Page 18 of Bourbon Girl, part 1 of 6
The rhythmic crunch of gravel announced someone approaching. Teddy Reeves walked past carrying a metal rake over his shoulder like a rifle, his sandy hair damp with perspiration. He'd changed from his usual camouflage into khaki shorts and a faded t-shirt.
"Afternoon, ladies," he called out, slowing his pace. "That looks like serious business."
"Hi, Teddy," I replied.
"Are you going to hunt for ginseng?" Poppy asked with her characteristic bluntness.
"Too early in the season for that. Won't be ready until fall." He shifted the rake to his other shoulder. "Today I'm scouting for arrowheads. Creek beds are perfect after yesterday's rain—washes away the sediment."
"Find anything good lately?" I asked, more to fill the silence than from genuine interest.
"Few pottery shards, nothing special. Maybe I'll get lucky today." He waved and continued toward the wooded trail.
"He's kind of weird," Poppy observed with her usual candor.
"A little." I turned back to the map, pushing yellow pins into locations I'd researched but never visited—New Riff, Rabbit Hole, Copper & Kings.
"So you're going to visit all of these places?"
"That's the plan. Learn everything I can about their operations, who works there, how long they've been in business."
Poppy studied the growing constellation of colored pins. "Are you going to be a tour guide forever?"
The question caught me off guard. "Probably not."
"What do you want to do?"
I paused with a purple pin halfway to the map. What did I want to do? The question felt foreign, like someone asking me to translate a language I'd never learned. "I don't know."
"You don't know?" Her voice pitched higher with disbelief. "But you're a grown-up. Grown-ups always know what they want to do."
I laughed, though it came out hollow. "Not this grown-up. I spent so long taking care of my mom that I never really thought about what came after."
Even before the cancer diagnosis, my mother had needed me—to navigate rental agreements, to handle phone calls with utility companies, to be the steady presence when her own anxiety overwhelmed her.
Now, at twenty-seven, the truth was starker than I wanted to admit, even to myself. Finding my father wasn't just a quest for answers—it was the only plan I had. Beyond locating him, beyond whatever reunion or confrontation awaited, my life stretched ahead like an unmarked map. No pins, no destinations, no clear path forward.
July 16, Wednesday
mash tuna vessel where the mash is turned to gelatin and sweetened
THE BUSsat idling at the campground entrance like a patient animal. I hurried down the gravel path, my tour guide shirt already sticking to my back in the humid air.
"Morning," Jett said as I climbed aboard. His jaw looked tighter than normal, and he avoided eye contact as I fumbled for my balance.
"Sorry I'm—" I stopped mid-sentence.
Naomi sat in the front seat, perfectly composed despite the early hour. Since it seemed unlikely Jett had picked her up at the tour office, it appeared they'd had breakfast.
At Jett's place.
Which their body language confirmed.
"You live here at the campground?" Naomi asked with a shocked expression. "Do you sleep in a tent?"
I lifted my chin. "In my van, actually." The words came out more defensively than I'd intended.
Jett's eyes met mine, reflecting surprise. "I thought you were staying here with family."
