she adds, “Take it slow, okay? It’s dark out there, and the higher roads might still be snow packed.”
“I know, Mom. We do this every year, remember?”
The things she said to Dad earlier replay through my mind. What are they going to tell me after we come home that could possibly make me hate them? I want to ask, but something holds me back. Maybe the look of weariness and pain that I saw on Mom’s face when I first came down.
Returning to the living room, I let Cookie inside again, then wrap a scarf around my neck, slip into my coat, and pull on my stocking cap and gloves. From the kitchen, Dad calls out, “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes,” I say, and silently ask Iris, What’s happening?
Not sure, she whispers. Be careful. She’s right—everything can change in an instant.
A chill skitters through me. What do you mean?
I listen for an answer, but hear only the steady white noise of her silence.
2
Cookie rides in a crate on the back of Dad’s four-wheeler. I follow behind, my headlights illuminating them. Every so often, Cookie turns to glance back at me. His ears flap in the wind, and his teeth are bared like he’s grinning.
The lake appears ahead, the water a glossy black ink stain. The sight of it takes me back to the winter I was seven, when I first met Wyatt. His mom had just decided she had better things to do than raise a kid and sent him here from Dallas to live with his grandparents. A couple of days after we met, I taught Wyatt to skate on this lake. He’d never ice-skated before, but when I tried to give him a few tips, he cut me off. He knew what to do, he said. He was a Rollerblader and ice-skating couldn’t be much different. He’d show me every trick he knew.
But when Wyatt and I stepped onto the ice, the only trick he did was the splits, and not on purpose. The seat of his pants tore right up the seam, and as he struggled to stand, I caught a glimpse of his Star Wars long underwear. Falling served him right for being such a show-off, so I laughed. But I also offered him a hand. At first he wouldn’t take it, but then he laughed, too, and let me help him up. From that day on, Wyatt and I were best friends.
I wish he could’ve come with us to the lookout point this morning. I’m going to have a lot to tell him when he comes over after school. What’s in the box with the big yellow bow, for one thing. Dad’s reaction to my college news. And my parents’ Big Secret. I shove that last one from my mind, determined to enjoy the ride.
We turn onto the trail that runs along the creek, and aspen trees press in, towering over me, standing guard. I breathe in their spicy scent while listening to the song that Iris hums in my head. It’s a favorite of hers, the tempo urgent and powerful.
The trail climbs, becoming narrower and rougher as it winds through the forest. Patches of snow at the side of the road flash by, icy blue in the moonlight. Ragged swatches of purple sky flicker between the branches above. Ahead, the rock dike that snakes through these mountains rises on the left side of the road, while the right side drops into a deep ravine. Soon my headlights expose a place where the edge arcs out to a rocky ledge wide enough to sit on.
Dad slows and pulls in. I follow, easing up on the gas and stopping beside him. We cut our engines, take off our helmets, and hang them on our handlebars.
“Made it just in time, Doodlebug,” Dad says, nodding toward the pink hem of the eastern horizon.
Cookie whines, and I help him out of his crate. “Stay close, boy,” I say as we follow Dad to the ledge and sit down to watch the sunrise.
“What’s on your mind, Lily?” Dad asks. “You’re so quiet I can hear the wheels turning in your head.”
Wrapping my arms around my knees, I say, “Remember last August when I talked to you and Mom about going to the University of Oklahoma this fall with Wyatt?”
“Of course I remember,” he answers. “I should’ve been more supportive about that. In fact, I’m starting to think that going away to a four-year school might’ve been the best option for