Page 30 of Apple of My Eye

We droveto the last driveway on Zimmerman Trail, just before the gate they lock in place every winter when the snow piles up too much for cars to pass to the top of the Rimrocks. Our house was there, sitting against the hillside, warm light pushing through every front window, awake and waiting.

Not a fancy place. Never had been. The cedar siding had gone silver with age. Dad and I had added on the front porch ourselves and it still appeared in good shape. Mom kept a neat garden on the left side of the drive as she had done every summer for the past twenty years or so. It was home, and would always hold a distinct family feel to it unique to us.

Daisy’s gaze moved over the house the way it sometimes moved over a horse she was sizing up.

Mom and Dad stepped outside and welcomed us again—with another round of hugs. We sat for a brief spell on the couches of the sunken living room, where Dad built a fire in the river rock fireplace. Mom had the kettle going for tea. Dad eventually retreated to his recliner, the universal signal for the night winding down. Bea and Maddox hadn’t come with us, both living away from home now, elsewhere in Billings.

Daisy noticed photos on the side table next to Mom’s chair. She politely asked about each of them. Of course, Mom lit up like somebody had flipped a switch, happy to tell her tails of our family and the tiny town in upper Montana where she was from, one even smaller than Forest Grove. I listened to them talk for thirty minutes straight. Dad caught my eye from across the room. Just a look—the corner of his mouth lifting, like he knew damn well Daisy was mine and I shouldn’t let her go.

I glanced away before he got any further ideas because we weren’t quite there yet. Daisy still had walls that needed to come down.

We made it downstairs eventually, where my bedroom and Bea’s were side by side, already made up with the fresh sheets my mom must have put on the minute she got home from the game. Daisy dropped her bag at the foot of Bea’s old canopy bed, turning back as I leaned against the doorframe.

“Tired?” I asked.

“Not especially.”

Good. Because I wasn’t ready to call it a night.

“Feel like a little sightseeing?”

She blinked. “This time of night?”

“Believe me, it’s the best time for it.”

She grabbed her jacket from the bed. We strode backthrough the house. I grabbed Dad’s keys and announced I was taking her up to the Rims for the view.

“Be careful up there,” Mom called.

“I’m always careful with precious cargo,” I quipped to Daisy and caught her hand in mine, squeezing it as we left.

We drovefrom the house all the way up Zimmerman Trail, the dark road narrow and curvy and wooded, until we reached the top of the Rimrocks, where the views spread out wide. I’d driven it so many times growing up that my hands knew the curves well. But I watched the road with more attention than usual, fully aware of her beside me, the way I used to be overseas. Kept me on alert when the stakes were high and the margin for error was thin.

Different stakes now. Same alertness.

“Billings is famous for the Rimrocks.” I explained about the outcropping of the sandstone cliffs rising above the city, formed over millions or years. “People hike and bike up here during the day. The views are nice, especially at night.”

I pulled into the overlook and cut the engine. Didn’t see another car about. The radio was set to Dad’s favorite old country station, playing a love ballad I didn’t recognize, but I left it for the ambience.

Daisy scooted forward on the seat, both hands on the dash, her breath catching as the hundred and eighty degree view opened up in front of us. The whole city stretched outbelow, lights twinkling. The big sky above hung clear, dark, and thick with stars.

“Beautiful,” she breathed.

“Yeah.” She was.

“I’ve been to Billings plenty of times over the years, but I’ve never come up here.”

“I never paid much attention to the view either, honestly, until I got older.” I leaned back, one arm resting across the back of the seat. “Back in high school this was mostly just the place you brought a girl to make out.”

She turned her head, eyes narrowing. I sensed the tease of a question forming before she said it.

“And how many girls did you bring up here?”

I let the pause stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable. I dragged my gaze over her just to watch her expression sharpen. “More than a few.”

“A playboy. I knew it,” she quipped.

“I wouldn’t say that. But Maddox and I weren’t exactly hurting for company.”