Page 64 of Under Pink Skies

“You assume correctly. Not scared about leaving your phone behind before hiking into the woods with a strange man?”

A loud laugh escaped me.

“I think if you wanted to murder me, you’ve had plenty of chances already. Besides, you’re not strange. I don’t think there’s any cell service once we get higher up Westfall.”

Connor shrugged and grabbed his pack from the truck bed. “Being prepared is important.”

He insisted on bringing a full medical kit, as well as extra snacks like energy bars. I wouldn’t be carrying the bag, so he could bring whatever he felt was important.

“We’re just going a little way up,” I said, squatting down to lace my right boot. “I said hike, but it’s more of a strenuous uphill walk.”

“I’ve been up this way before,” Connor said quietly once we’d got everything squared away. I hesitated as I pulled my hair back into a ponytail.

Connor likely already knew where we were going, but at least he wasn’t calling me out on it.

“Lead the way,” he said.

He locked up the truck, and then we headed off.

The first few minutes we walked in silence, listening to the wind rustling the multicolor leaves on the trees. Sounds of distant birdcalls floated our direction. We listened to the sound of small creatures running along the forest floor, rustling the leaves that had fallen to the ground.

“Do you think you could be happy here?”

I spoke the words so quietly I wasn’t sure he heard me over the soft forest sounds enveloping us.

He hesitated.

“I don’t know,” he answered.

As much as I appreciated his honesty, it still hurt.

“The work we do at Winding Road feels like my purpose in life. I’m able to channel my experiences in a healthy way, and I get to help teach others. I wouldn’t want to give it up.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” I blurted. “It’s such important work, and you’re good at it. You have more passion for Winding Road’s mission than I could hope to have for anything. I guess I was trying to figure out what things would look like between us, living separately and all that.”

Connor said nothing, and my stomach dropped. He’d been distant today, and it was like being doused in ice water after how close we were last night. It felt like a sign that something bad was coming.

I upped my pace, channeling the anxiety I was feeling into my feet, pushing us further. I knew the path leading up this hill better than any other.

“Where are we going?”

Connor’s voice was distant, and I pushed harder. Everyone had their ways of channeling anxiety, and this was mine.

“Abbie,” Connor said, but I didn’t stop. The damp, leaf-strewn path was all I could focus on. Every time I visited this place in the years since my mom died, I came on my own.

“Almost there,” I said, even though Connor clearly knew where we were headed. He finally stopped trying to talk to me, understanding that this was something I needed to do alone. I wanted to hike with him alongside me, but I didn’t want to talk. Not until we got to the clearing, which we came across after a few minutes.

Iron fences closed in the small clearing, weathered by time and rain. It was the cemetery where most Watford locals were buried. There were very few plots remaining, and most of the locals had already chosen to be buried next to their loved ones.

This was the place where we buried my mom.

“Truth,” I said, not bothering to phrase it as a question as I pushed open the iron gate. “I haven’t come up here with anyone else since the funeral. Most of the time I come up here when I need to think. And sometimes I ask her questions even though she can’t hear me. And I know that most people who haven’t lost a parent won’t understand why I would want to talk to a dead woman about my problems because it’s morbid and weird, but it’s the only way I feel close to her. It’s been five years, and I miss my mom—” My voice cracked on the last word. I sank to my knees in front of my mom’s gravestone, running my fingers along the engraved letters.

“It’s not stupid, Abbie,” Connor said softly, taking a seat beside me. “I’m glad you found something that helps you.”

“Grief is this wild, crazy thing,” I said, pulling my knees up to my chest and resting my chin against my arms. “Some days I feel like I have it under control, and other times I feel like I’m drowning under the weight of it.”

Connor put his arm over my shoulders and pulled me into his side, letting me rest my head on his shoulder instead. We sat in silence for a few minutes, and I let the wave crash over me.

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