Page 51 of No Turning Back
As I push through the front doors, Diane waves from behind the reception desk. "Good morning, sunshine! Coffee's fresh."
"You're a lifesaver," I tell her, dropping by the break room before heading to my office.
I love this place, I really do. The walls are covered in children's artwork, the well-worn furniture that's seen thousands of difficult conversations, the small victories we celebrate daily. This is where people come when they're broken, and sometimes, somehow, we help put them back together.
My first appointment arrives right on time, a teenage girl with purple hair and eyes that have seen too much. She's been coming for three weeks now, slowly unravelling the knot of trauma that's been strangling her voice. Today she smiles when she sees me, just barely, just a flicker, but it's there.
I love what I do. The way a client's face changes when they finally understand they're not broken beyond repair. The moment a child finds their voice after trauma tried to steal it. The parents who come in desperate and leave with tools to help their families heal. This work matters.
As I pack up my notes after my last client and grab my car keys, that familiar dread settles in my stomach. I don't want to leave. Not the centre, but Bluebird Valley.
Every day, the drive from Sam's ranch into Austin feels like crossing some invisible boundary between peace and chaos. Today that contrast feels even sharper.
I slide into my car, the leather seat already hot from sitting in the parking lot. Through my windshield, I watch a bus belch exhaust into the air, the grey cloud hanging like a premonition.
All day I moved between dread for tonight and anticipation. The kiss with Sam replayed in my mind during every free moment, making it nearly impossible to focus on my paperwork.
I check my phone one last time. Nothing from Sam. Did I imagine the intensity in his eyes? The way his hand felt against my face?
I take a deep breath and start the car. The drive back to the ranch stretches before me, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through rolling hills.
The gate comes into view as I crest the final hill, the setting sun painting the scenery in shades of gold. My heart does a little flip when I approach the house and spot Sam's truck parked out front. He's home.
I pull up beside his truck, cut the engine, and sit for a moment, gathering my courage. What am I going to say to him? Should I mention the kiss? Pretend it never happened?
I finally step out of the car, grabbing my bag from the passenger seat. The ranch is unusually quiet as I approach the house. No barking from Blue, no sounds of Sam moving around inside.
I push open the front door; it's unlocked. Strange. Sam usually keeps it locked.
"Sam?" I call out, stepping into the entryway. My voice echoes through the empty house. "Blue?"
Nothing. Not even the familiar click of Blue's nails on the hardwood floors. The silence wraps around me, unsettling in its completeness.
I head toward the stairs, my hand just touching the banister when my eyes catch movement through the kitchen window. A shadow crossing the yard.
I change direction, moving to the back door. I push it open and step onto the porch, scanning the yard.
There's Sam, trudging up from the direction of the creek, his clothes dirty and his shoulders slumped. Blue spots me immediately and bounds forward, but Sam lets out a sharp whistle that stops her in her tracks.
I start to descend the back steps, but Sam holds up his hand, keeping me at a distance.
That's when the smell hits me.
"Oh my god," I gag, covering my nose with my sleeve. The stench is unmistakable, rotten eggs mixed with burning rubber and something so foul it makes my eyes water instantly. "You got skunked?"
Sam nods grimly, keeping his distance. "Stay back. It's a biohazard."
Blue whines pitifully from her spot in the yard, looking miserable and confused about why I won’t pet her. Her usually white-and-grey fur is matted with something dark and oily around her neck and chest.
"What happened?" I ask through my sleeve, backing up a step as the wind shifts, carrying the unholy stench directly to me.
"Found a family of skunks living under the bunkhouse," Sam explains, still maintaining his distance. "I was clearing away some boards when mama skunk decided to defend her territory. Blue thought she was helping."
I can't help the laugh that bubbles up despite the horrific smell. "Oh, Blue. You brave, stupid girl." I gag and cover my nose again. "God, you can't come in the house like that," I say, pinching my nose and trying not to throw up. The smell is getting worse as the breeze gets stronger. "You need to stay outside."
Sam looks at me, his expression caught between misery and resignation. "I was hoping you might have some ideas? I can't exactly Google 'how to de-skunk yourself and your dog' right now." He gestures to his filthy hands, keeping them well away from his pockets.
"Hold on," I call, retreating back into the kitchen. I grab my phone and quickly type in a search. Several results pop up immediately, and I scan through them as I head back to the porch.
