Page 68 of Fake Date with the Mountain Man

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 becauseSomething happened!undercut with the somber knowledge that thatsomethingis 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.”

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