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Fitz twisted to lick his flank.
"Not even listening to me, are you? Why do I bother?"
"Same question I ask myself every day," said a voice behind me. "It's good training for parenthood."
Dad walked down the porch steps. He was dressed in khakis and his Smokey the Bear hat.
"Ooh, big day in town for our park warden," I said. "They're even making you wear the uniform. Hayley's mom will be happy. She thinks you look hot in it."
Dad turned as red as his hair.
Mom's laugh floated out from her studio. "Maya Delaney. Leave your father alone."
"It's true. Nicole heard her saying she loves a guy in uniform, and if Dad ever gets tired of you, her front door is open. But you have to wear the hat."
Dad made unhealthy choking noises.
Mom only laughed again. "Thanks for the warning. Now get moving. You know what happens if you're late. Daniel won't wait. You have to catch him."
"Which would be a bigger threat if the roads were better or his truck was faster."
A cold nose brushed my hand.
"Even Kenjii knows you're running late," Mom called. "Now move it."
I waved toward the window of her studio at the front of the house. When I reached the end of the drive, I turned around.
"Dad? Can you--?"
"Check on the fledglings because you overslept again?"
"Um, right. Sorry." I walked backward. "Oh, and we're going across to Vancouver this weekend for my sixteenth-birthday tattoo, right?"
He shook his head and strode toward the shed.
"Oh, sure, walk away from the conversation," I said. "How come I get in trouble when I do that?"
"You aren't getting a tattoo tomorrow, Maya," Mom called. "We'll discuss it later. Now move your butt."
Dad disappeared into the shed where I keep the wounded and orphaned animals he finds on the park grounds. I fix them up and release them if I can, or pass them onto a wildlife center if I can't. They aren't pets. Fitz is the only exception. He'd been caught by a trapper who'd never seen a bobcat on the island, and called my dad. After Fitz recovered from the amputation, I'd released him--twice--but he'd come back. He'd made it clear he was staying, if only for free food and protection from predators with all four of their limbs.
My only pet is Kenjii, a German shepherd that my parents bought when we moved to Salmon Creek and they decided a hundred-pound canine companion was a wise idea for a girl who liked to roam forests filled with bears, cougars, and other critters that might mistake her for a nice light snack.
Would things have been different if I'd had Kenjii with me at the lake last year? Serena and I always left her behind, because if we goofed around, she thought we were drowning and tried to pull us to safety. Kenjii might have saved Serena.
I think about that a lot. I think about all of it a lot. Six months of therapy hadn't convinced me I'm wrong when I say I could have saved Serena.
It wasn't the way I wanted to start my day, so I pushed the thoughts aside as we walked. It was a gorgeous fall morning, unusually dry for this part of Vancouver Island. Massive hemlocks and cedars lined the rutted trail that passed for a road. Wind had the sun dancing through swaying branches, and Kenjii tore along the path, pouncing on spots of sunlight like a puppy. The sharp breeze helped chase away the last bits of sleep, perking up my brain with the scent of cedar and rich, dew-damp earth.
It was a quiet morning, as usual. No commuter traffic out here. We're the only family living in the park. It's privately owned. The whole town is.
The St. Cloud Corporation bought the land a few years before I was born, and decided it was the perfect place for a top-secret research facility. They built the town of Salmon Creek for their employees.
Less than two hundred people live here. They get their paychecks from the St. Cloud family. They live in houses owned by the St. Clouds. Their kids go to a private school owned by the St. Clouds. Weird, I know, but I'm not complaining, because surrounding the town is a thousand acres of the most beautiful wilderness you've ever seen, and that's where I call home.
When I was five, the St. Clouds lost their park warden and they went headhunting. They found my dad, who was a ranger in Oregon. My mom's Canadian, though, from the Haida Nation. For her, the job meant coming home. For Dad, it meant the opportunity of a lifetime. For me, it meant growing up in the most amazing place on earth.
Living out here does have its challenges, though. Including transportation. Dad used to drive me to school every day, but now Daniel picks me up at the park gates in his truck--he doesn't dare drive the rutted park roads any more than necessary or the rust holding his pickup together is liable to shake loose.
