Page 62 of The Forbidden Summer
Père.
“Mom, turn that off!” I shout,scrambling for my phone, hands trembling so badly I almost drop it.
The call goes straight to voicemail.
I try again. And again. But no answer.
Panic coils hot and wild in my chest.
The image of the woods around the lake, the towering pines, the sun-dappled trails, the dock where we kissed, all of it swallowed in smoke and flame, fills my mind until I can't breathe.
I text him.
Are you okay? Please answer. Please.
Nothing.
I grab my keys without thinking, already halfway to the door, my pulse pounding louder than the TV still blaring in the background.
I don’t know what I’m going to do—drive up there, find him, drag him out if I have to—but I know I can’t just sit here.
I can’t lose him.
Not now.
Not ever.
Greg runs after me, the front door slamming behind him. “Van, wait!”
“I can’t. I have to…”
“I know, but wait. Come back inside, just for a minute.”
I only follow him because I can’t think straight. My mind is whirling with panic and a thousand scary thoughts.
Greg helps me pack a duffle bag with clean clothes, a cooler with drinks and snacks for the road, and I kiss my mother goodbye.
“Be careful, Van. Let us know when you get there,” she pleads.
The highway stretches out ahead, endless and dark, but I barely register anything except the roar in my ears. I don’t even remember getting on the road. I just drive, white-knuckling the steering wheel, my foot heavy on the gas.
I’ve been driving for hours, but I can’t even feel the time passing. Even this far out, I hit patches of smoke, a strange, acrid smell that makes my eyes sting and my throat close up. My mind reels with what-ifs and ugly scenarios I can't shove away no matter how hard I grip the wheel.
Every mile I cover, I see flashes of him in my head.
Père laughing, sunlight catching the streaks of silver in his hair. Père chopping wood in the late fall, the air crisp and his breath clouding. Père sleeping beside me, one hand sprawled over my chest like he never wanted to let go.
What if I never see that again?
What if he’s gone before I can even tell him that I’m coming back for good?
Tears blur the road signs. I blink hard, wiping my sleeve across my face. I can’t fall apart. Not now.
When I hit the familiar turnoff that leads toward Pathfinder’s Lake, the backroads narrow into shadowy tunnels between the trees. The horizon glows with an amber haze. My stomach turns over. The air is thicker here, smoky and hot, even though the fires are still miles off, according to the radio.
But I know how fast things can change.
The truck bumps over the rutted road, and then?—
