Page 17 of Someone To Claim
I still don’t understand why Kristen Quinn hasn’t responded to my messages, emails, DMs, or the handwritten note I sent to her publisher that made me sound more like a deranged fan than a successful independent bookstore owner.
But my embarrassing eagerness doesn’t matter. Not really. Her words guided me through those first terrible weeks after my diagnosis, and then the also terrible months that came after. So, finally finding her and telling her what she meant to me is the step I need to take to make everyone (especially me) believe I’m ready for whatever comes next.
I pull in a deep breath and type a message I know will send my book club besties into a tailspin.
Me: Love you girls. Appreciate everything. But I’m signing off for now. The motel caters to backpackers and rents lockers for valuables. I’m leaving my phone bc I won’t have coverage anyway. I’ll call on the sat phone if I need anything. See you on the other side.
I hit send. The three dots appear instantly.
Avah: The fuck, Sloane. Don’t do this. Jeremy will lose his mind. Take the phone.
I send back a heart emoji and tell her my brother will be fine, and that I’ll use the sat phone to call once I get to Kristen’s cabin. I power the phone off before I lose my nerve. Except I’m not quite ready to go ghost mode, so immediately turn it back on, ignoring the fresh slew of notifications as I text mybrother.
Me: Hey
Jeremy: Why the fuck is Avah screaming about you leaving your phone behind?
Me: I’ll have the sat phone. You know I won’t have service once I hit the trail.
Jeremy: She’s freaking out.
Me: What about you?
The three dots blink for what feels like forever. I hold my breath.
Jeremy: Do you know what you’re doing?
Me: Yes.
To be fair, I’m not entirely sure, but fake it until you make it and all that.
His reply takes longer this time.
Jeremy: You’re an adult, Sloane. And as much as I like playing mother hen, you were taking care of yourself long before I came back into your life.
And then…
Jeremy: I trust you.
My eyes fill with tears so suddenly it’s like a faucet turned on behind them. That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.
Somehow, my brother, who I spent five years estrangedfrom before he came back into my life, moving heaven and earth to take care of me, understands that I need to be allowed to save it myself.
Me: Thanks for letting me borrow your plane.
Jeremy: Anytime, sis. Hope you find what you’re looking for on that trail.
Me: Love you, bro.
I shut off the phone again, then splash cold water on my face and stare at my reflection for a beat too long. I look tired, and still about fifteen pounds lighter than my pre-cancer weight. In addition to being red-rimmed, my eyes are a little wild. Because I’m about to do something that could, conservatively speaking, be described as big sky stupid. But I don’t mind wild. It’s kind of refreshing.
I head back to the lobby and ask the woman now behind the desk about renting a locker.
“Sure, hon. What size?”
“Small. I want to put my phone in there.”
“Where you headed?”
