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“And do you look at him and think…that kid could be held responsible for any kind of choice like that?”

She’s very quiet. Finally, she shakes her head.

“I get it, but…it’s harder when it’s me. I just feel like I should have known better.”

Instead of answering, I let her sit and feel for a while. I’m starting to learn that, sometimes, sitting with things is a big part of figuring them out. After a while, she sits up and wipes her face.

“Sorry, that’s a lot to dump on you at once,” she says.

“Nah, not really,” I say. “But I’m sure it was a lot for you.”

She nods, and the conversation dies out.

“You done talking about it?” I ask after a bit.

She sighs. “Yeah, I think so.”

Her voice isn’t upset. It’s soft…maybe a bit peaceful.

“That’s fine,” I say.

She smiles and snuggles closer. “Thanks for not pushing me. And for listening.”

I want to tell her I’ll always listen whenever she feels like talking. Instead, I hold her while she closes her eyes.

Tonight feels important.

At least to me, who’s dying to know more of her, it does.

After a while, her breathing deepens. I’m perfectly still as the tenseness in her body begins to loosen. All these things swirling in my head are complicated. I don’t expect either of us to fix them in some big, climactic arc by the end of the trip, but it’s good she felt safe enough to tell me. It makes a lot of other things clearer. I wonder if Jamie knew this, or if Scott never told him. Bill and Scott were pretty close, way back in the day.

I think about all these threads leading from now to ancient history. How one choice followed her twenty-five years. How it ended up right here in this tent with me. I wonder if Bill ever wishes he could go back and never go to that bar. Has he ever followed all the threads back with regret and sat with the seriousness of what he did?

Looking to the side at his daughter, I think he might have.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

SABRINA

We’re back on the road, but this time, everything feels different.

I’ve never told anyone about my parents’ split. When it happened, everyone who mattered already knew. Then, as I got older, it felt a little too trite to bring up parental divorce as a source of trauma. It also didn’t feel like the actual root of the pain. If the issue was them splitting up, that wouldn’t be as hard as what I struggled with as a teenage girl.

I love my dad, I really do.

But the phase when I figured out he was just some man…it hit way harder than most.

It’s early morning as we fly down the highway. I’ve been checking my phone to watch the truck move on the map, realizing he’s taking the longest route he can possibly take to get to Nashville. Right now, we’re heading directly west, which will put us in Utah soon. That makes me smile when it sinks in. I wonder if it’s because he knows I’ve never had a chance to go outside Wyoming, or if he wants to spend more time with me. I’ll take either reason.

The road is long and straight, with dusty landscape on either side. We come upon a coffee stand outside a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it town. Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to stop at the restaurant we ordered from last night, so we’re both starving. He pulls off alongside a van painted in neon colors and an enormous camper.

“God, it’s hot here,” I say, wiping my hair off my neck.

“Why don’t you put on that little yellow thing again?” He swings out of the truck, dropping in a puff of dust.

I clamber out. “Are you talking about my bikini?”

“Yeah, I sure am.” He pushes his sunglasses up and takes out his wallet as we go up to the window.