Page 184 of Silent Shadows

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.