"Do you want to go? It's fine if you don't, I've got other ideas too..." He smiled and started flipping through more of his plans.
I pressed my hand over his. "You don't have to. Let's go hiking."
He finally seemed to breathe.
After my father died in the line of duty, I'd taken a week off school.
It was Curtis who gave up the only study trip of senior year, left Gretchen behind, and dragged me to a mountaintop to clear my head.
Under all those stars, I couldn't hold it in anymore—tears sliding down before I even opened my mouth:
"My dad used to take me hiking here when I was little. He'd point down at the city and say, 'This is what Daddy spends his whole life protecting.' And I asked him, 'Then who protects me?'"
"He laughed. He said, 'When it's dark and you can't see the road, look up at the stars. Daddy's always right there beside you.'"
I sobbed until I couldn't breathe. "He's such a liar. You can't see the stars every night. Where's my dad? Where did my dad go?"
A gust of wind swept the last wisps of cloud away, and moonlight spilled across the ground.