Seventeen years old
The car door slams shut, and Dad throws his hands on his hips as he stares at his pride and joy—the new Range Rover. It’s loaded to the brim. The bicycles are mounted on the back, and the kayaks are strapped to the roof.
“That’s a thing of a beauty,” he announces proudly. He kind of reminds me of a superhero preparing to launch into the air.
I close the tailgate of my truck where the extra camping supplies are and chuckle. “Dad, it’s an SUV, not a shrine.”
“It’s kind of a shrine. A camping shrine. I knew this SUV was a good idea.”
My mom walks around him carrying a jug of water. She places it in the back of the truck, then turns around and pats my dad on the shoulder. “Tell that to our bank account every month when we have to pay for this thing.”
“Hey, safety and luxury aren’t cheap. You guys need to see the bigger picture.” He holds up his hands and makes an L shape with each one, framing the car in his line of sight as he closes one eye. “Better SUV. Better opportunities.”
“You’re a damn nut,” Mom laughs right before giving him a kiss. “But it’s why I love you.”
That’s the one thing about my parents: they still love each other after twenty years of being together—a sickening amount.
I hope to have that kind of love one day.
“Get a room.” I keep a smile on my face, so they know I’m kidding. I lean my elbows against the edge of the tailgate and call out for my little brother. “Greer! Come on, we have to get going.” He comes running out of the house with a football in his hands.
He always has that damn pigskin. Fifteen years old, and he’s already the varsity quarterback for the high school. He lives and breathes that game. Honestly, I’m jealous. I wish I was passionate about something like Greer is. Unfortunately, I never could get into anything or stick with any sport. Even in my studies, I’m average. I just haven’t found anything to be driven or motivated about. When I go to college, I hope that changes, but I’m kind of skating by in life until then.
“Okay, okay. I’m here. Sorry. You know I can’t go anywhere without this thing.” He tosses it in the air in a spiral above his head right before it falls straight into his hands. “I want to work on my long-range with you, Nathan. I need to throw ten more yards.”
“Dude, you’re fifteen. The reason why you can’t throw it another ten yards is ‘cause you haven’t hit puberty—”
“Okay, that’s enough, boys,” my dad interrupts, pointing to the truck. “We need to get going before we lose daylight.”
My eyes drift off to the sky, where thick clouds of smoke are beginning to block the sun. “Dad, you’re sure it’s safe to go camping, right? The wildfire is growing and—”
He silences me by slapping his hands on my shoulders. “Hey, I wouldn’t put our family in harm’s way. The fire is a hundred miles in the opposite direction, and the winds are in our favor. They don’t expect it to change direction at this point. So nothing is stopping us from our annual family trip. Okay?”
“Yeah, I know. I guess I’m just worried.” I dig in my pockets for the truck keys and swallow. I’m getting a bad feeling about this trip. I don’t know if I’m worried for no reason, but something tells me that we shouldn’t go.
Dad knows best, right?
“Let’s go. We have a four-hour drive ahead of us.” He squeezes my biceps before letting me go, then heads to the passenger side of the SUV to open the door for Mom.
I let out a deep exhale and get into the driver’s seat. Greer climbs in the truck next, and we buckle up at the same time. The restored 1965 Ford F-100 grumbles to life. God, I love the sound of this engine. I guess that’s one thing I get excited about: this beauty. Dad and I worked on this project together when I was fourteen. It took a whole summer, but we souped up the engine, replaced most of the panels, reupholstered the interior, re-chromed the grill, and gave it a sick new paint job. When he got it for me, it was a rust bucket from a junkyard. I doubt he spent more than a couple hundred bucks on it.
And now it’s priceless.
“What’s wrong? You’re quiet,”