Page 55 of Peaks and Promises

“Good. You can come now. We’re up.”

“What if I meet you somewhere first? Just you.”

“I really think you ought to come here.”

“But—”

“Reese,” she said, and I recognized her no-nonsense voice from when I was a kid. “You’re almost there. Come home.”

She was right. If I was going to do it, I needed to go all in. I couldn’t avoid him forever.

Then again, he’d probably leave once she told him I was coming.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll be on my way in a few.”

“See you soon.”

I ended the call and stood for a long moment, staring at nothing. Just breathing in the familiar air, smelling the hint of pine.

You’re almost there. Come home.

Stifling a groan—this was going to suck—I slipped back into the room.

Summer’s eyes fluttered open, and her lips turned up in a slight smile.

Beautiful. She was absolutely beautiful. And somehow that sleepy smile made my heart rate slow and the tension in my shoulders loosen.

“Morning,” she whispered.

“Morning.” I kept my voice low. “I need to go out for a little while. There’s something I need to take care of first thing.”

Her soft expression told me she understood. “That’s fine.”

“There should be a few places to eat within walking distance if you want to get breakfast.”

“We’ll figure it out. I’m just going to let him sleep.”

“Call me if you need anything. But I’ll be back in a couple hours at most.”

“Okay. Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’m gonna need it.”

Resisting the very strange urge to lean down and kiss her goodbye, I grabbed my keys and left.

In the light of day, the reality of where I was hit hard. The highway from Echo Creek to Tilikum wound along the river, still running high and fast from the spring snowmelt. Mountain peaks rose on all sides, their slopes dotted with pine trees.

All familiar and laced with memories—both good and bad.

The drive took me past the Welcome to Tilikum sign and into town. A giant wooden squirrel stood behind the welcome sign—that was new—and flower baskets spilling colorful blooms hung from the streetlights.

Tilikum was the sort of place where things always felt the same, even when the details changed. I passed shops and restaurants. Some had been there for years, and others I didn’t recognize. But on the whole, it looked the same as it had always been.

Small. Quiet. A little strange.

Memories flooded my mind, but I pushed them away. It wasn’t the time for nostalgia. And the closer I got to my parents’ place, the heavier the dread in my gut became.

They lived outside town, up a long gravel driveway. I hadn’t been up that bumpy road since the day I’d left. The pine trees looked thicker as I climbed their hill, obscuring their house from view until I was almost in front of it.