Reckless

Why did Blake have to be so judgmental?

Worse than that, why did he always have to be right?

Afternoon turned to evening, then to night. When the hands came back in from the fields, Nick wasn’t with them.

“Mr. Carter came and picked him up,” one of the men told Tracy. “They were headed into town, I think. Did you want us to bring him back here, Ma’am?”

“No, no. That’s OK,” Tracy said. “You go on home.”

It was a bitterly cold night, not snowing, but with a wind blowing that could flay the skin from your bones like a razor blade. Usually Tracy loved nothing more than to curl up in front of the fire on a winter’s night like this, luxuriating in the warmth and savoring the precious hours alone with her book. But tonight she found she would read a page and take nothing in. She wandered into the kitchen to make herself some food, then found she wasn’t hungry. If Nick were here they’d have watched a show together—something mindless and funny like The Simpsons—but Tracy hated watching television alone. Eventually she gave in to her jitters and began pacing the room, going over and over the argument with Blake in her mind like a child stubbornly picking at a scab.

I shouldn’t have called him a hypocrite.

High-minded maybe. And rigid. But not a hypocrite.

He’d looked so hurt when he walked out. That was the killer. Then again, Tracy had been hurt too. Did she really deserve to be punished for loving the free spirit in Nick? For finding him funny and charming, even when he was being exasperating? For being on his side?

Tracy’s parents, both long dead, had always been on her side. Especially her father. Then again, as a child Tracy had never given them cause to worry. She’d never stepped out of line or been in trouble at school.

I was the archetypal good girl. And look how my life turned out.

For all Blake Carter or anyone else knew, Nick might grow up to be a missionary or an aid worker. Rebellious boy didn’t necessarily translate into rebellious man. Did it?

Still, she shouldn’t have said what she said to Blake. She’d apologize as soon as he dropped Nick home. And thank him for tonight.

Tracy looked at her watch. 10:15 P.M. They were very late. Most restaurants in Steamboat stopped serving at nine. Tracy pictured Blake ensconced in a booth somewhere, haranguing Nick about moral responsibility until the poor boy’s ears melted.

I hope he’s OK.

A banging on the front door broke her reverie.

They’re back!

Blake must have forgotten his key. Tracy flew to the door. Pulling it open, the first thing she noticed were the lights of the squad car, blinking blue and white in the darkness. Then she focused on the two cops standing in front of her.

“Mrs. Schmidt?”

“Yes,” Tracy said cautiously.

One of the cops took off his hat. He gave Tracy a look that made her knees start to shake.

“

I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

No, there hasn’t.

“It seems Mr. Carter ran his truck off the road up at Cross Creek.”

No, he didn’t. He didn’t. Blake’s a very careful driver.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Schmidt, but I’m afraid he was killed instantly.”

Tracy clutched the doorframe for support.

“What about Nick? My son?”

“Your son’s OK. He’s been taken to the hospital. Yampa Valley Medical Center.”