“She did some things, here and there. Took the horses out. She used to love Belle Star.”
“Addy said no one’s allowed to ride her.”
“I wouldn’t believe just every word coming out of that woman’s mouth.”
“What’s going on between you and Addy?”
His spine straightens. “She don’t like me.”
“Why?”
“Don’t think I’m good enough.”
“Good enough for what?”
He cocks his head at the slipping sun. The mountains claim it early here. “Whenever they interviewed me, on Skype, way back in Texas, I remember she asked me if I would mind bein’ treated like a ‘dirty farmhand.’ I thought she meant by the guests.”
“What did you say?”
“This was my dream job, Sera. My dream. But these people? They don’t want employees; they want to own you.”
“Like they’re buying their children back.”
He flinches in surprise. “ ’Sactly. It’s essactly like that.”
Jed winds his bike around the blockade at the edge of the highway, then comes to a stop. He passes me the pink helmet.
I put it on and climb up behind him. It’s strange to be this close to someone else. I can feel the life puffing in and out of his stomach, which feels softer than I expected, more real. He stomps the kick-starter and the bike comes alive, shaking with teeth-chattering power.
He says something I don’t catch and then we’re off. I clasp my arms tight around him. A semitruck races around the corner just as we reach the road. They always appear right when you’re about to cross, just like he said. Jed jerks to a stop, waits for the truck to roar past, rattling us in its wake. Then he accelerates and steams in behind.
The bends in the road are worse on a motorcycle. The bike lists sideways and I hold on tighter but he doesn’t laugh, like your mother did. And I’m overcome with a warmth that stings around my crown, melts into my shoulder, like it’s special when people aren’t cruel.
The valley opens up as we cross over the river on a long suspension bridge. Light flashes on the water, and for a second, I am someone else and the weight of you and everything softly rises. The bike travels faster, and I can feel Jed’s stomach muscles tighten as he crouches forward and I think: I am in a beautiful place, with a beautiful person. And then I keep moving, and the world is flashing past: mountains and trees and breathtaking vistas, all a blaze and a dart past my eye.
When we reach Happy Camp, I am unsteady, overwhelmed. Jed pulls easily into the parking lot outside the coffee shop, and I want to ask him, Why did you stop? I want to tell him to keep going, all the way through the winding canyon until we come out on the other side. But instead I wobble off the motorcycle. He reaches out to steady me.
“You okay?”
“Sometimes this place makes me sick.” I work my aching knuckles. The sun has dropped now, dipped below the mountain. The earth is painted black and blue.
He sighs and guides me away from the bike. “I know what you mean.”
We walk toward the store as the lights go out.
“No!” I race forward, shove the door, which swings helplessly open, and step into the dim shop.
“I’m in here alone all day and you come now?” A soft light emanates from the back office, throwing her into shadow.
“All right, Tas?” Jed says in a loose, familiar drawl, and I wonder how well they know each other.
She puts her hands on her hips, makes her eyes long. “Jedidiah. Been a while.”
He walks over to the counter and rests his elbows on it. “How you been?”
“All right. How are you keeping out there?”
“Well, you know what it’s like. . . .”
“That I do. . . .”
I take a step in closer and Jed remembers me.
“This is the latest recruit.” He raps his knuckles on the table. “Sera.” They both look back at me, wide-eyed.
“We’ve met, actually.” I try to remember some defining feature of our conversation, something that will clear the clouds from her eyes, but I can’t. “You dropped a teacup.”
She blinks blankly, like I could be anyone; then she looks back at Jed.
“She wanted to ask you some questions. About Rachel.”
I frown. I can speak for myself, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go right into it. It would be better to work my way there slowly, like the best investigators, like you always told me. You start by shooting the shit, getting your target comfortable. Then when they’re lulled into a false sense of security, you snap on the lie detector and cut to the bone.
But it’s too late for that now. The shop is dark and your mother is expecting me at the ranch and Tasia is looking at me like I have exactly two minutes. So I make them count. “Before she disappeared, Rachel wrote a list of people to contact if something happened to her. Your name is on that list.”
“She didn’t.” Tasia freezes; her hair frames her face in long, lazy dreads. “Why the hell would she go and do a thing like that?”
I glance at Jed. “We’re trying to figure out where she is.” Tasia is silent. “The cops don’t care. Her parents think she’s been murdered.” Her eyes flicker. “We were hoping you might be able to help us.”
She says nothing, and her expression stays constant, so it’s impossible to guess what she is feeling: angry, elated, caught?
“Were you friends?”
This breaks the spell. “No. I mean, I guess we were friends once, when we were kids, but . . . that was a long, long time ago.” She huffs, like she is really put out by all this.
“How long?”
“I don’t know, high school?”
“Why aren’t you friends anymore?”
“I guess we grew up. And Rachel didn’t.”
“What do you mean, ‘grew up’?”
“Clem got married. I got married.” I want to tell her that being married doesn’t make you a different class of person, while at the same time wanting to assure her that I was married too.
I settle for “I don’t think being married has anything to do with it.”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant, we moved on.”
“Moved on from what?”
“Look.” Her eyes go flat. “Rachel was crazy.” I hate this word. Even more when it’s said about a woman. (Which it always is.) Even more when it’s a woman saying it about another woman.