide behind things. She hides behind confidence—” he takes a deep breath—“and you hide behind obsession.”
The words land hard. Painfully hard. Because I am obsessed.
“If this is all bullshit—” My laugh breaks, sounding like a cry. “What does that say about me? What if I’m just some guy who couldn’t let go of these dumb searches for the unexplained… or for them?” The words crack unexpectedly. Embarrassing. Owen knows who I’m talking about.
I stare harder out the window till it becomes a blur of blue over red.
Owen sighs. “You think Mom and Dad were only interested in this stuff because they wanted proof?”
I blink. “Well…”
“No.” His voice gentles. “They did it because it gave them a common goal. They got to be together. And they cared because it made the world feel bigger.”
His thumb taps the steering wheel again.
“You and Daisy talked for hours about impossible things,” he says. “Not because you knew they were real. But because wondering together made grief and fear feel smaller.”
Something painful shifts low in my chest. He keeps going. “And yeah, maybe you needed something to hold on to.”
No judgment. No pity. Just truth.
“So what?” he shrugs.
I stare at him. “So what?” I ask, not following.
“Well, what if part of this was survival?” His shoulders lift. “We were kids who lost their parents.”
The sentence lands hard enough to hurt.
“We both found a way to stay connected to them, and that sounds pretty damn human to me.”
That isn’t the condemnation I expected. It’s just… human. When did he get so old and wise?
“I miss them,” I finally say.
“I know, man,” Owen says, his voice low. “Me too.”
The truck rattles over another washboard patch. Neither of us talks for a while.
Driving was always like that. Mom and Dad never forced words. Somehow, being trapped in a moving vehicle made hard things easier. Maybe because roads tricked your brain into thinking you weren't standing still. I stare out at pinyon pines sliding past the window.
“I still have this reflex to call them and tell them things.” My words slip out before I can stop them. “Even after all this time.”
Owen just nods. “I know.”
“Stupid stuff too.” I laugh weakly. “Like when the RV makes a weird sound. Or when I find a trail they would've loved. Or…” My voice catches. “When Daisy says something that would've made Mom laugh.”
I stare hard out the window. God, I hate crying, and I’m doing plenty of it today.
“Or when I found those footprints.” My throat tightens. “I would’ve loved nothing more than the chance to validate Mom—after all this time, it turns out she probably did see him after all.”
Owen opens his mouth, choking on his words as tears well up in his eyes. He just nods as the silence stretches, still safe and familiar.
“They would've loved her, you know,” he finally says.
That one nearly wrecks me. I laugh once and wipe at my face.
“Yeah?”
“Mom would've adopted her without question.”
I smile through tears. “She absolutely would've.”
“And Dad would've acted annoyed every time she borrowed his binoculars.”
“He would've bought her better ones, though.” We both laugh. And it’s like they’re here again. Mom's laugh. Dad shaking his head. Road trips. Campgrounds. Big dreams. Hope. Life before loss carved us open. I swallow hard.
“Do you ever feel guilty?” I ask.
“For what?”
“For…” I gesture helplessly. “Moving on. Being happy. Falling in love. Chasing things. Like…” I sigh. “Like if I stop missing them hard enough, they'll disappear.”
Owen's face softens.
“Miles.” His voice sounds older than mine. Steadier. “They loved us, man. They wouldn’t want us to stop living just because they did.”
The words land so gently they hurt.
“They'd want us to laugh. To screw up. To fall in love.” He smirks. “To make terrible coffee.”
“To believe weird things?” I chime in, laughing as I wipe my eyes.
“Exactly.” He glances over at me, quick and brief. I think our quota of brotherly emotional intimacy has been reached. He clears his throat. “And for the record?”
I wait.
“You’re not crazy for believing in bigger, impossible things.”
He looks back at the road.
“But you would be crazy if you stopped living your actual life waiting for proof.”
The words land sharp. Immediate. Daisy.
“I love her,” I whisper.
Owen grins. “No shit.”
I laugh. “No, I mean it.”
“Yeah?”
“I think I…” I smile helplessly. “I think she’s proof that big, impossible things exist.”
Somewhere deep in my chest, the fear that's lived there for years loosens just a little.
The truck hums softly beneath us. The desert rolls on forever. And beside me, my brother drives. Like Dad used to. Like we've always done.
Finally, my belief doesn’t feel broken. Just redirected. Maybe the extraordinary was never meant to replace grief. Or love. Or life. Maybe it was only ever meant to remind me that there was still something worth reaching toward.