Page 78

“I didn’t say you could come in.”

“Your face did. You look like a moth who fell in love with a porch light.” She thrust a granola bar into my hand. “You, my dear Sienna, need nature therapy.”

“I need…coffee and perhaps to go back to bed. Albert is quite the taskmaster, I’ll have you know,” I objected. The man had actually slept for most of the workday yesterday…but Hattie didn’t need to know that in these dire circumstances.

“Nature therapy,” she repeated firmly, continuing to ignore me. “Which is like regular therapy, but with more squirrels and fewer co-pays.”

She set things down on the small table between the two motel chairs: a cheap, folded trail map of the area and a plastic water bottle. The bottle had a sticker that said I TURNED OUT FINE in chaotic bubble letters.

I eyed it. “Why do I have a feeling there’s no water in that?”

She ignored me, smacking the map with two fingers. “You’re going to take this lovely, gentle, perfectly safe trail. You’re going to breathe fresh air, talk to some trees about your feelings, and stop vibrating like you just licked a power outlet.”

“I’m not vibrating,” I lied.

“You’re absolutely vibrating.” She tugged open my duffel bag and started tossing clothes out like a thrift store tornado. “Where are your leggings? I know you have some. Or maybe some sacrificial hiking pants?”

“I don’t hike,” I said. “I drive to cafes and sit in them and pretend to read while strangers’ conversations inspire me to judge them and feel better about myself.”

“There we go.” She produced an acceptable pair of leggings with a triumphant noise. “Put these on. Get your sneakers. No sandals, unless you want a snake to get intimate with your toes.”

I folded my arms. “I don’t need ‘nature therapy.’ I’m fine.”

She tilted her head and gave me such a flat look I felt personally audited. “You got on a Ferris wheel with a hot man this week and told him about your trauma instead of your favorite color.”

I winced. “I told you that in a moment of weakness. And I’ll have you know he asked very direct questions. Was I supposed to ignore him? Because that feels rude.”

“You went emotionally naked,” she said. “That’s advanced. You, my friend, need some trees to scream at.”

“I’m not screaming at trees.”

“Well, you can whisper mean things at them, I don’t care. But you’re going.” She shoved the leggings into my arms. “It’s an easy trail. Babies walk it. Toddlers toddle it.”

I stared at her.

She stared back, unflinching.

I sighed, because I had never in my life won an argument against a determined extrovert. “Fine. I’ll go look at the trees.”

She beamed. “That’s the spirit. I’ll drop you at the trailhead. I’ve got someone coming in to cover the desk at three, so if you’re not back by four, I’ll send a search party. Or the sheriff. Or Reverend Dempsey. We’ll figure it out.”

“Reassuring,” I muttered.

She patted my cheek. “You’ll thank me later. Or you’ll curse me, and that’s okay, too. Both are a sign of progress.”

By the time she left, I was dressed, fed half a granola bar against my will, and holding that cursed water bottle like it contained wisdom.

On the drive out of town, I tried not to think about Sterling. About his hand wrapped around mine on that rusted safety bar. About the way his thumb had brushed over my skin like he was memorizing the shape of my bones.

I also tried not to think about the file or about his mother…or about the quiet way he’d told me she’d died, like it was just another fact instead of something that had carved him out from the inside.

I failed.

Miserably.

The mountains rose ahead, dark and solid. The sky was a brilliant, endless blue, the kind that made you feel small and possible at the same time. I took in a deep breath, already feeling better.

Maybe Hattie was right.