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“Surely, you’re not serious about not going out there?” my dad asked with an incredulous tone.
“I know him, and I know he’ll come back. What’s important is that I’m here when it happens. If a bunch of people go looking for him, he won’t come down. Clear out. He’ll know I’m home.”
My parents gave each other long looks, but it was my mother who folded the blanket she was clutching, laying it over the back of the couch. “Let’s go, honey. I could use a good night’s sleep.”
My dad was reluctant. He rubbed at the back of his neck, scrunching his eyebrows together, but with a soft hand on his arm from my mother, he relented with a sigh.
Once they were gone, I went to start a fire, but realized there was no wood.
That was okay. I had watched Davis do it enough times that I knew what to do. I walked out back and off to the side, where the wood pile sat, and saw that there was still plenty chopped, it just needed to be brought inside. So, I gathered as many logs with my arms as I could and started a fire in the hearth.
Then, I cooked.
I tossed chicken into the crock pot, and started low music on Alexa, turning on small lamps as the day waned. I made our bed, cleaned our bathroom, and took a bath.
I watched the stars come out, while sipping tea on the back porch.
Then I slept alone in our bed, hugging the pillow that smelled like him to my chest.
The next morning, I heard gravel crunching under tires, and threw off the covers, running downstairs.
Flinging the door open, it was my parents’ SUV that rolled to a stop, not the big truck I was hoping for. Alongside their Rover was my small Toyota, being driven by my mom.
My father had brought up my belongings, just like I asked. Not a single time did he or my mom question me or what I wanted as they helped carry my extra suitcases upstairs. When they were ready to leave, Dad placed a kiss on my forehead and then left.
I carried on, like I did the day prior, checking to ensure the goats and hens were fed and cared for, and made a fresh fire. I made a new meal in the slow cooker, chuck roast this time. I figured we’d freeze whatever didn’t get eaten, which would help keep us stocked through the winter.
Then, I went upstairs and began unpacking my boxes. Clothes went into the closet; shoes were unpacked, and all my little effects were dispersed throughout the room. Next to my bed, I plugged in the chargers for my e-reader and cell, and brought up the book Davis had read to me by the fire.
That night, I took another bath, and this time, a few worried tears slipped free.
I believed with all my heart that Davis would come back for me. I knew he would, deep down, but my bravado began to slip with each day that passed.
It wasthe fifth day of going through the motions when I realized I might be wrong.
Then, like an avalanche, guilt smothered me as I thought of him out there, likely dead and lost, not rescued, and all because of me. There wasn’t heavy snow on the mountain yet; there wouldn’t be any real reason to worry. Still, it gnawed at my gut.
Opening the front door, wearing just one of his long shirts, I watched rain pelt my car as hard as bullets.
I considered, not for the first time, hiking around locally, maybe seeing if I could use my recent introductory hiking skills I had learned in Colorado to try and find him, but it would have to be once the rain stopped. I left the door open as I curled up under a blanket on the porch swing and watched the tall trees sway under the heavy downpour and small rivulets fall from the workshop roof. I watched, willing Davis to show up, praying his truck would come into view any second. Hoping the rain would drive him away from the mountain and into my arms. I watched as the rain drowned my world, until my eyelids grew heavy, and I finally let them close.
39
DAVIS
In retrospect,I should have made sure that extra gas can was in the back of the truck before I took off. But I wasn’t thinking when I left.
So, three days ago, when I saw the tiny curl of smoke lift from the spot down the mountain, where I knew my house was, something in my gut churned. While I was home and Millie watched over me, not once did she try to start a fire. I didn’t think she knew how.
Roger hadn’t either, though he might know how—but why would they be in my house if I wasn’t there? The hens and goats would be fine for a few days, and I just needed some space to clear my head. Away from the walls that reminded me of her, of her smell, and her things still in my house.
I needed to stop the cracking in my chest, but all around me seemed to be emptiness. But now, there was someone in my house. I knew it wasn’t Gavin, and while I hadn’t taken my phone with me, I knew if I had my cell and called him up, he’d tell me the same thing he did a week ago, that he was still in Georgia, visiting his family.
No, deep in my bones, I knew it was her.
She’d come back.
Elation quickened my steps, which became increasingly difficult with the rain that had started and made nearly impossible as the downpour continued through the night, and next day.
