Page 70 of The Accidental Text

“Totally. I wish she could have experienced it.” I turn around in my spot, taking in a three-sixty of our surroundings. “Would your mom have liked something like this?”

Chase’s smile drops and he lifts a shoulder. “She never wanted to do stuff like this.”

“Did she ever try it?”

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Hey, look over there.” He points over to the hills across from us. “I see deer,” he says. He walks over to the edge to get a better look.

A prickle of something moves its way into my gut. That’s the third time he’s changed the subject when I bring up his mom. I can understand having periods of not wanting to talk about it—heaven knows I’ve had my own moments of needing a break from it all. But, thinking back, I don’t know if Chase has spokenabout his mom at all. Not since I saw her picture on Instagram. I only know her name because I stalked him and found her obituary. Heidi Beckett. That was her. She has lighter hair than Chase, but those same dark-brown eyes.

Gary tells us to get back on our vehicles, and off we go. Chase back to his whooping. His excitement is contagious and I feel myself letting go of worry. It won’t do me any good up here anyway.

Later, as we drive back to Scottsdale after getting burgers off the Happy Valley Road exit, Chase’s enthusiasm is still contagious. He’s almost giddy—the adrenaline is flowing through him. I know that feeling. I remember it. I even feel a little of it myself. Maybe this idea of Chase’s will help me somehow. I just don’t know exactly how that will be.

“Thanks for going with me,” he says, a toothpick hanging out the side of his mouth. I don’t know if I’ve ever known anyone who actually uses toothpicks. With his aviator sunglasses on, he looks like a throwback to another time.

“You’re welcome. Glad I went; it was nice to think about other things for a bit.”

“For sure,” he says.

I clear my throat after a few beats of silence. “It’s time,” I say. I reach up and turn down the top forty music station we’ve been listening to.

“Time?” he asks, a quick glance over at me before his eyes go back to the road.

“Yes, you promised me a list.”

“Oh, that.”

“You know too much about me. It’s time for you to talk.”

“What do you want to know?”

I contemplate asking him something about his mom to testmy theory and see if he’d change the subject, but then realize that I don’t want to be a buzzkill. It’s none of my business, really. I guess I just find it odd. I want to talk about my mom pretty much all the time. Sure, there were times when I needed a break from talking about her or thinking about her being gone, but for the most part, talking about my mom has been part of my grieving process.

“Do you have any friends?”

He snort laughs. “Yeah, I have friends.”

I fold my arms and stare at him.

“What?” he says, quickly looking over and seeing my glare.

“Tell me about them.”

He moves the toothpick over to the other side of his mouth with his tongue. It’s captivating to watch the toothpick nestled between his lips. Chase has lovely lips. Full bottom, thinner top.

“So, my closest friend is Xavier. But he goes by Z. I’ve known him since we were kids. We met in the sixth grade.”

“I got you beat. I’ve known Hannah since we were six.”

“That’s cool,” he says, doing a little head bob thing.

“It is. And now I have to keep her around forever. She knows too much.”

“Like me? Do you plan on keeping me around?” That half-smile is back as he darts another look in my direction.

I smirk. “The jury is still out. Right now I’m just trying to make things more fair. So spill.”

“What else is there to tell?”

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