That Reckless Night

“I talked to Trace.”

At the mention of his son’s name, Zed shrugged but there was latent anger behind his disinterest. “Yeah? What’s he up to?”

“He’s on a job. He said he’s going to visit soon.”

“We’ll see.”

Miranda didn’t know why she even mentioned Trace’s name. Both Trace and Wade had abandoned the family—at least that was how their father saw it.

“Mom said she was worried about poachers on the property?” Miranda tried steering the conversation to safer ground. It was sad that the topic of poachers was considered neutral territory for her family. Her father grunted in response and Miranda took that to mean either he agreed or he didn’t care. “Have you seen any tracks?” she asked.

“No.” He took a short draw off the cigarette, held the smoke in his lungs for a few moments and let it out slowly. He paused to remove a few bits of stem from his mouth and said, “Your mother just needs something to bitch about. There ain’t no poachers.”

On most days Miranda wouldn’t disagree. Her mother was a nagger but when she heard her father speak like that about her mother she winced. “Well, I’m going to go check around just to be sure. We still haven’t caught those bear poachers from the last couple years. I don’t want them snooping around this property.” She glanced meaningfully at his pot stash and at that he grunted an agreement.

“Fair point.”

That was as close as she was going to get to a verbal approval from her father. There was a time when she and her father had been close. He used to take her out squirrel hunting, fishing, and he taught her how to track. Now he seemed a stranger. Struggling to find common ground, she pulled a memory from her mind, one that always managed to make her father chuckle.

“Remember when you tried to teach Simone how to fish?” Simone had been such a princess; she’d squealed and shuddered when the time came to bait the hook.

Her father smiled, nodding. “She never was one for the outdoors. Preferred her fancy clothes and whatnot to trail dirt and bugs. Oh, she hated it.” Zed closed his eyes, a faint smile remaining, his smoldering marijuana cigarette momentarily forgotten. “She was a terrible shot but at least I knew she wouldn’t shoot her foot off cleaning her gun. Maybe with time she’d have gotten better.”

Not likely. Simone hadn’t been interested in improving her outdoor skills. She’d been more interested in her social life, boys and the latest fashions—none of which had interested Miranda in the least. For all intents and purposes, Zed had three sons, instead of two sons and two daughters.

Simone had pouted and whined whenever their father had insisted on family camping trips. Sleeping on a cot with a subzero mummy bag hadn’t been her idea of a good time. Miranda had loved it. Three whole days of not having to brush her teeth or hair had been absolutely fabulous to Miranda when she’d been young. Simone had treated it as punishment, but the only ones who’d been truly punished were the rest of the family because they’d had to listen to her complain the whole time.

Zed’s smile faded and Miranda sensed the end to any reminiscing. Neither of her parents had much tolerance for talk about Simone—no matter if the memories were good or bad—but sometimes it was the only way she knew to feel some kind of connection again. The topic of Simone was fraught with dangerous twists and unpredictable turns that could land a person tipped upside down emotionally within a blink of an eye. But sometimes, Miranda wished they could just remember Simone as she’d been—an imperfect human being—rather than the sainted princess whose life was tragically cut short by some psycho. Zed remembered his cigarette and took a short drag. Miranda could almost see her father retreating from life right before her eyes.

“I didn’t get the job,” she said, wishing her dad would offer something wise to make her feel as if he still cared. “They went with a guy from Wyoming. He’s nice enough. Seems to know what he’s doing for the most part.”

Zed grunted in response but his eyes didn’t open. Frustration and sadness welled in her chest and she wanted to rail at him for checking out and leaving his family to fend for themselves. When was the last time he’d shown an interest in anything aside from his marijuana cultivation? Maybe if she started offering her opinion on better ways to grow pot, her father might be interested in being a part of her life again. “Hey, Dad, do you want to go with me up the mountain and check and see if Mom’s concern about poachers is valid? It’s been quite a while since we went hunting or tracking together. I wouldn’t mind the company,” she offered, almost desperately. Zed’s eyelids opened half-mast and wild hope sprang in her chest at the flicker of interest, but it died soon enough and took with it her patience.