“Where am I supposed to go?” Rachel felt frantic. She assumed she would know when she was done, that there would be an obvious conclusion.
“I think you’ve made peace. You can go wherever you want to go,” he said.
Rachel began crying, and the Chief was quick to hold her.
“It’s all so overwhelming,” she said.
“I know,” he said.
She never thought she would feel reluctance at leaving Quinn. Just months ago, she had barely endured each day. Once upon a time, envelopes returned to her, unopened. The people of her hometown marked them RETURN TO SENDER, and now Rachel Flood wrote her amends so wholeheartedly no envelope could contain them. No words were necessary; she would let grace and humility end this story.
If she wanted, she could go create a whole new tale, leave this chapter far behind, put the book on the shelf. If she wanted, she could go back to Missoula.
She could wait there. In four years, Jake would be old enough to join her.
Meadow
Jake’s stomach was growling. He hadn’t had a chance to eat breakfast, and it took Bert nearly an hour to pack his truck. Jake felt obligated to stand and watch, because it seemed respectful. All Bert needed was a gun and their lunches, but it was all for safety’s sake.
Mrs. Foote arrived in her station wagon, said something encouraging to Bert, but Jake paid no attention to her. Waiting for Bert was painful enough. Mrs. Foote left with the baby, and Bert cleaned his rifle, even though Jake was certain it had been taken apart the night before. Krystal placed their lunches behind the driver’s seat and kissed her husband good-bye. Saturdays, she worked the day shift. Jake peeked inside the paper bags as Bert finally turned the key in the ignition. Bologna sandwiches, potato chips, and a pudding cup.
Lunch was all Jake could think about as Bert drove toward the mountains.
It began to rain, softly at first, and then picked up until Bert had to put his wipers on. The wipers were the only sound in the truck. They did not make conversation. The silence became a tangible thing after Jake crossed his leg, and Bert caught a glimpse of Jake’s pink sock.
Jake could tell Bert was angry by the way his stepfather clenched the steering wheel. Bert flicked off the heat in the truck so hard that Jake thought the switch would break in his hand. Jake wished they could turn on the radio, but Bert did not believe in popular music anymore.
The rain kept up, and the truck got colder as they wound their way up the mountain and turned off onto a logging road. They had been driving for an hour. Jake had no idea where they were. The geography of the mountains that enclosed Quinn never interested him. All Jake could think about was the lunch his mother packed and getting home as quickly as possible.
Bert was a deer hunter. The freezer in Krystal’s trailer was a testament to this. Jake pretended to look for deer in the brush, but he was secretly rooting for them, and would not have let on, even if he did spot one.
Twenty minutes up the logging road, Bert pulled the truck into a gravel turnaround and parked.
“This will do,” he said. These were the first words he had spoken all morning.
It was still raining, and Jake cursed Bert silently for making him get out in all of this wetness. At least Jake didn’t care about these clothes.
Bert grabbed his rifle from the rack above the seat, and Jake reached for the cooler sitting next to him, hoping they were bringing the lunches with them, but Bert shook his head.
It was drizzling as they began to descend into the thickness of white pines. They slid their way down a shale embankment. He tried to follow Bert’s path, because he was a man who knew what he was doing in the woods, and Jake did not want to be left behind.
Jake’s mind was preoccupied with his plans for the homecoming dance. He was trying to figure out how to create a giant papier-maché castle facade. He had no doubt that it would work out exactly as planned, but it would require some assistance from the teacher of the shop class.
The rain became less of an issue when they reached the deeper woods. The giant pines provided shelter and as Jake inhaled, the glorious smell made him feel better about all of this. They rose up so tall that they became the sky. The gray sky was barely visible through the canopy.
They kept going, deeper into the forest, Bert stopping occasionally, and holding up one hand. Jake knew to stop moving when Bert did this, just as he knew not to talk, not that there was a chance of conversation. The rain changed to sleet, and Jake shoved his hands deep inside the pockets of his jacket. He did not have gloves.