“You really should be familiar with that, Mr. Weiker,” one of the guys said. “Ashley never studies.”

  “I do too!” she protested. “Just not . . . well, just not recently.”

  Mr. Weiker frowned, but nodded. “Let’s see how you do on this, all right?” He nodded at her paper and she grabbed a pencil, knowing it was totally hopeless.

  ***

  “Ashley, may I see you for a moment?” Mr. Weiker asked as soon as the bell rang.

  “Ooooo, Ashley’s in trouble! What did you do, Ashley?” one of the football players called out.

  “Hey, man, she’s a cheerleader. Lay off the cheerleaders,” one of the other players said, cuffing the first guy on the back of the head, and they mock-wrestled as they left the classroom.

  Ashley stayed in her seat, and Mr. Weiker walked over and sat in the chair next to hers. He scooted it a bit to face her more directly, then said, “So, tell me, Ashley. What’s happening in your life lately?”

  She looked down at her hands and started picking at the polish on her nails. She knew she shouldn’t do that—it wouldn’t just ruin the polish, but it could also hurt the nail and cuticles—but she couldn’t help herself. “What do you mean?”

  Mr. Weiker took a long, deep breath. “Ashley, I’ve been watching you since the start of the year. You spend a lot of time laughing and giggling with your friends and making goo-goo eyes at Thorn Macklin, but there’s a sadness lurking underneath all that.”

  “I don’t make goo-goo eyes at Thorn Macklin,” she protested, but that didn’t do her much good because they both knew it was true.

  He didn’t respond to that. “What’s going on?”

  Ashley glanced out the window. “You knew my parents.”

  “Yes, I did. They were good people.”

  “And now my aunt’s raising me.”

  “She’s also a good woman. You’re very blessed, Ashley.”

  Her eyes darted back to him. “Blessed? Mr. Weiker, did you miss the part where my parents are dead?”

  “Of course not. But look at what you still have, Ashley—a wonderful aunt who is devoting her life to you, good friends, the chance to get an education.”

  “I didn’t think teachers were supposed to talk about blessings,” Ashley muttered, sliding down in her seat.

  Mr. Weiker laughed. “Okay, you got me there. It’s just that the words ‘fortunate’ or ‘lucky’ don’t quite cut it for me.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he handed her.

  “What’s this?” she asked as she unfolded it. “Last week’s quiz? But you didn’t even grade it.”

  “I didn’t make an effort to grade it because you didn’t make an effort to take it.” He tapped the page with his finger. “This is not the work of the Ashley you can be.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “You have more potential than you’re letting yourself recognize. I don’t see a cheerleader or a future model when I look at you—I see a young woman who could go on to run a company or hold a political office or any number of things.”

  Ashley laughed and shook her head. “I think you’ve been sniffing too many of those chemicals in your lab, Mr. Weiker. There’s no way I’m cut out for anything high-powered like that. I mean, look at this test—you said it yourself. This is terrible work.”

  “It’s terrible work because you’ve convinced yourself that this is all you’re capable of producing. You don’t think anyone expects better of you. Why? Because your parents are dead? Because you’re pretty? What is it? Why do you think you should be allowed to skate by?”

  She sat back and looked at him, her mind reeling. His eyes were extremely serious. “I . . . I don’t know,” she said at last. “Is that what I’m doing? Trying to skate by?”

  “I don’t know if that’s your conscious goal, but that’s certainly what your subconscious is saying. Listen, Ashley. I want you to take this test again. Right now. Give it an honest try. I want to see what you can really do when you push aside all these false ideas you have about yourself. Just you and the paper and a pencil. Will you try?”

  She glanced at the clock. “I have cheer practice . . .”

  “I’ll call down to the gym and excuse you.”

  So much for getting out of this. She pulled in a deep breath. “What if I retake the test and it’s just as bad as the first one? Does that mean you’re wrong and that I really am just a dumb blonde?”

  “No, it means that you’re a girl who happens to have blonde hair but who also needs to study more.” He stood up and moved to the front of the room. “Get busy.”

  She bent her head over her paper and began once again to fill in the answers, wondering if Mr. Weiker was right—what if she really could do more than she believed she could?

  ***

  Ashley wiped her eyes as she thought about it. She’d gotten an 85% on that test, the best she’d done all year, and Mr. Weiker had shaken her hand, beaming at her. “Welcome to the Ashley you’re really supposed to be,” he’d said. She knew she’d disappointed him by not trying for college, but he never said a word about that. Instead, at the graduation ceremony, he’d looked her in the eyes and said, “Who are you, Ashley Jacobson, and how are you going to change the world?” Then he leaned in and whispered, “Go get ’em.”

  Those words resonated with her now, years later, as she lay on her back in her old room.

  Who was she, and how was she going to change the world?

  Chapter Six

  “You’re kidnapping my husband and taking him on a camping trip?” Debbie fixed Josh with a look, resting her flour-covered hands on the kitchen counter.

  “Um, yeah. If that’s okay with you.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s more than okay with me.” Debbie went back to kneading her bread dough, shaking her head. “He’s spent nearly every minute out in that field since the snow melted, and I can’t see a lick of difference in it. When he’s here, he’s sullen and withdrawn. Something’s going on with him, Josh, and I can’t figure out what it is. Maybe some brother time is exactly what he needs.”

  Josh shifted his weight to his other foot. “And if it doesn’t work? I can’t guarantee you anything, Debbie.”

  “I know you can’t, but at least it’s a try. Now, what do you need to take with you?”

  “Just food and a change of clothes. Gray Wolf provided everything else, including a Dutch oven.”

  Debbie wiped off her hands and turned to the fridge. “I have some hamburger thawing in here, and some carrots and celery. There’s a bag of potatoes in the pantry, and grab an onion. Do you want pancake mix?”

  Within a few minutes, they’d put together a pretty well-stocked cooler, then Debbie went into the bedroom and grabbed a change of clothes for Walt. “Tell him not to worry about anything,” she said. “I’ve got it. The milking too—he’ll ask.”

  Josh laughed. “I’ll tell him.”

  When he pulled up alongside the field where his brother was working, he turned off the engine, but sat and watched for a moment before getting out. Walt was hunched over the wheel of his tractor, driving back and forth in straight rows over ground that really didn’t look like it needed it. Josh wasn’t an expert in these kinds of things, but the ground Walt had just done looked quite a lot like the ground he still had yet to do.

  He climbed out of his truck and leaned on the fence that separated the field from the road, then lifted a hand to catch Walt’s attention. Walt turned off the tractor, hopped down, and met Josh at the fence. “What’s the matter?”

  “Good news—Gray Wolf is sending me out camping tonight to test their equipment, and I’m taking you with me.”

  “You are?” Walt pulled off his cap and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “I can’t just leave, Josh. I have responsibilities here.”

  “Debbie packed you some clothes and said she’s got everything under control.”

  “But the milking . . .”

  Josh laughed. “She said she’s even got the milking.”

  Walt looked down and scuffed the dirt with the toe of his boot. “I don’t know, Josh. That’s a lot of work.”

  Josh raised an eyebrow. “You have one cow, Walt. One. I think she can do it.”

  Walt looked up at the sky, then around, then back at Josh. “Camping, huh?”

  “Yup. I’ve got a tent and sleeping bags and lanterns and the whole bit. Two of everything. Come on—don’t make me go by myself. You know it’s not safe to camp alone.” Josh had gone by himself dozens of times, but Walt didn’t need to know that.

  Walt nodded, still looking unsure. “I guess I could go.”

  “All right, then.” Josh pointed to the tractor. “Put that thing in park or whatever it is you do, and let’s go.”

  Walt drove the tractor over to the corner of the field, then climbed into Josh’s truck. Josh handed him a cold water bottle before starting the engine.

  “I hopped online a minute ago and found a camping spot I think will work,” Josh said as he guided his truck off Walt’s land and onto the main road. “It’s a little ways out, so that’ll give you a chance to kick back before we get there. How’s the tractor stuff going?”

  Walt turned and looked at him. “Tractor stuff?”

  Josh shrugged. “I don’t know what to call it.”

  “It’s going fine.” Walt chuckled and shook his head. “Sometimes I think one of us was adopted. How can we be so different?”

  “Just keeps life interesting.” Josh glanced over at Walt, noticing how tired he looked. “Hard work out there?”

  “Not so much when I’m ‘tractoring.’ That’s mostly sitting still in the heat. It’ll get harder later.”

  “Hmm.” Josh felt like he should ask another question, but he honestly had no idea what to ask. Good thing Walt wasn’t much of a conversationalist. They drove in near silence to the campground, Josh feeling awkward and Walt probably feeling right at home.

  The camping spot was beautiful and secluded. It had a fire pit and a water spigot, but not a whole lot else. They pulled the camping equipment out of the back of the truck and organized it to verify what they had. Josh asked Walt to prep the fire pit while he turned his attention to the tent.

  It was an automatic hydraulic tent built for four people. The pressure mechanism was great—Josh let out a low whistle as the thing practically set itself up. All he really had to do was drive the stakes in the corners to anchor it.

  “Pretty slick,” Walt said, coming up behind him. “Fire’s going. What’s next?”

  They set up a small folding table to act as their kitchen and threw the dinner makings into the Dutch oven. As soon as the coals in the fire were hot enough, they arranged some on top of the oven and some below, making sure the slight breeze that had kicked up wouldn’t put any of the coals out. Then they got out the two folding chairs that had been included and settled down next to the fire. Josh couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to such a pretty place.

  “I haven’t been camping with you in years,” Walt said after a long minute.

  “I’ve invited you, but you’ve never come,” Josh replied. “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know.” Walt reached down, grabbed a long stick, and poked at the fire. “Maybe I didn’t want to intrude on your thing.”

  “If I invite you, it’s not an intrusion.”

  “Maybe not.”

  Dusk began to fall, and Josh glanced at his watch. Their dinner wasn’t going to be ready for a while, and he was pretty hungry. “Backwards dinner? S’mores first?”

  Walt grinned. “Sure.”

  They each put a couple of marshmallows on a roasting stick. Walt toasted his golden while Josh burned his black. Just another way in which they were different.

  “So, your interview must have gone well,” Walt said as he settled back in his chair, two S’mores on a tin plate in his hand.

  Josh knew his brother wasn’t just stating the obvious, but rather, he was giving Josh an opening to talk about his day. “Yeah, it did. The woman who interviewed me is the head of product development, and she seemed to think I’d do a good job on her team.”

  “And what would you be doing, exactly?”

  “This same kind of thing—testing out equipment, making sure it all works.”

  “You’d get paid to spend your life camping? Sounds perfect, little brother,” Walt said with a chuckle. “Living the dream.”

  “Well, what about you? Isn’t that what you’re doing? Great wife, cultivating the land, surrounded by green every day?”

  Walt studied his remaining S’more. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?”

  Josh went quiet. Give him a little space, and Walt would open up.

  Finally, he did. “I had an appointment with Dr. Stone about two months ago. And then I had one with another doctor, and another doctor. They all said the same thing.”

  Josh felt like a giant hand had just grabbed him out of nowhere and was squeezing all the air out of his lungs. “And what was that?”

  “It’s cancer, Josh. Pancreatic cancer. And there’s nothing they can do about it. It’s too far advanced by now. They’re telling me to enjoy the time I have left.”

  Josh leaned back in his chair and exhaled hard. “Are you in pain?”

  “Yeah. It’s not too bad right now, but it’s pretty constant. And I’m turning yellow.”

  Josh had noticed a slight yellow tinge to his brother’s skin, but it wasn’t glaring, and it wasn’t the kind of thing he’d naturally bring up anyway. “Why haven’t you told Debbie?”

  This time it was Walt who exhaled. “I don’t have the words. She’s been talking about wanting to start a family, thinking that maybe we waited too long and should adopt. She’s been getting so excited. How do I tell her that if we did have a baby, she’d be a single mother?”

  “Better than catching her off guard as you get sicker,” Josh said. “She’ll want to be by your side during this, Walt. She’ll want to be there for you. No matter how long it is, or how short it is . . . she’ll want to know so she can cherish every minute.”

  Walt swore under his breath. “Josh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about what this news would do to you—I was being selfish. You and Melody—”

  Josh held up a hand. “It’s okay. Just trust me when I say, I know what Debbie would want. She loves you, man, and you’re shutting her out of the single biggest thing in your life. Face this together. Let her build up some memories, like I did with Melody.” He paused. “They’re sure there’s nothing they can do?”

  Walt nodded. “Every one of them. I even went to an all-natural guy—he says if I’d come to him months ago, he could have helped me, but not anymore.”

  “And how long are they saying you have?”

  “Three to six months or thereabouts.”

  “Then you take those three to six months and you make them the best of your life.” Emotion built up in Josh’s chest, and he threw his tin plate into the fire, the S’mores completely forgotten. “We’re leaving here at first light, and I’m going to take off for the day and give you all the time you need to tell Debbie. But dang it, man, she’s got to know. She’s got to know now before another minute is wasted.”

  “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I thought I was doing everyone a favor by holding it in, but I was being selfish.” Walt clapped a hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Still miss her?”

  “Every single day. The ache’s not as bad, thank goodness, but she’ll always be a part of me.” Josh tried to pull some of the peace that surrounded him into his soul. He’d been thinking about this from Debbie’s perspective, but he had to think about it from his own, too—he was going to lose a brother to the same disease that had taken his wife. He wanted to rail against that, to demand more answers, but it sounded like Walt had already demanded those answers, and none of them were good. It felt like giving up just to accept what Walt had said, but if the ground had already been covered . . .

  “I’ve been making a sort of bucket list,” Walt said, pulling a piece of paper from his jeans pocket. “I think you’re supposed to do that before you know you’re dying, but better late than never, right?” He unfolded it and held it toward the firelight. “Take Debbie to Paris. Get a tattoo. Ride a motorcycle.”

  “Get a tattoo?” Josh felt bad for laughing at Walt’s list, but he couldn’t help it. “Come on, man. Really?”

  “No, I guess not. The other stuff on here, though—that’s all real. Like taking Debbie dancing. She keeps asking me, and I keep telling her no.”

  “Oh, come on. You mean you still don’t know how to dance?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then let her teach you. Make those memories, Walt. Give her something to look back on.”

  Two hours later, they’d eaten a real dinner and had climbed into their sleeping bags. Walt’s snore filled the tent, but Josh didn’t mind so much. How many more opportunities would he have to hear his brother snore? For more reasons than just himself, he hoped this job at Gray Wolf would be a fit so he could stick around town and help his family. Even if he didn’t land a job, he wanted to stay—time was so short. Life was so precious. Every minute had to be seized and appreciated.

  Without warning, Ashley Jacobson popped into his head. Maybe she was one of those minutes to be appreciated. Chances were, there would never be anything between them, but a good friendship was hard to beat, and he knew they could have at least that much.

  He just hoped she felt the same.

  Chapter Seven

  “I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon, and I’ve made a decision,” Ashley said, looking back and forth between Phoebe and Vi. “So, we all know that modeling is out. Ship has sailed. Hasta la vista. All that stuff. So then I decided to get a job working in a salon, but I called them all, and none of them are hiring.”

  “But you did make a decision about something,” Phoebe said when Ashley paused. “I mean, you asked me to come over for a reason.”

  “Yes, I did.” Ashley leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “I want to open my own place.”

 

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