Page 31

MARLOW

Hunter trots by my office like he’s on a mission. His jacket is clutched in one hand and his gun belt is strapped across his hips. I’ve always known that Hunter’s background is in law enforcement, but I’ve never seen wear a gun in the office before.

He stops abruptly outside my doorway, sighs heavily, and turns to face me. Pressing his palms to the side of my door frame, he leans in and speaks quietly.

“I’m headed up to Eagle Ridge. There was a problem with that abandoned vehicle that Ryan went to check out.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

Hunter doesn’t answer right away. My stomach flutters nervously and my throat goes dry. He takes a couple steps forward until his palms are on the back of one of my guest chairs.

Even more quietly, he says, “Yeah, Ryan’s fine, but there was a body in the vehicle. Probably a suicide.”

I can’t think of a single word to say to this. There are a million questions floating around inside of me, but the only sound that comes out is a dry rasp.

“It’ll be fine. This sort of thing happens from time to time. Ryan’s seen it before…not that it ever gets any easier,” Hunter reassures me. “Anyway, he’s out there alone so I’ve got to get out there and help him coordinate with the sheriff and the coroner.”

I nod solemnly, unsure of what else to say. But as Hunter turns to leave, I remember Ryan’s phone call just before they left.

“Emmett’s with him,” I blurt out.

Hunter winces ever-so-slightly as he glances back at me. He won’t say it, but I know it’s a second of heartbreak for Emmett, who’s probably never seen anything like this before.

“Alright, I’ll have Jack tag along and drive him back.” Then he nods and disappears. A minute later, both men are rushing past my office door.

I wish I could talk to Ryan, even just for a few seconds to make sure he’s okay.

I feel useless here at the station, but I’d feel even more useless if I were with him right now.

There’s no way I would be able to keep it together in a situation like that.

It’s safe to say that I can cross Forest Service law enforcement off my future career list.

_____

The entire station is buzzing by midafternoon. It’s a weird energy. There’s a strange buzz of excitement because Something happened! undercut with the somber knowledge that that something is awful and not to be celebrated.

People are talking in hushed tones about the last time this sort of thing happened. Some say it was a murder at one of the hiking shelters, others say a car accident that claimed a newlywed couple, and others say it was another suicide.

When Jack and Emmett get back to the station, everyone pretends not to notice.

It’s a mad dash to go back to whatever they were doing before they heard the news – which has been so long ago that none of them can possibly remember.

Suddenly, everyone is tapping papers into neat stacks, pushing buttons on the copy machine, or typing random words into their computer.

No one wants to smother Emmett, so instead they’re basically ignoring him.

I know how this feels. There were two types of foster families that I encountered when I was younger: ones that smothered the hell out of any kid who walked through their door and ones that thought it was better to give the kid some space to acclimate.

Truthfully, both types suck because the whole situation just sucks, but the second type sucks a little more.

It’s awkward for a kid to walk into a new place and then be left to our own devices.

We have no idea what the family is like, what the house is like, or what we’re supposed to do.

It feels less like being given a courteous amount of space and more like being ignored or even unwelcomed.

After Emmett has had some time to settle in, I send him a quick email.

“Do you want to stop by my office for a minute? If you’re busy, no worries.”

I want to give him an out in case he doesn’t feel like talking.

A couple of minutes later, there’s a soft knock on my already open office door. Emmett attempts to force a hint of a smile, but it doesn’t fit. The rest of his expression is tired and sad.

“Take a seat,” I say, motioning to the chairs across from me. “You can close the door if you want.”

He closes the door softly behind him and drops into one of the chairs like he’s just run a marathon and can’t stand to be upright for another second.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

“How about Ryan?”

“He’s better than I am, but I think it got to him more than he wants to let on.”

I laugh a little at this, just to lighten the mood. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

Emmett lets out a short, lazy laugh as well.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I say.

“It’s alright. I guess it’s just part of the job. They said there’s a counselor on staff that I’ll need to talk to.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“Yeah, but I really just wish I could get out of here right now and grab a drink.”

I glance down at the small clock in the corner of my computer screen. It’s almost four-thirty. Hunter’s gone for the rest of the day, but I can’t imagine he’d have any objection to what I’m about to say.

“Let’s cut out early then.”

Emmett perks up a little. He raises his eyebrows and asks, “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s not like we’re getting any work done anyway. I’m sure they can spare us for half an hour.”

We formulate a plan to escape unnoticed, but when I meet Emmett at the rendezvous point – our regular table in the corner of the bar – Jack is sitting across from him. I guess he’s had a bad day, too.

If there are three rangers who don’t quite belong at our station, it’s the three of us seated at this booth.

Jack less so. He at least looks the part, with well-earned muscles and a beard that Grizzly Adams would envy.

Most of the men at our station aren’t the talkative type, but Jack takes it to a whole new level.

The truth is – none of us will probably ever know if Jack fits in with the rest of them because we’ll never know much of anything about Jack.

Emmett is a little too pretty to be a ranger.

Ryan’s pretty too, but he’s got an edge to him.

Emmett still has a baby face, the type that gets rosy when he’s out in the sun for too long.

He’s definitely muscular, but he also carries a little extra weight all over that makes it hard to tell.

Aside from all that (which obviously has nothing to do with him being a good ranger or not), I have a feeling that Emmett is a little more sensitive than the other guys.

He comes across as young and careless sometimes, but I also think he cares a lot .

About this job, about these people, and about everything.

And then there’s me: the girl who showed up to her first day in a dress. I’d like to think I’ve come a long way since then, but I also think I’d probably still wear a dress if it were my first day. Even so, I know I’ve been accepted into this little work family, and it feels nice to belong here.

Emmett has a tray of shots waiting. We cheers to nothing because the right thing to cheers to is the life of the man Emmett found today, but none of us want to say it out loud.

Even if we wanted to, it would only draw attention to the fact that we don’t know his name, which somehow feels more tragic than it really is.

The liquid burns its way down my throat, coiling through me and making me aware of twists and turns in my digestive tract that I hope to never feel again.

There is no type of alcohol that I find pleasant to drink on its own, but tequila has to be the worst. I’m also learning that it seems to be Emmett’s favorite.

I guess it was everyone’s favorite at his age.

“Shit day,” Jack says as he sets his shot glass back down with a thud.

Emmett and I mumble in agreement. Mine comes out as a cough, which is basically just the tequila burning its way through me in reverse. This earns a genuine smirk of amusement from both men.

“I think I need a chaser,” I say through another cough as I scoot out of the booth and head towards the bar.

I’m emitting a series of tiny, almost imperceptible coughs with each step. Needless to say, I will be ordering the girliest drink of all time to wash that shot down.

It’s still early, so the bar isn’t crowded.

There are a few regulars parked around the bar top, and the bartender is caught up in conversation with a short, curly-haired brunette.

I vaguely recognize her, but the same can be said for most of the regulars.

Aside from my group of coworkers, I haven’t really gotten to know anyone in town, but I at least recognize some of the locals.

There’s a sharp right corner between me and the woman the bartender is talking to. I’m far enough away to be decidedly un-pushy, but close enough to signal my distress with a polite wave. My throat still feels like there’s a lit match stuck in it.

For a second, I think I’ve caught the bartender’s attention.

His eyes slide in my general direction as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back.

But then his attention is right back on the brunette, and I realize that I’ve just walked into some sort of tense situation between the two of them.

I take a tiny step to my left and pretend that the wood grain of the bar is the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen, just to give them some privacy.

I should walk away, but I am desperately in need of something.

Even just a glass of water.

No ice.

I’ll pour it myself.

Please help.

“What’s your deal?” the bartender asks the woman harshly. “I thought we had a good time.”

“Yeah, of course. It’s just…”

The woman draws her lip between her teeth only to drag it free again. Poor girl. I can pretty much guarantee that she did not in fact have a good time with this guy. She’s just trying to be nice and let him down easy.

“Just what?” he spits.