Page 17 of Lost With You
He said, “Who’s this?”
“I’m Casey Michaels. A reporter.” She took his hand and shook it. “Dylan told me all about your stories.”
“Aren’t you a pretty one?” He grinned. “You hitched yet?”
Yet?
“Don’t mind him,” Bill said over his grandfather’s head. “He’s always asking the home health aides to marry him.”
“Why the hell not?” Pops said. “I’m not dead yet.”
Pops had Bill’s smile, and she couldn’t help but smile back. The family resemblance in this big clan was strong.
She said, “I’m joining the expedition with your grandson. We’ll be looking for Owl’s Head Rock. And the petroglyphs. All those places you told him about.”
“Ay-uh. Owl’s Head Rock is a few hard days’ paddling, that’s for sure.” His gaze drifted to the shore, where the men had started loading the canoe with supplies. “My grandson said he’d go out and find that someday.”
“Look, Pops.” Bill turned the wheelchair toward the lake as the younger family members formed a line as they unloaded the Jeep and carried the gear to the shore. “Today’s the day. Dylan is setting off in a few minutes.”
“That’s a beauty, that canoe. Just like my father made.” He looked up at her, grinning. “Who’s this?”
Words lodged in her throat at the fresh curiosity in Pops’ eyes. Bill caught her gaze over Pops’ head and gave her a regretful shrug. Alzheimer’s, she thought. Her heart squeezed a little. Maybe this was why Dylan was willing to take a novice on the expedition, despite his reservations and the disadvantages that even Anne could see. His Pops had inspired the trip in the first place, and Dylan was slowly losing him.
“That’s Casey, Pops.” Dylan strode up to them, pausing to jerk a thumb toward the canoe. “What do you think of it?”
“She’s a beauty, yeah.”
“I used yellow birch bark, just like you taught me.”
Pops squinted. “White cedar for the gunwales and the ribs?”
“And spruce roots for sewing.”
“What did you use to pitch it?”
“What else? Spruce gum.” Dylan grinned, a boy suddenly. “The shed of the old cabin smelled like Christmas for weeks, just like you said it would.”
Pops glanced up at her. “You’re taking this girl with you?”
“Casey, yes.”
“Look for the marker. You can’t miss it.” Pops leaned forward to pat his grandson’s cheek. “Just like I told you.”
“I will.”
Dylan leaned down to kiss his grandfather’s forehead. She swallowed hard. Bill was getting flushed and choked up, too. Even Anne, arms crossed, looked sideways as if to hide the quiver of her chin.
This was the problem with family, Casey thought, her throat closing up. You always wanted to be with one another, but sometimes being together hurt.
“Casey?” Dylan pierced her with those blue, blue eyes. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, feeling the weight of the moment. She’d joined for her own selfish reasons, without knowing much about this expedition. She hadn’t realized until now that the trip came with the burden of family expectations. Which was ironic, since she’d shucked the weight of her own family expectations a long time ago. It was easier to live untethered than to bind herself to those who might break her heart.
She ducked her head and focused on the work that needed to be done, unloading the last of the gear and lashing everything down in the canoe. When the work was done, she took a paper cup from Anne as Dylan wrestled out of Bill’s hands the bottle of champagne his brother threatened to break against the canoe’s stern. With a pop, Dylan filled everyone’s cups and then raised the drained bottle high.
“To Pops’ stories,” he said to a chorus of well-meaning groans. “And to new adventures.”
Dylan shot back his champagne. She swilled a mouthful and let it tingle down her throat. Shoving the bottle and his cup at Bill, Dylan splattered into the water. The time had come to launch.
