“Oh my god. Is he okay?”

“I guess he’s fine. My dad said he has a broken leg, but he’ll go home from the hospital tonight. I hope they checked for internal bleeding. Do you know how much force it takes to rupture a spleen? I still think maybe I should go down there.”

“I don’t know how much force it takes to rupture a spleen, but I’m sure you do. Let’s maybe not go down that grisly tangent; we can assume your fire chief father knows what he’s talking about and that the hospital staff are taking care of him. How did you hit a pedestrian?”

“I turned a corner and he walked right out in front of me.”

“Well, that sounds like his fault.”

“Ginny.”

“I’m just saying. We learn to look both ways when we’re like four. Wait, he isn’t a little kid, is he?”

“No, thank God. His name’s Gavin Bailey. He’s a firefighter who works for my dad.”

“Ooh, hot firefighter? Tell me more.”

“I didn’t say he was hot.”

“Is he, though?”

I hesitated, but what was the point in lying? “He’s very hot. And probably as dangerous as a five-alarm fire. Or however many alarms big fires can be. But I don’t want to talk about that part.”

“Why not? This could be the beginning of a beautiful love story.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s a big, fat no.”

“Come on, you’re a writer, don’t you think that would make a cute story? Think of how adorable it would be to tell your grandkids you met when you hit him with your car.”

“That’s not the kind of story I write. If it were one of my books, I’d probably manipulate him into letting me move in with him so I could play out some weird obsessive fantasy stemming from acute childhood trauma and I’d wind up murdering him. Or wait, maybe I’d be the innocent party and he’d be the crazed murderer, and I’d almost get myself killed when I stumbled upon something he didn’t want anyone to find in the course of trying to be nice and help take care of him.”

“Oh my god, are you writing again?”

I wanted to lie to her and say yes. But I didn’t. “Not really.”

“Those are both really good ideas.”

“Yeah, and the second I try to write either of them, my brain will shrivel up and forget how to spell the word the, let alone how to craft an entire novel.”

“You’ve written twelve novels, Skylar. A dozen. Your brain still knows how. You just have to figure out what’s blocking you.”

“Thanks, Doctor Ginny.”

“Can we go back to the hot firefighter?”

“Let’s not.”

She sighed. “Fine. Maybe just plan on staying home for a while until this cloud of bad luck passes. Sounds like it’s become dangerous to innocent bystanders.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, mostly. My life sucks, but it has to get better from here, right?”

“That’s my girl. Of course it does. I think going to live with your dad is going to be the best decision you’ve made in a long time.”

I didn’t share her confident optimism, but it was still nice to hear. “Thanks.”

“Do you want some good news to make you feel better?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’m coming to visit you.”

My back straightened. “What? When?”

“I’ll be there next week. I talked to my boss already and I’m going to do a piece on Tilikum.”

Ginny was a travel writer, but she didn’t just write about tourist attractions, accommodations, and restaurants. She dug into the cities and towns she visited, learning about their history. Her pieces were full of local stories and folklore, as well as where to shop and dine.

“Really? You’re right, that is great news.”

“Isn’t it? As soon as you said you were going to stay with your dad, I started working the angle with my boss. Not that it was a hard sell. A small town in the mountains has plenty of appeal. And from what I’ve seen online, it’s adorable.”

“It is a cute town. Lots of history, so you’ll have plenty to write about. Just wait until you hear about the town feud.”

“Please tell me you’re not kidding and there really is a town feud.”

“I’m not kidding. The Bailey family and the Haven family have been feuding for generations.”

“Why?”

“I actually have no idea. I just know they orchestrate pranks on each other, back and forth. And there are places you can’t go if you’re on one side or the other. Well, you could, I guess. No one would actually stop you. But people don’t. They have two of almost everything: two banks, two barber shops, two breakfast diners, two flower shops, two pizza places. It goes on and on.”

“Oh my god, this is fascinating. I’m in love already.”

“Do you have a place to stay or do you want me to ask Dad about staying here? He has room.”

“No, I already found a rental. But thank you.”

“Of course.”

“So even though I’m coming soon, I’m still going to call and check on you. Just so you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Ginny.”

“You bet, sweetie. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Bye.”

I set my phone down and tilted my head, my vision going hazy. My mind went to what Ginny had said about me hitting Gavin making a good story.

The first time we met, I hit him with my car…

A woman visiting a small town filled with secrets accidentally hits someone on her first day there. Although it’s an accident, she feels guilty for his injuries and takes it upon herself to visit him in his convalescence. Interestingly, as soon as the man is laid up in the hospital, the string of terrifying murders that plagued the town abruptly cease. Did she mow down the killer? Or is the killer the doctor who treats him, using the man’s unfortunate accident as a way to frame an innocent for his crimes?

Sucking in a breath, I jolted back to reality. That wasn’t a bad story idea.

My fingers tingled and words swirled in my head. A warm spark of creativity flashed to life.

Feeling a sudden burst of panic, I ran outside to my car. Must get laptop. Must type before it’s gone. I grabbed my laptop bag out of the passenger seat and flew back into the house.

I took my laptop to the kitchen table. I sat, then pulled it out and logged in. Opened a fresh document.

Don’t be scared, Skylar. Just type and the words will come.

Except, they didn’t. I wrote a sentence. Deleted it. Wrote another. Deleted it. I tried just writing a synopsis, but even that was too much.

I couldn’t do it, and I had no idea why.

5

Gavin

The grass in Lumberjack Park was wet from the rain that had finally come to the mountains. Two solid days of it, like the sky had saved up all the moisture and dumped it on us in one continuous deluge. The wildfire wasn’t completely extinguished; hot spots could last underneath piles of ash for weeks. But it had done a lot to calm it down so it no longer threatened Tilikum.