Page 8 of Cut Off from Sky and Earth

Eight

Tristan

I glance at Emily’s relaxed face, so soft and trusting in sleep, before I turn off the windy, narrow, paved road that curves up the mountainside and onto the gravel lane that Alex’s instructions specify I must take no matter how much my GPS-guided map app might protest. As if on cue, the polished robotic voice with the inexplicable Australian accent scolds me for turning off the county road.

“Make a U-turn.”

I ignore the bossy Aussie and continue to bump along the unpaved road. We jostle over a deep rut and Emily jolts awake.

“How long have I been out?” Her voice is froggy with sleep.

We’re going around a hairpin turn, so I answer without turning my eyes away from the road ahead. “Not long. Just after we stopped for gas in that little town.”

I didn’t catch the name of the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it town.

All I know is it’s in Tennessee, a state that we passed through for a heartbeat before crossing back into North Carolina, and it did not have a charming used bookstore.

Emily checked with the cashier while I filled the gas tank and she used the facilities.

The road—which is a generous description for this ribbon of earth—appears to drop off the side of the mountain up ahead. Optical illusion, I assure myself. I realize I’m white-knuckling the steering wheel and try to relax my grip.

Em glances at the map display. “It says you need to turn around. We’re off the route.” Then she peers through the windshield. “Is this even a road?”

I chuckle. “Alex said the apps don’t work properly up here. See that printout on the console?”

“Yeah.”

“Now that you’re awake, you can be my navigator.”

She picks up the sheet and scans the directions. “This place really is remote, huh?” Her quavering voice is tinged with fear.

I wrack my brain in search of a subject that’s guaranteed to distract her before that seed of worry has a chance to blossom into anxiety and take root.

Her current work-in-progress is my usual go-to for this purpose, but she’s under deadline pressure, and I’m not sure bringing up the book is the best strategy right now. I settle on her brother.

“How’s Joey doing?”

She lifts her bowed head from the page, and I glance at her, making brief eye contact. She furrows her brow.

“Okay, I guess. I mean, he’s great. He and Rick are ready to start a family. They’re working with an adoption agency.”

“That’s awesome,” I enthuse. “Aunt Em and Uncle Tristan can spoil the heck out of a baby.”

“Mmm, yeah. I guess. They’re so far away, though. I always imagined our kids would grow up together. You know, in and out of each other’s houses, the way some cousins are more like siblings.” She falls silent.

I don’t know, actually. I don’t have any cousins.

I have one much older brother. Our nine-year age gap is one of the myriad reasons we’re not close.

I smother a snort. That’s the understatement of a lifetime.

We’re estranged. I haven’t spoken to him in over a decade.

As far as I know, neither has my mom. We never mention him.

Emily doesn’t even know he exists. But this topic is guaranteed to ratchet up my anxiety, so I don’t go there.

Instead, I ask in a hopeful tone, “Our kids? Does this mean you’re ready?”

It’s no secret I want kids. Emily insists she does, too.

Just not yet. But our fifth anniversary is coming up this summer, and I’ve wondered if the milestone might prompt her.

To be honest, I’ve always suspected she’s waiting for Cassie’s killer to be caught before she brings a child into the world.

Does a change of heart mean she’s given up on that?

It’s times like this when I wish we could talk about the murder. But we’re too far down this path now.

“I don’t know,” she muses. “Maybe.”

I flash her a grin. Before I can say anything corny, she points at the road.

“After that big tree trunk up ahead, you’re supposed to make a very sharp left.”

I slow the car from a crawl to an even more deliberate pace.

At this speed, we’re barely making forward progress up the incline.

But Alex’s directions don’t overstate the sharpness of the turn.

Even at a plodding ten miles per hour, I hold my breath as we curve close to the mountain’s edge. The GPS app gives up and falls silent.

“Jeez.” Em lets out a long, shaky breath.

I nod and remove my left hand from the steering wheel to wipe the sweat from my palm on the thigh of my jeans. Then I replace that hand and repeat the motion with my right.

“We should be almost there.”

She peers at the directions. “The good news is there are no more turns. We just follow this heart-stopping road straight uphill for another two miles.”

“Is there bad news?”

“Nope.” She beams at me. “I mean, not aside from the fact that your wife’s going to miss you like hell for the next week.”

“That cuts both ways, believe me. But finishing this book is important to you,” I remind her. What I think but don’t say is, And getting you out of town for a while is important to me.

Her smile widens. “And if I finish the book, we’ll definitely spend the night in Charlottesville to celebrate.”

I smile back at the lively note in her voice. This trip could be exactly what we both need.