We stood in the grass together, eyeing the tin cans like they were wild animals. My Orioles baseball cap kept the sun out of my eyes. It was a straight shot.
“So here’s what you do, sport,” he said. “You keep your feet apart. Square your shoulders. Keep your right foot just out in front of your left.” He helped adjust me until I was standing just right. “Good. Now you put the buttstock of the rifle near the centerline of your body and high on your chest.”
He took a step back, examining my pose. “Elbows down.”
I listened carefully, trying to do everything he told me. He showed me how to bring the rifle to my head and press my cheek firmly into the stock. Then he taught me how to aim.
“Good job,” he said. And I flushed with pride. “Keep both your eyes open. Don’t pull the trigger—squeeze it. You want constant pressure.”
I took a deep breath. I aimed at the can farthest on the right and squeezed the trigger like he told me.
I missed by a mile.
“You gotta relax,” he said. “You’re too tense. Take a breath before you shoot. Then squeeze the trigger on the exhale.”
I took a deep breath. I shot at the can again. I missed, but I came closer.
“Good job,” he said. “Now try again.”
I stared at the can. I imagined my mom’s face in the center. I took a breath, then I squeezed the trigger. I heard the ping of the bullet penetrating the metal.
“Great!” He clapped me on the back. “You did it!”
We spent the next hour practicing shooting. I couldn’t wait to go hunting with my dad. Just the two of us.
Finally, my mom came out into the backyard, her hands folded across her chest. She was wearing a tight blue sundress and had a face full of bright makeup. She smelled like flowers. When my dad was away, she wore sweatpants and undershirts. She didn’t bathe for days.
“Haven’t you been out here long enough?” she whined.
“A kid’s got to know how to shoot,” my father said.
She flashed me that same look she always gave me when my father paid more attention to me than he did to her. She wanted him to herself.
I still had the rifle in my hand. As I looked at my mother, I imagined a tin can where her face was. I had gotten to be a decent shot in the last hour. If I aimed the rifle at her, would I make the shot? I could always say it was an accident. I was a beginner, after all.
“Whoa, sport.” My dad gently pried the rifle out of my hands. “You gotta be careful where you’re aiming that thing. You don’t want it to go off by accident.”
My mom’s eyes widened. She knew what I wanted to do. And if my father hadn’t stopped me, I would’ve done it.
Chapter 18
CLAIRE
Morning arrives and I have not been eaten by a coyote.
That said, I feel like shit. My head is throbbing from lack of water, and my mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. My arms and legs are heavy like I’ve got a weighted blanket on me. Somehow, I slept through the entire night without tossing or turning. But it was not a night of great sleep. I feel hungover.
I look over at Noah beside me. His brown hair is sticking straight up and he’s rubbing his eyes. When he pulls his hands away, there are purple circles under his eyes.
“Sleep okay?” I say.
“I guess.” He groans and rubs his temples. “I hope we can find the hotel quickly.”
Warner is sitting across from us, also rubbing his eyes. He lets out a loud yawn. He’s a little worse for wear as well, but he still could easily be on the cover of some wilderness fashion magazine.
I reach into my purse and pull out my cell phone, hoping my reception miraculously returned overnight. Not only do I not have any service—not even one stupid bar—but my battery is at one percent.
I don’t get it. According to the guys, we are less than a mile away from the hotel. How could there be no cell service whatsoever?
I’m sure Penny called last night so the kids could talk to us. What is Emma thinking? She must be terrified. I hope Penny made up a good story. When I didn’t contact her last night, would Penny have called the police? Is there someone out there searching for us right now?
But no. Penny is not a worrier. Emma is the one who gets scared.
I feel this sudden, intense longing for my children. I want to gather them both in my arms and give them a giant hug. The feeling is so strong, I have to cover my mouth to keep from crying.
What if I never see them again?
“Michelle!”
My head jerks up at the sound of Jack’s voice in the distance. I suddenly realize he and Michelle aren’t around the dead campfire anymore.