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If there was one thing I knew for certain, it was that the food and the music were both better at Celebrate Recovery than

they were at AA. It wasn’t that AA hadn’t been working for me. It had. In DC I’d actually really liked it. I’ll be honest,

I had been a little disappointed that I wasn’t invited to be part of that super-exclusive Washington politico AA meeting that

was disguised as a poker game in the basement of the White House. Of course I was also disappointed that that was nothing

more than a plotline from The West Wing , so disappointment occasionally ran rampant. Still... I liked it. But if Adelaide Springs had any top-secret Alcoholics

Anonymous meetings, I apparently hadn’t made the list. And of course the thought was absurd, anyway. Adelaide Springs didn’t

know the meaning of the word anonymous .

But the weekly meeting in South Fork had been great. The drive was nice, and the people were nice, and everyone I knew there

was someone I had met in the last year rather than someone I had known my entire life. That was nice.

When Wes called—no, I’m sorry, texted —to tell me he couldn’t make it, I really didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

When he couldn’t even be bothered to drive Beulah over to me himself and instead arranged for Neil to pick me up and drive me to the inn so I could take the truck, I started leaning a little more in the direction of relieved.

He didn’t even walk outside and kiss me goodbye as he handed me the keys.

Nope. He just left the keys over the driver-side visor, and that was it.

Not so much as a friendly wave from the porch.

I don’t know what I’d been thinking inviting him anyway.

And still, it wasn’t about hiding my alcoholism. Was I nervous about telling him? Sure. Of course I was nervous. But I wasn’t putting it off. I’d been ready to tell him earlier, but he had assumed I was going to a grief

support group. And Celebrate Recovery does have grief groups, and I’d spent a fair amount of time working through my grief on Sunday evenings as well. And when he’d

wanted to come with me... well...

It only weirded me out to realize I was totally not weirded out by the idea of him coming with me. And that was when I knew.

Or at least that was when I began to think that maybe he and I were actually heading somewhere. Sure, I’d already been thinking about spending more time with him. I’d

already been realizing how much I liked all-grown-up Wes Hobbes. In fact, I’d say that I had been cautiously optimistic about

a future with him—until about the time I found out he was running for president after all. (And no, he didn’t come right out

and say that, but it was pretty obvious where his mind was.) Because that couldn’t work. I couldn’t be part of that four-

or eight-year plan. If I didn’t want to stand in the way of that happening for him, then I couldn’t afford to get too optimistic

about the possibility of things happening for us .

Then he’d wanted to come with me. But he’d also felt like he made a mistake asking to come with me. He was real and transparent

and vulnerable, and I felt it. Something about the fact that he was willing to put in the work. That he was already so naturally open with me. It just

felt different. It felt like something I shouldn’t think ahead too much on. Something I shouldn’t give the answer to before

the question had even been asked. I just needed to slow down my mind and take one step. And then another.

So I told him to come. And then I showered and got ready. And then I hurried downstairs and waited for him. And then I got a text that said, Can’t make it after all. Neil’s on his way to get you. Explain later. Sorry.

And then I had to admit to myself that maybe I hadn’t forgiven him as completely as I thought. Maybe the past wasn’t in the

past as much as I’d been pretending it was. Because the very first thought I had after that text was, Well , that’s progress, I guess. At least he texted this time.

“Good night,” I said to various people on my way to the door after things wrapped up at nine. “Have a good week.”

You absolutely could have knocked me over with all the breath it took to blow out a candle when I saw him stepping out of

Jo’s big red pickup truck in the parking lot of that little church in South Fork and walking toward me. Wearing jeans and

a T-shirt under his unzipped coat. A ball cap. He still looked next-level handsome, like he would need absolutely nothing—not

even a little powder on his nose—before he was ready to go live on national television or something. But he also looked, for

the first time since he’d been back, like he belonged in our mountains again.

“Hey... What are you doing here?”

Clusters of people were congregated in the parking lot, but I noticed Wes didn’t look around to see if any of them were looking

at him. I’ll admit it: that impressed me. He just walked straight toward me and said, “I’m really sorry to interrupt your

group—”

“No, we just wrapped up.” And dang it all if I wasn’t super glad he was there. Relieved, even. When he canceled on me, I may

have been trying to convince myself I was relieved more than I actually was relieved. But when he came anyway? Yeah, I was relieved.

It had been a real emotional boomerang of a day.

He held my elbow and pulled me aside, over toward Jo’s truck. I wrapped my arms around myself to fend off the cold and swallowed

hard. “I’m really glad you came.”

“Addie, it’s Doc.”

I felt the throb of a nervous tic begin under my left eye as my arms dropped to my sides. “What about him?” And it was then that I saw it in his eyes. This wasn’t about Wes being scared off by my protective dad, who had no doubt crossed a line. This was something else. “What is it?”

He held on to both of my arms and bent his knees so he could look into my eyes. And I’m not sure what my eyes looked like, but his were heavy and full of concern. “I’m going to drive you to Denver. They flew Doc to the hospital.

I’m pretty sure he had a heart attack.”

***

“This is all my fault,” I said for probably the twentieth time just as Wes pulled onto Highway 285 and could finally drive

at a speed more befitting the urgency of the situation. I scrolled through the messages on my phone, searching for something

that wasn’t there—just information—but Jo had only tried calling once while my phone was off for those three hours in South

Fork. Rather than try again, she had called Wes and asked him if he knew where I was, and now here he was.

“It’s not,” he replied gently. “You know it’s not. If anything...” He sat up a little straighter in his seat and checked

his mirror before switching lanes. “No, you know what? He’s going to be okay. And there’s no point in feeling responsible.

Ultimately, it’s about arteries, right? Or blood flow or something?”

I placed my hand on his on the steering wheel and squeezed. “You’re right. You’re right. It’s no one’s fault.”

Except for mine.

“So you said Jo’s with him? In Denver, I mean?”

Wes nodded. “Yeah. Half the town tried to cram onto the plane, but—”

“Hang on. The plane? I assumed it was the Flight for Life helicopter. What plane did they—”

“My plane.” I did a double take, and he began giving me the clarification I was seeking before I asked.

“I mean, it’s not really my plane. I don’t own it.

It’s more like a co-op jet. No, that’s stupid.

Maybe more like a time-share jet? Yeah, it’s like a time-share.

” He activated his turn signal and passed an old Dodge Dakota struggling to make it up the mountain.

“Except not really a time-share, because I get to use it as often as I want. Anyway, it was fueled up and ready to go, so it made the most sense.”

I wasn’t sure if anything about that information dump made sense, actually. “And how was he? Did you see him?”

“No. I didn’t see him. Something made me think that maybe I wouldn’t be the calming presence for him that I would hope to

be.” He glanced at me quickly and shrugged. “They were at Cole’s restaurant, and Jo said Cole and Laila and Sebastian and

everybody were around, and I guess your dad even talked them through what to do a little. Aspirin and such.”

My hands were bunched up on my lap, holding my phone, and he reached over and placed his right hand over the cluster. “That

sounded like a pretty good sign to me. If he was able to be his own doctor, that means he was awake and coherent and all of

that.”

He’d always had to be his own doctor. He’d always been everyone’s doctor, of course, but apart from annual checkups with a

doctor in Grand Junction, I couldn’t remember him ever going to a doctor himself. Of course I also couldn’t remember him ever

being sick. Maybe he hadn’t had time for it, or maybe I just hadn’t been aware.

I pulled my phone out from under our hands, and Wes returned his hand to the wheel as I once again stared in frustration at

a device that wasn’t ringing. “Why hasn’t anyone called? Should I call Jo, you think?”

“I really don’t think you should. It’s going to take a while to get him checked in once they get there, but you know she’ll

call when there’s something to report. And you know what? I think it’s a good sign if they aren’t able to get him back right

away.”

I scoffed. “How is that good?”

“Because if it’s an emergency, they will.

But if they get there and Doc’s doing okay.

.. I mean, if they’re busy treating broken bones and gunshot victims and people with weird things crammed into weird places because they aren’t as worried about the picture-of-health that had a heart attack a little bit ago, how is that not a good sign? ”

I chuckled softly under my breath. “You’re all about the good signs tonight.” I leaned as far as I could across the seat to

try to rest my head on his arm. I got close enough for contact, but my seat belt wouldn’t allow me to rest there.

He looked over at me and then glanced up into the rearview mirror before reaching out his hand and unbuckling my seat belt.

“Why don’t you come over here?”

He didn’t have to ask me twice. I scooted into the center seat and buckled the lap belt across my waist as he stretched his

arm behind me and wrapped it around my shoulder. I cozied into him as he muttered, “Much better.”

I yawned, suddenly as tired as I had been in years, I was pretty sure. “This feels familiar.”

“Driving with you was always one of my favorite things. Sometimes I wished we could just keep on going until we ran out of

gas.”

“I’m pretty sure a few times we did keep going until we ran out of gas.”

“It was never enough.” He kissed the top of my head. “We’ve got almost four hours to go. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

“Jo might call,” I protested through another yawn.

“I’ll wake you.”

“Who’s going to help you watch for deer?”

“Jo has those deer whistle things on the front of the truck. I’ll be okay.”

I raised my right hand and rested it on his chest. “Okay.” At least I think I said okay. I’m not sure if the word actually

made it out of my mouth. At any rate, I’m pretty sure the last thing I meant to say—“Wes, why was the plane fueled and ready

to go?”—got trapped inside when I noticed I could hear his heartbeat against my ear, and then my eyes fluttered shut.