They sat at the breakfast table. Maggie poured iced tea. “Fire away.”
“I once asked to borrow a book. Lake of the Moon. You wouldn’t let me. Why?”
“I’m sure I had a good reason.”
“What was it?”
“Oh well. I suppose you were too young.”
“I came back for it and it was gone. Did you hide it?”
Maggie scoffed. “Shasta.”
“Did you?”
“If I did, I don’t remember.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, that’s your choice.”
“I got my own copy. There’s nothing terrible in it.”
Maggie said nothing.
“Where is it now?” Shasta said. “I want to see it.”
“You said you read it.”
“I want to see yours.”
“What difference does that make?”
Shasta stood up from the table. “I’ll find it myself.”
“Wait,” Maggie said. “Wait, please.”
Shasta crossed the house to the exam room, began pawing through cabinets and drawers.
Maggie came to the doorway but made no attempt to intervene. “I wish you’d be patient.”
Shasta finished searching and started out. “Excuse me.”
Maggie moved aside.
In the office, Shasta discovered the book tucked behind the issues of JAMA.
The title page was inscribed.
“What was she to him?”
Maggie hesitated. “An old friend.”
“From Fresno.”
Maggie nodded.
“Did she love him?”
“Shasta, I really don’t think I should—”
“Did she?”
Maggie lowered her head. “Not enough.”
Early the next morning Shasta met Nick at the bridge. She stashed the bike by the roadside, handed him a thermos of coffee, switched her cleats for boots.
Just to reach the trailhead they had to hike almost an hour. His pace was aggressive, and she worried he’d tire himself out. But he was full of energy. For the first time in weeks he’d slept well, he said, and it was much easier to move without the pack. He’d hardly put it down since leaving Santa Cruz, using it as a pillow, afraid the manuscript would get stolen.
She asked about his journey. He told her he’d had a car but quickly saw that gas was going to eat up all his money. He sold it and started hitchhiking. It only took him a few days to reach Fort Bragg. From that point traffic died out, and he ended up walking most of the next ninety-odd miles. He didn’t mind it. The lulls gave him time to reflect.
“What does your family think?” she asked.
“It’s just my mom. She doesn’t care.”
Then he really got into what his mother was like.
Going to school without lunch because she was too fucked up to buy food. A case of lice that went untreated for a year.
He’d suffered way worse than she had. Shasta felt reluctant to talk about herself in comparison. But he drew her out. When he asked a question it seemed to her that he truly wanted to hear her answer. Was excited to hear.
She described Leonie’s mood swings. Two bottles of wine a day. Crazy rules: Shasta turned seventeen in a few months and still didn’t have her learner’s permit.
“She says I can bike everywhere I need to go. The road’s too dangerous to drive.”
“That sucks.”
“Whatever. Next year I can do what I want.”
“You should leave now.”
She smiled.
“For real,” he said. “Just get your shit and go.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can. I did. What’s the issue? You want to go to college or something?”
“I haven’t applied. I haven’t really thought about it. Neither of my parents went.”
“So?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been anywhere.”
“Uh, yeah. That’s the point of leaving.”
She laughed.
“You just have to start moving,” he said. “It’ll make sense.”
They walked and talked for hours, thoughts overlapping, sentences shingling.
It wasn’t like she didn’t have friends. She belonged to a homeschooling group that met twice a month, the same kids for years. She chatted online.
But this was different. He was different.
Real.
“Yes,” he said.
They had stopped for a snack break. The sun was high, Nick’s chest glistening as he stood atop a boulder and spread his arms toward the sky.
He howled. Smiled at her.
Shasta smiled and rolled her eyes and crouched down to open her satchel.
“Do you want me to carry that?” he said. “You’ve had it the whole time.”
“It’s okay.” She turned away to dig through its contents. More snacks, extra water.
A pistol. She wasn’t completely naïve.
Unzipping an interior pocket, she took out a snapshot.
Her mother as a younger woman.
She held the photo out to Nick.
He hopped down to look.
When he raised his eyes to her they had a strange, feverish quality.
She nodded to him, and they set out together without speaking.
They held hands at the center of the Cathedral. She could feel the pendant, still warm from the heat of his body, lying against her throat. Above them the sky glimmered like a tossed coin.
He said, “You have to ask her.”
Shasta didn’t answer.
“He could be your father, too.”
She had a father, though. Two. The brooding masculine presence who existed only in pictures; Jason, with his awkward laugh and his bottomless patience. She loved them both and said so to Nick.
She hoped he could see that. She needed him to see that.
He said, “Show me.”
From the trailhead it was ninety minutes to the memoriaclass="underline" the father she’d never known.
The bouquet, California poppies and morning glories, was still healthy; she’d placed it on a ride the previous week. She used her sleeve to dust off the cross, and they stood shoulder to shoulder, surveying the valley like conquerors. They’d been hiking all day. Nick didn’t appear tired in the least. For the first time he seemed at ease.
She wasn’t. Her insides stewed with conflicting emotions.
Safety and comfort.
Something more.
She could smell the salt dried on his skin.
She brought her face up to his for a kiss.
He shied back, smiling. “Hey.”
She mumbled an apology.
“Don’t,” he said.
Don’t what? Apologize? Be mad? Try that again?
She stared at the dirt, humiliated.
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Shasta. Come on.”
He reached for her. She yanked free, moved away from him. “Leave me alone.”
“Shasta,” he said.
He stepped toward her. His ankle wobbled. He grabbed at the cross to steady himself and his foot landed near the edge.
The ground beneath him collapsed.
He vanished.
His cry was faint and short-lived. In the stillness that followed she could hear her own blood.
The sun was setting as she rang the bell at Maggie’s house.
The door opened.
Maggie saw her streaked, swollen face and said, “Oh my darling girl.”
She gave Shasta a glass of water, took her upstairs, and helped her into bed.
Shasta sank back into the pillows. She shut her eyes, feeling the mattress sag as Maggie sat by her side. Fingertips gently combed her hair.