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Then again, Lily’s mom loved her, too; George’s dad adored him when he wasn’t drunk and angry.

“Jess!” He barreled past the tree where I sat, striding forward. The plane sounded louder than ever, and he looked up toward the sound. I could see the side of his face.

He wasn’t angry. He was afraid. Jaw tense, eyes wide. Afraid for me.

I shifted. He turned. His face crumpled into relief for only an instant before it settled back into a frown.

The plane flew overhead and farther. Passing over, nothing more.

“My name’s not Sequoia,” I said quietly.

He gave a short, convulsive nod. “Don’t do that again,” he said.

“I won’t.” I started to rise. A spasm of pain went through my knee; I steadied myself on the tree. He held out his hand. I ignored it, pushing myself up with the tree and the walking stick.

Wordlessly, we walked back together. Slowly this time.

At the cabin I hovered a moment, unsure where to go. Dad paced out to the shed, didn’t seem to expect me to follow, so I went inside. My leg was feeling better. No real damage, I thought. Hoped.

The fire was already set up for the day; there were even matches next to the fireplace, so I didn’t have to fuss with the flint. I got it going with only one wasted match, and when my dad came inside finally, I’d boiled water and set out two mugs of instant coffee. He set his pack by the door and sat across from me without a word. Didn’t say anything until he’d taken a long sip.

“I can’t remember the last time I was that scared,” he said.

I bit my lip. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I was fine. I just... I didn’t want to sit there, and...”

“I know,” he said. “Plus, you were pissed at me, and sitting still is the worst thing when you’re pissed off. I know, believe me.” He gave me a crooked grin and spun his mug idly in his hands. “I know you shouldn’t be out here. You should be in school. Talking to boys. Going dancing. I mean, if you can...”

“I couldn’t dance before the accident, so I doubt I can now,” I said.

He laughed. “Take after me that way, then.” He paused. “I’m sorry I told you that—I’m sorry I acted like your leg and all, that it didn’t matter. I want you to be healthy.”

“I am,” I said. “I’ve just got a bad leg, that’s all. I’m not sick. And I will get better. Maybe not all the way, but most of the way—and even if I don’t, that’s still got to be okay. My body’s a bit broken, but it doesn’t mean I’m a broken person.”

“No, of course not,” he said, shaking his head. “I never meant that.”

“I know. But it felt like it, some. I think the same thing, a lot. I don’t always use the right words or think about things right—there’s a lot about having a disability that’s new to me, too.”

He flinched at the word. I didn’t blame him—it had taken me a long time to come around to admitting it might apply to me, and I was the one with the scars to remind me. I wished now that I’d paid more attention to the websites and books Will had shown me, so I could explain things properly, but doing that had meant admitting the possibility that I wasn’t going to get better.

“Maybe you’re not going to be as strong as if you weren’t hurt,” he said. “If you can’t be strong, you have to be smart. And smart is better than strong, out here.”

“Smart?” I echoed.

“Careful. Thoughtful. Educated,” he said. “Not letters and numbers educated, out-in-the-wild educated. I can teach you to be smart out here, and then it won’t matter that you aren’t so strong.”

I bit my lip. “We could still go back, couldn’t we?” I said. “Don’t you have a radio or a satellite phone or something? Can’t you call someone?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Too easy to track.”

Too easy to track? “What kind of trouble did you get into when I was little?” I asked quietly.

He looked away. His weight settled back in his chair, and it creaked. For a moment I thought he wouldn’t answer me. “I had these friends,” he said. “Started out as a bunch of guys who liked the same things, that was all. Hunting, fishing, backpacking. We talked about living off the land. About living free, but most of it was just talk. Figured someday I’d have some land of my own somewhere with just a few neighbors and none that I could see from my front porch, but that was about it. That was it for all of us. And then things changed.”

“Changed how?” I asked. I clutched my mug in both hands, hunched forward over the table.

“You know how it is sometimes, when you’ve got a group of friends and then one new person joins and suddenly the whole group seems different? It was like that. I mean, all of this—we were never political. I don’t get along with rules too much and government’s all about rules. I have a thirst for freedom and the firm belief there ought to be room for a man to find it in this world, that’s all. But this new guy—Albert, was his name—he was intense, and he wasn’t just talking about getting away from the government, he was talking about destroying it. I figured he was just kooky.” He rubbed his face with his hand. “Probably shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“I want to know,” I insisted. “I deserve to know.”