Page 47 of Off the Beaten Path

I slip the bracelet onto her wrist, moving it around with my fingers so I can trace the letters once more.

June throws her arms around my neck, holding me tight. “Thanks, Daddy.”

I squeeze her back, inhaling the watermelon scent of her shampoo. “You’re welcome, June Bug. Now, let’s get you inside.”

After dropping June off with the other tiny thespians, I make my way across town to pick up Mom and Finley. After seeing the state of the parking lot, I’m glad we planned to do it this way. Trying to find three parking spots there would have been a nightmare. When I pass the turnoff to head toward Misty Grove, I can’t help but think of Wren. I hope that all is going well at the Galentine’s Auction. I’ve barely seen her all week, spending most of the afternoons at the cabin working alone since she had a million last-minute tasks to accomplish. I haven’t wanted to admit it to myself, but there’s an ache in my chest. I can’t deny that Imissher. Despite how crazy she drives me, I miss the sound of her voice, the cadence of her laugh when she’s gotten under my skin, the way her nose crinkles when she’s happy and her eyes squint into slits.

I miss Wren, and I have no idea what to make of that.

When I told her my life was a mess and I didn’t have the capacity for more, I wasn’t lying. There’s a pile of laundry in my living room that’s been sitting there for two weeks, and if Mom hadn’t dropped off dinners after June’s late rehearsals this week, we wouldn’t have had vegetables in days. I’ve fallen asleep reading the same page from the book on my nightstand every night. My life is hectic and messy, and there’s no room for anything else, but I can’t deny that I want it.

That I wanther.

I shake the thought away as I pull into Mom’s driveway. I don’t need her to see me moon-eyed over Wren or she will never let me live it down, and I’ll never know another moment of peace.

Finley and Mom make their way out of the house, bundled in dress coats and thick tights. Despite being the middle of February, the weather has only warmed marginally, and tonight is cold and icy with a freeze warning in effect.

They climb into the truck, and I notice Mom is on the phone, nodding at whatever the other person is saying. “Good to hear, hon. Hope you all have the best time tonight. I’m sorry I can’t be there to help out.” She nods again. “Okay, bye, Wren. Good luck tonight.”

Mom hangs up and turns to give me a wide smile. “That was Wren.”

I roll my eyes and back out of the driveway. “You don’t say.”

Truth be told, I want to ask how she sounded, if she said she was nervous about tonight, but I don’t dare ask mymother.

“She said everything is going as planned.”

I can feel Mom watching me, waiting for a reaction, so I work my best not to give into one. My fingers flex on the steering wheel, though, and tension I didn’t realize I was carrying leaches out of me.

“Good,” I say, keeping my focus on the road.

Finley pipes up from the back seat. “So what’s going on between you two?” Her face is illuminated by her phone screen, and she doesn’t bother looking up. I’m glad, because I don’t know if I could handle her scrutiny as well as Mom’s.

“Nothing,” I say, but the answer feels wrong somehow. “We’re just friends.”

If you would have told me six months ago, or even six weeks, that I would be friends with Wren Daniels, I wouldn’t have believed it. But she isn’t who I thought she was. She’s unexpected in all the best and most surprising of ways. She certainly takes up more real estate in my mind than I care to admit.

“I don’t know,” Finley says as I turn onto the highway, hoping to avoid some of the traffic in town heading to the school and auction. “There was a vibe between you two.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“It means that this wholefriendsthing smells like bull—”

“Finley,” Mom cuts her off. Then she turns to me. “But I agree.”

I slow to a stop behind a line of cars on the four-lane highway, the red glow of taillights disappearing around the bend in the road. “There’s nothing going on between us,” I say, but I can’t help but remember the way she felt against me in the hallway at Matty’s, how she looked in my living room, disinfecting my couch after June got sick, how tender she was dealing with June’s sadness, how I lie awake at night replaying all these moments over and over again until sleep drags me under. Wren certainly doesn’t feel like a friend.

“But—” Finley says.

“Can we just drop it?”

Mom and Finley let out identical annoyed huffs of air, but they don’t press it, so I turn on the radio, which is still playing holiday tunes two months later. I’d change it if it wasn’t the best of the three stations we get out here in the middle of the mountains. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to the radio preacher when the music station decided to play reggae.

“What is going on?” I ask, leaning forward to try to catch a glimpse around the curve in the road, but it’s useless, shrouded by mountains and trees. Anxiety starts to curl in my gut as I glance at the glowing clock numbers. The show starts in less than an hour, and we still have to park and find seats.

The car in front of me switches into park, and it only heightens my anxiety as I watch the numbers on the clock move higher and higher, the minutes until the show ticking away. Finley and Mom are chatting nervously, but I barely hear them. All I can think about is June looking out into the crowd and not seeing me.

Up ahead, a police officer is making his way down the line of cars, stopping to talk for a moment with each one. The closer he gets, the more the feeling of dread spreads through me until I’m cold all over.

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