Page 96 of From Air

“Life insurance?”

I shrug off my shirt. “A wife.”

“I’m not buying it. And you should text your girlfriend to let her know you’re back and alive.”

“I don’t have—”

Gary’s gone before I finish.

I’m not messaging anyone. I wasn’t even gone for two days. No close calls. No need for anyone to worry.

Standing my ground, I make it home and finish half my dinner before I pick up my phone and stare at it. “I’m not telling her I’m safe and alive,” I mumble to myself, since I’m alone tonight. “I’m just being a good friend. Seeing how she’s doing.”

Fitz: My scars haven’t changed and my nuts are still chafed. I need a refund on that ointment

She doesn’t text me right away. She’s probably still working. It’s almost midnight before my phone pings and wakes me up.

Jaymes: Thanks for letting me know you’re okay. Night xo

“Dammit.” I toss my phone back onto the nightstand and grin.

After a short night’s sleep, I text her at four o’clock in the morning, her time, just to prove I’m still an asshole.

Fitz: Laney and Travis are having their baby today

It takes her five minutes to respond, just enough time to cuss me out.

On cue, as I get in my truck, she texts me back.

Jaymes: If u die today I won’t cry immediately because I’ll be too sleep deprived

Jaymes: And I already sent a baby gift yesterday after Evette told me they were inducing today. Don’t worry, the gift is from both of us

She can’t be serious.

Fitz: We’re not a couple

Jaymes: Love u 2. Have a great day!

“Fuck my life.” I toss my phone into the passenger seat and back out of the driveway.

Chapter Thirty

JAYMES

“You look just like your mom. I knew you would,” Dwight says after beckoning me into his room to show me he ate his breakfast and took his meds.

“Funny. I never thought I looked like her. She said I looked like my dad. But he died when I was five. He worked for NASA. That’s pretty cool, huh?”

Dwight chuckles. It doesn’t matter how often I try to bring him into reality; he laughs it off. Today’s the first day I’ve been his daughter, not his wife. Maybe that’s progress.

“I was a park ranger, not a NASA scientist.” He slips on his cardigan.

“I know this.” I help him get his other arm threaded through the sweater.

A park ranger who started a massive fire. The irony.

He slumps on the edge of the bed, head bowed. “I told her to stay close or take the bear spray. Always have bear spray.”