Logan gave a dismissive hand-wave. “What’re they gonna do, send a mob after us?”
Alejo frowned. He turned the ignition and backed the van out of the driveway without offering an answer. The hazy morning sky opened up behind the house, blue-green and bright as freshwater. Logan thumped her head back against the seat.
“It’s gonna be tough, but it’s only a few months,” Alejo said. “Just … try to have fun.”
“I will try my very best.”
Logan stuck her earbuds in and turned the volume high enough to drown out the van’s stammering engine. Alejo was right—Snakebite would be just a few months. Just another spot on the map. Like LA, it would be just another base camp on the road.
But this time was different. In a few months, she’d be eighteen and she could go wherever she wanted. In a few months, she could pack up all her things and set out to find a place that was real. Somewhere that would last longer than just “a while.” A home. Snakebite was just another stop on the road, but for her, it would be the last one. Alejo pulled the van around the corner and the sharp angles of the LA house disappeared. Logan closed her eyes.
It was a few months, and then she’d find a place she could call home.
2
A Viking Send-Off
“I appreciate you putting this together, Ashley. It’s beautiful.” Mrs. Granger gripped her husband’s wrist and dabbed at her smudged eyeliner with a wadded Kleenex. “Tristan would have loved it.”
The sun was high over Snakebite Memorial, cutting jagged shadows across the yellow grass. The weird thing about the cemetery, Ashley thought, was that it actually had the best view in town. The hills around Snakebite were rugged and misshapen, shadowed by passing clouds and golden with clusters of dry dirt and rabbitbrush. At the base of the hill, blue-green Lake Owyhee met the gravelly shore and twisted on for as far as she could see. It didn’t seem fair that the only people with a view like this were the ones who couldn’t take it in.
But maybe you had to die to see the valley like this.
Tristan Granger wouldn’t see it. He had no body to bury.
“I hope it helps,” Ashley said. She pulled her black cardigan tight around her chest to block out the wind. “I just thought if Tristan knew we were still looking for him, maybe he’d come home.”
Mrs. Granger nodded. “I hope you’re right.”
A stand at the front of the vigil held a photo of Tristan for everyone to see. It was Ashley’s favorite picture of him—unkempt sandy blond hair, a ratty black hoodie, and the same basketball shorts he’d worn every day since freshman year. His chin rested on his hands, his smile easy and warm. The picture would be cheesy if it was anyone else, but nothing looked cheesy on Tristan. Ever.
Today marked six months since Tristan’s disappearance. Five months since the application deadline for the University of Oregon closed. Three months since Owyhee County police stopped looking for a person and started looking for a body. A month and a half since Tristan missed his high school graduation. One month since Sheriff Paris had called the disappearance of Tristan Granger a cold case.
Today was their four-year anniversary.
Ashley tried not to think about that.
“You two were so good. I know he loved you,” Mrs. Granger said. “You’ve got your mom’s spirit, though. I wish I was that strong.”
Ashley said nothing and looked across the vigil. Tammy Barton stood at the refreshments table with a plastic cup of lemon water in hand, gently managing several conversations at once. It wasn’t the first time today someone had compared Ashley to her mother, but each time she was reminded of how untrue the comparison was. Tammy’s expression was a careful balance of warmth and grief, her stance inviting and solemn all at once. Ashley wished she had even half her mother’s poise.