Page 35 of From Nowhere

It’s not that I don’t like Victoria. She has a good rapport with Lola but is also annoying at times. Maybe that’s just my occasional impatience, which gets exacerbated by Tia constantly yapping in my ear.

“Lola, trail etiquette,” I holler as she approaches a couple and their dog headed down the trail. Last year, she accidentally knocked a lady on her ass.

My eager daughter stops, steps off the trail, and glances back at me with an angelic smile that’s anything but innocent. According to friends with older kids, she’s entrenched in the “I know” phase of adolescence, which I’ve been assured lasts until she’s well into adulthood.

As soon as the couple and their dog pass her, she continues up the trail in a series of hops, skips, and jumps like it’s no big deal despite the people catching their breaths on the benches at the switchbacks.

“Wish I had her energy,” the guy with the dog says when I pass him.

I grunt and smile. “I wish she had half the energy.”

The couple laughs.

I’ll take Lola’s endless energy as long as that contagious smile and dimpled cheeks always accompany it.

There’s not a lot of wiggle room around the M, and it’s a little more crowded this afternoon, so when I catch up to my daughter, I have to squeeze past hikers to reach her. She always goes straight to the top.

“Excuse me. Pardon me. Sorry, I’m just squeezing past.” I shuffle and wedge my way to the top.

“Ozzy?”

I glance over my shoulder toward the familiar voice from the woman wearing a white floral hair scarf, gray leggings, and a fitted pink tee.

“Maren,” I say as if it’s ridiculous that she’s hiking the same (incredibly popular) trail. Then I swallow the “What are you doing here?” part so I don’t sound like an idiot.

I haven’t texted or called her since she initiated contact a week ago. Do I tell her all the reasons why?

She has a serious job, and I don’t want to interrupt her.

I have a weird living situation.

Transportation is a challenge.

I think I like her too much.

It’s a long list.

“And here I thought nobody would be hiking this today.” Maren laughs with a sarcastic eye roll.

I survey the gathering of hikers, including my daughter, six feet away, petting someone’s yellow lab. “Yeah. I think everyone’s out today.”

She adjusts her hair scarf and averts her gaze when we make eye contact.

“Listen, I’ve been meaning to text—”

She waves me off. “You don’t need to explain. I’ve been busy too.”

I nod. “Twiddling your thumbs?”

She slaps a grin on her face when our gazes lock.

The grin is too big.

I remember big grins. Brynn used to punch me in the face with an exaggerated one when I was in trouble. It’s the deranged look.

I’m joking about the thumb twiddling. She knows I’m kidding, right?

“Regardless”—I attempt to get back in her good graces—“I’ve been meaning to contact you.”

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