She continued her trek to the northwest, entering steeper mountainous terrain, going almost up to the Canadian border. After miles of not seeing a single small town or even another car, she pulled into her destination, a small gas station that doubled as a U-Haul and car rental facility.
She dropped the car off with the bored clerk, checking her phone again. Amazingly she had service, even way out here in this rural place. Nothing from Brad. She still had twenty minutes before her local contact was due to pick her up.
She browsed the magazine section of the little store, picking up magazines but not really reading them. Her mind was a tangle of thoughts, and the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach had grown bigger. She missed Brad. And she’d just taken off. But it wasn’t like he was talking to her right now, anyway.
Finally she went outside, lugging her backpack with her. She pulled out her phone and called her dad, who picked up on the second ring.
“Puddin’!”
“Dad! Guess where I am!”
“Boston?”
“Nope.”
“In a forgotten temple in the jungles of Central America?”
“Nope.”
“You finally found a closet that leads to Narnia?”
“If only.”
“I give up, then.”
“Montana. I got a gig studying wolverines. I’ll be here through the winter.”
“Montana! Now that’s a bit of all right,” he said. “You must be in hog heaven.”
She laughed. “I am. Right now I’m waiting at a gas station for a local to pick me up. She’s not here yet.” She hesitated, thinking of the shooting. Her heart hammered. She could still feel the cold press of mud as she and Christine lay flat on the ground, hidden in the trees. “Something happened before I left.”
His tone was instantly worried. “What?”
“There was a shooting at this dedication ceremony I spoke at.”
“What?” His voice was incredulous. “Are you all right?”
She was quick to reassure him. “I am, Dad. Absolutely. Just a little shaken. A reporter was shot, though. I’m still waiting to see if she’ll be all right.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“It was.” Her hands started shaking on the phone. Just hearing his kind voice, she almost broke into tears. But she couldn’t do that. Not when her ride was about to show up. She had to be professional.
“Did they catch the guy?”
“They did. Well, one of them, anyway.”
“There was more than one?” His voice grew even more alarmed.
“A second person shot the gunman. But that person got away.”
“What a nightmare. I’m so glad you’re all right.”
She wanted to change the subject, assure him she was okay. “And now I’m in Montana!” she said, forcing her tone to be lighter.
He was silent for a moment, then said, “And I’m really glad you are. Listen, honey, I’ve been worried about you in Boston. I didn’t think it was the right move for you in the first place, but I know that you loved Brad. But now that you’ve broken up, well . . . the wild places are where you belong.”
She swallowed, the painful lump growing in her throat. “Thanks, Dad.” She could always count on her dad to be encouraging and supportive. Zoe was probably going to think she was crazy for coming out here, and she knew Brad would definitely disapprove.
Her dad chuckled. “Your mother always said you’d end up in the Rockies. No matter where we lived, you always talked about living on that base in Colorado Springs.”
The mountains are calling and I must go.
Alex had grown up on a series of military bases around the world. Her mother had been a fighter pilot in the Air Force, and they’d moved every few years. Her parents could not have been more different. Her father was quiet, patient, affectionate, and creative, and earned his living as a landscape painter. Her mother was stern, a disciplinarian, and found showing affection difficult. But she had a creative side, too; she enjoyed tinkering at the piano and could be surprisingly playful at times. And they loved each other fiercely.
Alex had enjoyed a few other bases besides the one in the Rockies, including one in Arkansas. There she’d loved the caves and limestone bluffs, the myriad colors of spring with purple redbud, violets, and white dogwood, but all the time her heart soared at the thought of the western mountains.
Her mother had been killed while on a mission when Alex was only twelve, a devastating blow to her and her father. The mission had been secret, and to this day, neither Alex nor her dad knew exactly what had happened, only that her plane had gone down. Her destroyed body had been returned and they’d buried her, leaving the military base for civilian life. Her dad bought a comfortable little house in a suburban neighborhood in upstate New York, with big swaying trees, thunderstorms, and cicadas and crickets singing in the summer nights.
At eighteen, Alex decided to move to California to attend college, and a few years later, when she opted to stay there for graduate school, her dad came west, too. Alex was overjoyed to have him there. He bought a lovely 1906 Craftsman house on a tree-lined street in Berkeley.
“Can I come visit when I’m done here?” she asked now.
“I’d love that.”
“Thanks, Dad. I love you.”
“Love you, Alex. Keep me posted.”
“I will.”
After they hung up, a warm feeling suffused her. She was truly blessed to have such great people in her life. She didn’t have a lot of friends, but the ones she did have, especially Zoe and her father, were hers for life.
Alex breathed in the mountain air, gazing around at the surrounding peaks. Though it was mid-September, still considered summer in most of the country, up here it felt well into fall. Larch trees glowed golden yellow on mountain slopes around her, and the orange and red leaves of quaking aspen whispered in the trees around her. The air smelled crisp with the faint hint of rotting leaves, and she knew that the first real snow of the season wouldn’t be far off.
Half an hour later, a beat-up truck pulled in to get some gas. A woman likely in her early fifties got out, long blond hair flowing in the wind. A few strands were braided and dyed purple, with small metal beads decorating them. She wore a brightly colored scarf, a purple knit sweater that hung almost to her knees, faded jeans with holes, and purple high-tops.
The woman filled up her car with gas, looking tentatively at Alex as she did. When she finished, she walked over to Alex. “You’re the biologist, right?”
Alex smiled and held out her hand. “Yes, I’m Alex.”
“Jolene Baker.” The woman’s grip was tight, and she surprised Alex by pulling her into a hug. “We’re going to be neighbors!” Jolene laughed, brown eyes twinkling in a freckled, fawn-colored face. “Well, if you can call fifteen miles away by car neighbors. And out here, you can. This your only bag?” she asked, pointing to the blue backpack leaning against Alex’s leg.
“Yep.”
“Man. I envy you. I’d have to pack five suitcases full of stuff. Books, my crystals, my jewelry-making stuff. I drive Jerry crazy. He’s my husband. But what can I say? I’m a pack rat.”
Alex hefted her backpack onto one shoulder.