Page 140 of Sterling Stone

Given how my father died, suicide was something I had experience with.

I didn’t want to think about it for Simon.

He was a smart kid with so much potential. He had Trudy’s love and Judd’s devotion, and he had Taxi trying to be another person in his corner.

The effort was there. Time was what Simon needed with Taxi.

And I didn’t want to think about it being too late. He was only ten.

As I pull into the gravel lot, so many memories come back to me. Bringing Ford here to walk off frustrations after ballgames. Coming here with Clay and Vale on occasion. Hiking with Knox. Judd and Sebastian were never interested, which is ironic, as they each have a motorcycle now and make this spot a destination when they ride together.

Sterling Falls, the trail marker reads. There were several ways to see the famous falls.

Long hikes along the river. Shorter climbs up the boulders. There was even a hidden grotto of sorts off to the side of the falls. The trail to that spot was more locally known and harder to travel, and I hoped Simon wasn’t there.

Still, I call out his name, hopeful, desperate, eager to find him among the rocks and trees, boulders and water.

But not in any of them. Not in a sad ending kind of way.

“Simon,” I call out, optimistic, something in my gut saying it wasn’t too late. We could find him.

After several minutes, walking down the first trail that leads directly to the river’s edge, I double back, still hollering his name.

I should have gotten an entire crew out here, but the distance to the falls, especially on foot would have taken Simon hours.

Maybe he isn’t here, I second-guess myself.

“Simon, please,” I call out. “If you can hear me . . .” Give me something, kid.

Whatever he overheard, whatever he thinks Jolene and Taxi intended, Trudy Wallace isn’t letting him leave his home. She isn’t letting him leave her.

Traveling the path in reverse, I stop by a smaller one that veers off to the left. People often venture off the designated hikes despite the warnings. Still, less worn, less traveled paths exist, and something tells me to start down this one.

“Simon,” I call out again, my heart beginning to race. The climb is steeper here, the path narrow, almost a divot in the earth. A stream might have run here at one point, water trickling down from the snow caps, making its own way down to the larger river.

“Simon,” I holler one more time before I hear rustling. The crack of a twig. The shuffling of leaves.

And then a small boy of ten, with dark hair and crooked glasses on his nose, steps into sight.

“Stone.” His voice is small as he hugs his backpack to his chest. His face is dirty.

I rush forward, picking him up and tugging him to my chest before remembering I should check for injuries. My hands shake as I set him on his feet and examine his face.

“Are you hurt? Tell me where it hurts.”

He shakes his head, and I comb my fingers through his hair. He looks so much like Judd did at this age, it’s almost uncanny.

“What are you doing out here, buddy?” I ask.

He shrugs, keeping his gaze lowered and his backpack against his chest.

“A lot of people worried about you. Grandma Trudy and Judd.” I softly say, keeping my hand gently on the back of his head. “Aunt Taxi.”

His head lifts. “They don’t want me.” His voice cracks.

“That’s not true,” I say, feeling like I’ve taken a spike to the chest.

“She said it.”