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“Griff,” Dad said. “You should have told me sooner.”
“Wasn’t sure until just yesterday,” Griff said. “’S’why I came out early. To tell you, and to make sure I got to see you.”
“We depend on you, Griff,” Dad said. He was using me. We depend on you. To make Griff feel bad.
“I thought that you lived off the land,” I said drily, wanting to defend Griff even as I wanted him to stay.
“A man should be with his family,” Griff said forcefully, fiercely. “A man should be with his little girl.” He looked at me when he said it, and my heart sank. He was never going to take me away from here, was he?
“We can talk about this after we’re fed,” Dad said firmly.
Over dinner, Dad and Griff told a story about one of their salmon-fishing trips, taking Griff’s plane to a river where they thronged, and you had to shoulder your way past wolves and bears and eagles to get your turn. When we were down to licking grease off our fingers, Dad cleared his throat. “Our little bear’s got something to show off,” he said. “She’s got a talent. Did you know that?”
“I figured,” Griff said. “Didn’t figure on what it was, though.”
“I don’t have a talent,” I said.
“Archery!” Dad declared. “Show him the bow, Jess.”
“It’s your bow.”
“Not anymore,” Dad said. “I’m too damn lazy to bow hunt anymore. But that bow’s about the most expensive thing I own, and someone should get use out of it. Why don’t you show Griff how it’s done?”
I hadn’t shot the bow yet. I’d left it under the bed with the duffel. I definitely didn’t want to shoot for the first time in three years with an audience. But Griff looked eager, and it was going to take a hell of a lot of goodwill to talk him into to taking me. So I slid off my chair and fetched the bow. Griff clapped his hands together.
We traipsed outside. Dad picked out a target for me, a tree that listed toward the lake. He was going to chop it down anyway, since a good storm would knock it over soon. It was a really skinny tree, and it wasn’t exactly close, either. I checked over the bow to buy myself time. The arrows were nasty things, metal. Made for punching through an animal’s hide and bringing it down. Not exactly meant for target practice.
“Show us how it’s done,” Dad said.
For one paralyzed moment I didn’t remember how to shoot at all. Checklists, I thought.
Take the proper stance: side to the target, feet spread for stability. Straight shoulders. Arrow to the bow. Check the target. Distance. Wind. Raise the bow. Draw. Elbow bent straight back. Think flat, flat like a single plane, like you’re a sketch on a piece of paper. Aim. Aim higher than the target; arrows arc. Breathe in. Breathe out. Loose.
The arrow sailed past the tree and vanished into the woods with a flurry of leaves and branches. Dad and Griff laughed. My cheeks turned blazing hot, and I fumbled for another arrow.
“I haven’t shot since I was thirteen,” I said.
“That wasn’t so long ago,” Dad said.
“Three years.” I didn’t even know if he knew how old I was. Did he even know what year it was out here?
I tried to shoot again, but this time I was rushed and angry, and my hand jerked at the last minute, sending the arrow too high and too far right. Two arrows gone and I hadn’t even come close. Griff and Dad started jawing about some hunter who’d accidentally shot his own dog, and I wondered where Bo was. I hoped he wasn’t out behind the tree.
Arrow number three. I shut my eyes and counted to five, trying to block out Griff and Dad’s voices. I could do this. I’d won a medal, hadn’t I? I just had to get my arms to remember what my mind still knew.
Eyes still closed, I drew the arrow. I focused on the way it felt under my fingertips. Felt its weight. Heavier than I was used to, I remembered. And when I drew the bow, testing, it was much easier than I was used to. I’d gotten older, gotten stronger, and the pulley system was designed to make the draw easy. Too smooth. It was throwing me off.
I eased the bowstring again and lowered the bow before opening my eyes. There was the target. I raised the bow again. Drew. Released. All in one steady motion, one steady breath.
The arrow thunked into the tree. I wish I could say it was dead center, but it was a little to the side and higher than I’d meant it to be. But it hit.
“Nice work!” Dad declared, and clapped me on the shoulder. I flinched as his hand settled over scar tissue. It didn’t hurt, but it made me feel the difference between us. “We’ll find the frontier spirit in you yet.”
“I don’t think I have one,” I said. I looked him in the eye. “I’m going back with Griff tomorrow.”
Pause. Dad looked at Griff, who shuffled his feet. “You know about this?”
“She might have mentioned it, but I said that was up to you,” Griff said.
