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“A little anxious.” I drag my tote higher on my shoulder. We have to be getting close by now. We’ve been walking for almost forty minutes.

His muscles bunch as he untangles a thick vine blocking the path. “Unless your grandma’s directions were totally off, we should be almost there.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Dash stops walking and tilts his head to the side. “Do you hear that?”

Blocking out the buzzing cicadas in the trees, I listen for whatever has Dash so excited. A low honk in the distance catches my attention, and my gaze snaps to his. “Geese?”

He grins. “We must be close to water.”

“Come on.” I grab his hand, towing him through the thick underbrush. Sharp vines claw at my bare legs as we sprint through the thicket, in search of the elusive train tracks.

We reach a break in the trees, and I slow to a brisk walk as I catch the first glimpse of the rusted trestle jutting into the horizon. Sunlight glints off the lake, stopping me in my tracks. The closer I get to the massive structure, the more space I see between the long, narrow bridge and the water below. My heart leaps into my throat. My imagination hasn’t done it justice. Neither had Mom’s description.

“She jumped from that?” The words rip from my throat as I cautiously make my way forward, swatting gnats from my sweaty face. My thoughts race to keep up with my pulse, the scent of musty earth and humid air so thick, I can taste it.

“Hey.” Dash grabs my arm. “Be careful. Don’t get too close to the edge.”

Because we both know the fall could damn well kill me. That jumping off a freaking bridge is beyond reckless.

I tug my arm free as my conflicting emotions wage war. This whole trip was supposed to be about getting to know my mother all over again through her diary. But standing less than fifty feet from where she stood—where she jumped—has me questioning everything I thought I knew about her.

“Zoey?”

I angrily swipe a tear from my cheek. “My whole childhood was one big lesson on how reckless my grandmother was. Every time we rode off without our bike helmets, played too rough, or laughed too loud, we got the ‘don’t be like your G-Lo’ speech. When Jeanie got caught smoking pot junior year, Mom flipped. She ranted for hours about Jeanie ruining her life the same way our grandmother had.”

I knew Mom loved G-Lo, but I also sensed the unspoken tension between them.

“Jeanie idolized G-Lo and rebelled against Mom. And what happened to her? Nothing. She smoked pot and partied hard. But she still graduated college with decent grades and landed a six-figure job. She didn’t waste four years with a stupid boyfriend who controlled her every move. But me?” Tears clog my throat, and I swallow, struggling to hold them back. “I was supposed to be the good, responsible daughter. Just like Mom.”

But she wasn’t responsible, was she? Not always. Not this one time, at least.

I swallow again, losing the battle with my emotions. How many new firsts did I waste on Damian because I was following the path I thought she wanted for me?

“Zoey . . .” Dash reaches for my hand.

Instead of accepting it, I take a step toward the bridge. I swipe at another tear, angry that she hid so much of herself from us—from me. Furious that I never got the chance to confront her about it. “This bridge represents the lie my mom perpetuated my whole life. Because at least once, she was as reckless as her mother. She got to experience that terrifying rush of adrenaline she so desperately fought to keep from us. And it’s not fair that she’s gone now, and I can’t tell her how mad I am that she kept this from me.”

Dash inches forward, his gaze locked on mine. “Maybe she never got the chance. Maybe that’s why she sent you on the trip. So you could experience this with her in the only way she knew how.”

“By spreading her ashes over a damn lake?” I stare down at the water, strangely jealous of what it represents.

“And going to all the places she went. Maybe this was her way of sharing that with you.”

His theory—his wonderfully plausible theory—chips away at my anger. It would be just like Mom to send me on this epic quest to get to know her, to understand the parts of her she couldn’t explain. If the trip—specifically this bridge—meant so much to her life, I can only wonder what it might mean for mine.

Shoving my anger aside, I pull Mom’s urn from my tote, setting the bag on the ground beside the bridge.

Dash goes rigid beside me. “You’re only spreading ashes, right?”

“Yes,” I breathe—a cross between a sob and a laugh. “You didn’t think I was gonna jump, did you? I’m enjoying this adventure a little too much to off myself.”

He rolls his eyes at my weak attempt at humor.

Eyeing the rotting boards, I thrust the silver urn into Dash’s hands. “Hold this. I don’t want to carry the damn thing all the way out there.”

His brows furrow. “What are you doing?”