Page 110 of The Long Way Home
The sun sinks lower, throwing gold across the lake in slow, melting streaks. We finish dinner and stay out by the fire. Margo brings out marshmallows. Josh makes a mess of his and blames the skewers. Margo curls up next to him with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, smiling into his chest. To her, the world doesn’t exist beyond him.
“Rach, when does your semester start?” Josh asks, shifting the blanket higher on Margo’s lap like he needs something to fuss over.
“Oh—uh, five days, actually.” Rachel shifts in her seat, already bracing.
“Five days?” Josh echoes, sitting straighter. “And you have everything you need? Your books are ordered, all your classes are assigned, did you rent a U-Haul for moving your stuff into your apartment? Shit—I mean, you can use my truck. Or Rhett’s. Rhett has a good truck.”
I bite back a smile. I’m starting to think Josh is always going to sound like this when it comes to his little sister, even though she hasn’t been little in a long time.
“Josh,” Rachel says, firm but not unkind. “I’m fine. Yes, my books are ordered. Yes, my classes are set. No, I don’t need a U-Haul because I don’t own a couch.”
She pauses, then adds, “And Rhett already offered his truck.” She flicks a look my way, equal parts gratitude andplease back me up.
Josh exhales, scrubbing a hand down his face like he’s trying to let go of something. “I just—” He stops, shakes his head. “I know you can handle it. I do. I just want to make sure you don’t have to.”
That gets her. Her shoulders ease, just a little.
“I know,” she says quietly. “Thank you.”
“And you start at Memorial when?” Josh presses on before she can answer herself. “Is that really a thing? They make you work while you’re getting your doctorate?”
Rachel lets out a breath, like she’s counting instead of sighing. “I start at Memorial in nineteen days. I think. I’d have to check my schedule.”
Josh opens his mouth again, but she keeps going.
“And yes, Josh, it’sa partof the new PT program. I get hands-on experience with other PTs at Memorial, I get paid while I’m in school, and if I do well enough, Memorial might hire me afterward.”
She lifts her chin just a fraction, daring him to argue with that.
Josh goes quiet. He studies her for a moment, and I think he’s finally catching up to the fact that she isn’t a little girl anymore.
“I’m proud of you, Rach,” he says finally. “You know that, right?”
Her smile is small but real. “Yeah, Josh,” she says. “I know.”
Margo chimes in from beside him, unmistakably pleased. “My best friend,” she says. “A complete badass.”
I watch Rachel laugh, and think Josh might still worry, but at some point, Rachel has to do these things on her own.
Eventually, they slip away. Margo yawns, tugging Josh up by the hand, and they disappear inside the cabin without a word.
Now it is just Rachel and me. Typically, how our nights as a foursome end.
She shifts in her chair, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. The fire has burned low, just a quiet cradle of embers now, glowing soft orange in the dark.
“You cold?” I ask.
“A little.” She doesn’t look at me when she says it, just stares into the pit like it might answer something. I grab the blanket Margo left behind and pass it over without a word.
I toss another log onto the fire, watching it catch. Sparks flutter upward, disappearing into the dark like they were never here. The new heat flickers against my face, enough to push the chill away.
Rachel tilts her head, letting it rest against my shoulder for a second before pulling back again.
I glance over at her. Her hair is a wind-tossed tangle, clinging to her shoulders and the curve of her neck. Her face is bare. Freckles are dusted across her nose, eyes tired but lit from somewhere deeper, like there’s a quiet defiance in them, something that refuses to dim. She looks right here in a way she rarely does anywhere else, as if the lake strips her down to her truest self. And I realize, with a slow, sinking certainty, that this is the version of her I will always carry with me.
She catches me looking. “What?”
“Nothing.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to, but I don’t bother looking away.
