Page 56 of Wild and Wrangled

I wrinkled my nose. “No, not at all.”

“Teddy doesn’t, either, but my mom and dad do,” Riley said. We were close to her house now. “So I’m like them.”

“They’re good people to be like,” I said as I pushed the back door of Cam’s house open. Music was playing from a speaker, and it was nice and warm. Good. The heater hadn’t gone out again. “All right, kid. Show me where these Fruit Roll-Ups are.”

Riley let go of my hand and scampered toward the pantry. I followed her as she pointed to a white box of Fruit Roll-Ups on the top shelf. I reached for it and brought it down to her level.

When Riley put her hand inside the box, she closed her eyes as she shuffled around, and a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. An image of a seventeen-year-old Cam came to my mind, her eyes closed as she dug through a giant bag of saltwater taffy after one of our hikes. She didn’t know what flavor she wanted, so I told her to let fate decide.

I said the same thing to Riley now, and she looked up at me with big green eyes.

“That’s what my mom always says!” I felt like someone had just kicked the back of my knees. Even when we weren’t near each other, Cam appeared in so many parts of my life. I always got ice cream in a cup with a cone on top because Cam had taught me that you got all the benefits of a cone without all the mess. I always hit my dashboard when I went through a yellow light because we used to pretend it would supercharge us to make it through the intersection before it changed to red. It never occurred to me that I would show up in her life in the same way.

Until now.

“You can have one, too,” Riley said, and I smiled.

“Thanks, kid.” I grabbed a blue Fruit Roll-Up out of the box before I put it back on the shelf. I watched Riley launch—literally, there was no other word for it—onto one of the couches in front of the TV. I wanted that kind of energy.

“I’m going to check on your mom quick, okay?” Riley peeled open her Fruit Roll-Up and nodded. I walked down the hallway at the end of the living room. The door to Cam’s office was open, and a soft glow was coming from it—more than just the light in the room.

When I peeked inside, I saw it was a happy light on her desk, which was piled high with papers and file folders. I scanned the room and saw her asleep in a chair by the window. Her hair was pulled up, and she had her glasses on. An open file folder with papers spilling out was lying on her chest, and her mouth was slightly open. She wasn’t snoring—yet.

I walked through the door as quietly as I could, so I could take the files off her. I tried to keep everything in order as best I could as I set it on the floor next to her. I pulled a blanket out of the basket by her chair—I picked the soft one—and laid it over her.

I thought for a second that maybe I should wake her, but I decided against it. She was obviously tired. I could hang out with Riley—it’s not like I was doing anything tonight.

I looked at her one last time before I walked back out to the living room. It was the most peaceful and calm I’d seen her since I came home.

As I walked out, I turned off the lights and closed the door—not all the way, but enough that maybe any noise wouldn’t wake her up.

Riley had the TV remote in her hand when I walked back out into the living room. “Can you help me with this?” she said. “I don’t know how it works.”

I walked over and flopped onto the couch next to her. I held my hand out for the remote, and Riley slapped it onto my palm. “What should we watch?” I asked.

Riley shrugged. “What do you like to watch?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I haven’t had a TV in like ten years, kid.”

Riley giggled. “You’re old. Are you as old as my dad?”

“Not that old,” I said. “Maybe you’re just young.” I turned on the TV and started going through the guide.

“I’m going to be eight soon,” she said. “I’m already seven and a half.”

“You’re going to be eight in July,” I said. “That’s like months from now. My birthday is then, too.”

“How old are you going to be?”

“Thirty-two,” I said.

“Old.” Riley nodded.

“Your mom is older than me, you know,” I said—only by six months, but still.

“My mom isn’t old,” Riley said.

“Well, she’s older than me, so I guess that means I’m not old, either.” Riley folded her arms and rolled her eyes, and I tried not to laugh.

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