“Wait, it’s bad but surprisingly smart. And bad.” I lose track of what she was saying after feeling her palm on my skin. She continues, “So, this guy killed someone . . . I don’t remember the circumstances, though. Accident? On purpose?” She waves her hand. “Doesn’t matter. But he buried the body way down deep, then halfway back up to the surface, he buried a dead dog. The police dog sniffed around and they dug up the grave. So the police found the dog and thought the police dog had gotten confused. Killer almost got away with it too, except the police dog kept whining then jumped in the grave, pawing at the ground, so they dug a little deeper. And boom . . . dead body. Or well, another one, I guess.”
“Jesus, that’s awful. Why do you know that?” I ask.
“True crime shows on late-night TV. Sad story, but I liked that the police dog outsmarted the criminal.” She seems equally horrified and vindicated.
“I’m surprised you watch that shit,” I say honestly. She seems like she’d watch Hallmark movies or romantic comedies, something light and fluffy like cute kitten shows.
“I work late hours and there’s nothing on but Unsolved Mysteries and infomercials at three in the morning. Netflix is a lifesaver, but when I was saving up for my last lens, I canceled it to save money.”
Frugal. Willing to sacrifice.
I store the informational tidbits away in my mental Rolodex of Willow Parker facts.
We break through the last few overhanging branches and into a clearing. “We’re here.”
There’s the complete blackness of the night surrounding us, broken only by a curved slice of moon too high in the sky to offer any real light. “Where’s here?” Willow asks, looking through the front window and then her side window.
“Lookout Point. Hang on,” I tell her. I pull a U-turn, backing up carefully. In the glow of the reverse camera, I can see the questioning look on Willow’s face. “Trust me. Close your eyes. It’ll be worth it.”
To my surprise and delight, she does, though she warns, “Just a reminder . . . a whole bar full of people, including Unc, saw you take me out of Hank’s. You’ll be the first suspect.”
I chuckle and turn off the engine. “Stay there, keep ’em closed.” I get out and run around to her side, opening her door. I help her down, careful to not get too close . . . yet. Slowly, I walk her toward the back of the truck. “Stand right where you are for a second. Lemme lower the tailgate.”
Down it goes with a slight thud, and I steer Willow in front of it. “Okay, I’m gonna pick you up and set you on the tailgate. Still got your eyes closed?”
They are. I can see how she’s pinching them shut against the desire to open them and see what’s around her.
I circle my hands around her waist and lift. She naturally jumps a tiny bit and I set her on the tailgate. She leans left a little and I steady her with strong hands. “Ohh!” she exclaims, then laughs at her overcorrection.
“Okay, one last thing . . . don’t move and don’t peek.” I run back to her side of the truck and grab her camera. I’m no pro, not even an amateur, but I can press a button. Hopefully, that’s enough. Standing beside her again, I aim the lens at her.
“On the count of three, I want you to open your eyes and see Great Falls. One, two, three . . .”
Click. Click. Click. Click.
I have no idea what I’m doing, so as she opens her eyes, gasps, and covers her open mouth with her hands, I just keep pushing the button. She looks from the view before us, inky blackness dotted with white lights and the surrounding mountains, to me. She’s looking through the lens into my eyes, I swear it.
Click. Click.
“It’s beautiful,” Willow whispers, even though it’s just the two of us.
“Gorgeous,” I answer, not talking about the city view but about her.
Her eyes meet mine, and I lower the camera. The yawning space between us disappears, though I stay rooted where I am, and the invisible thread between us pulls tight, humming with possibility.
“Do you feel this? Am I crazy?” One quick, audible swallow, and she adds, “This is crazy. Never mind. Pretend I didn’t say that.”
I have zero intention of doing so.
I carefully set the camera down, knowing it’s her baby as much as my