Page 26 of Wild Daddy

"Right. Then I start my PhD program at Harvard in the fall." I hand him back the phone, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. "My parents applied for me. They want me to go into academia like them."

He goes very still. "That what you want?"

"I wanted to be a journalist. Real journalism, like Christiane Amanpour. Travel, investigate, tell stories that matter." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "But they said journalism was unstable and beneath my intellectual capacity. The industry isn’t what it once was. They put me on birth control when I was sixteen to make sure I didn't mess up my future."

The last part slips out without me meaning to say it, and I immediately feel my cheeks burn.

“Not that I had any distractions of that kind. Not until…” I sigh as I look at him.

"Right." He stops packing and turns to face me fully. "I’ll deal with that little nugget another time. But, what do you think? You think telling stories that matter is beneath you?"

"No, I—"

"You think Christiane Amanpour is some kind of failure because she chose to inform the world instead of hiding in a classroom?"

"Of course not, but—"

"Then what the hell are you doing letting other people decide what your potential is?" His voice is firm but not harsh. "You're smart enough to do anything you set your mind to, baby. But smart doesn't mean shit if you don't have the guts to actually do something with it."

I stare at him. The words bounce around in my head and Iknowhe’s right. These decisions, things that are going to affect the rest of my life, should be mine to make, not anybody else’s.

But how do you stop doing exactly what you’re told, when that’s all you’ve ever known?

“Come on, I’m going to show you how to track. Put on your warm clothes, but leave your pack here, we’ll be back before nightfall.”

Seven

Cade

Tracking takes us hours into the woods, following a deer trail that at first Marley swears I’m making up, but then gradually she starts to notice the signs for herself.

In the end, she can point them out before I even have to prompt her. And that’s fucking good progress.

The weather changes while we're walking back to camp. What had been clear skies an hour ago is now building into the kind of storm system that can turn deadly fast in these mountains, especially later in the year.

But all I can think about is the look on Marley's face when she talked about her parents crushing her dreams. The way she deflated when she mentioned that PhD program they've signed her up for like she's a fucking package they're shipping off to Harvard.

And the way she lit up when she said Christiane Amanpour's name. Like just speaking it out loud reminded her that brave women exist in the world.

"Storm's coming," I say, checking the sky. The wind is picking up, and I can smell rain in the air. “It’s going to be bad. Real bad. We should probably push back the wilderness camping thing.”

"How can you tell?" She looks up at the clouds that are definitely darker than they were twenty minutes ago. "I mean, obviously it's getting cloudy, but how do you know it's going to be bad?"

"Barometric pressure. Wind direction. The way the birds went quiet about ten minutes ago." I adjust my pack and pick up the pace. "Things are changing fast, we’re not going to make it back to camp. We need to find shelter."

"But we can’t be more than a few miles away, surely?"

"Two and a half miles. That’s too far if this hits as hard as I think it's about to." I scan the area, looking for options. "There's an old hunting blind about two hundred yards north. It's not much, but it'll keep us dry and protect us from lightning strikes. Mountain trees are like lightning rods, and they can explode like bombs if they get struck."

Five minutes later, the first drops start falling. By the time we reach the blind—a small lean-to structure that doesn’t get much use or maintenance—it's coming down hard enough that we're both soaked.

"This is cozy," Marley says, pressing herself against the back wall of the tiny shelter once I get her inside, reach into my pack and pull out an electric lantern. It’s barely big enough for me. Laying down I’d be wall to wall.

"Cozy's one word for it." I shed my wet jacket and hang it on a nail that's probably older than both of us. "Come here."

"Why?"

"Because you're shivering and your lips are turning blue." I sit down on the old wooden bench that runs along one walland pat my lap. "Body heat. I told you, it’s not a ploy, it’s basic survival."

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