Page 6 of His One True Wish

“You know, I always loved our location,” Mom said as I walked back around the truck. “When Billie was in eighth grade, her grandmother and I thought about moving out of town, since that would have been the time before high school — ”

“Mom, I’m ready to go,” I said, loud enough to interrupt. If I was going to make it to the cabin in time to unload before nightfall, I needed to leave now. Spending one more moment listening to Abby was just unbearable.

I’d talk with Mom about Abby when I was back tomorrow with a box of cinnamon rolls from the Buzz On In Bakery Cafe. Baked goods made every conversation easier. “I’ll call or text when I get to the cabin.”

“Well, fantastic,” Abby said, smiling, hands still on her perfectly toned hips. “Billie, if you need anything, call me.” She pulled a phone out of her yoga pants pocket. “What’s your cell? I’ll text you.”

“I’m good,” I said, putting up my hand. “I can call Mom if anything comes up.”

“You sure?” Abby shrugged, finger poised on the keypad and ready to dial.

“So very sure,” I said, walking past Abby to give Mom a hug.

“Don’t speed,” Mom said, gripping my arms with her tiny hands. “And Abby’s right about the black ice.”

“Mom, I’ve done this drive so many times.”

“But not with traffic in Golden.”

Fucking Golden.

I leaned down and kissed Mom on the cheek. As I walked past Abby, she stepped forward, arms outstretched. Holy shit. She was a hugger? I was not expecting a hug, which meant we collided, her arms half-patting me as I walked past.

“Bye,” Abby sang, smiling through our awkward air hug. Shestood beside Mom, smoothing down her arms as if brushing off invisible dirt.

“Bye,” I said, short and sweet. I felt for the keys in my pocket, slid inside the truck, and closed the door. I started up the engine. That’s when I noticed there were a lot more keys than I expected on the keychain. They were all different sizes. The cabin key was exactly as I remembered, dotted with red fingernail polish in the shape of a heart.

I rolled down the window. “Mom,” I said, interrupting her conversation with Abby, “what are all these other keys on Gran’s keychain?”

“I don’t know, honey,” Mom said. “You know Gran sometimes fed the neighbor’s cat, and she had keys to the church. I meant to go try them all and return them, but nobody’s called looking for them.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Bye, Mom.” I started to roll up the window and then stopped. “Bye, Abby,” I added.

Abby’s face lit up with a big smile. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll keep packing things up with your mom. By the time you come back, we’ll have this place emptied out and ready for the stagers.”

Staging a house to be torn down, I thought, swallowing my words.

“Abby, do you like tacos?” I heard my mother say as she and Abby turned into the house. I rolled up the window and backed out of the drive.

I hit traffic in Golden.With only one way out of town, I hadn’t bothered to check my traffic app. I resolved right then to never speak of the four lanes that reduced to two lanes, bringing traffic to a snail’s pace. I drove past row after row of new condo developments, all highlighting Golden’s desirable proximity to the ski slopes.

So, Abby was right. That didn’t mean a thing. I played with the pre-set radio buttons, looking for a station to take me into the mountains. There was no John Denver to be found, and I considered playing music off my phone when I realized I had no charger.

“Come on,” I whispered, fiddling with the cigarette lighter.

The truck was cigarette-lighter years old. I could have sworn that Mom kept an adapter in the car to keep her phone charged, but then I remembered she drove the Volvo now.

I exhaled slowly, realizing that not only was I doomed to surf through AM radio, but my phone was at twelve percent. My dying battery would not survive long, even in low-power mode. I thought for a moment about stopping at a store, but I didn’t want to slow down. I knew it was reckless, but I didn’t turn around.

The onramp to the freeway in Golden was a tunnel. As soon as I saw it, I prepared to hold my breath and make a wish on the other side. I did it out of habit and opportunity. It couldn’t hurt.

“I hope my phone doesn’t die and the Smoke River cabin is as cozy and wonderful as I remember.” It felt good to wish, even though I knew my request to save my battery was an energetically tall order.

The road climbed up into the mountains. Beyond Golden, the traffic vanished. As the mileposts flew by, my body relaxed, and muscle memory for the drive kicked in. I didn’t need to read the signs. I didn’t need a traffic app to guide me. I knew this road in the dark.

It had been over a year since I’d gone to the cabin, a fact that made me feel sad and a little stupid. How had I ever let my life get so busy that I’d forgotten how much I need to breath the mountain air? I craved the fresh smell of pine and the bite of bracing winter air dancing across my face. I wanted to hear the crunch of gravel as I drove up the drive and hear the squeak of the boards on the covered porch.

As each mile passed, my heart beat a little stronger with anticipation. Nerves and excitement raced through my body. Trees flew past the window in a comforting blur of darkening greens. I cracked the window, taking in a long, slow breath of the crisp, mountain air. I belonged here. I was going home.

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