CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

A CHILL HOVERED in the air, dependent on the scant cloud cover for survival. For our first autumn field trip, Evie and I had driven the short distance to Enchanted Rock. Neither grand nor bizarre, the park’s familiar beauty created its charm. The undulating dance of rock, weather and time filled visitors with a sense of humility, providing a chance to be subsumed on a geological scale. Perspective.

I overturned a chunk of weathered granite and used it to hold the corner of our blanket in place. Rippling with sporadic gusts, the yellow-and-green striped blanket had been Evie’s choice. A little springtime in the fall, she’d said.

She sat across from me, laughing, having momentarily forgotten how tired she’d become of the fact her hair bounced in her face every time she chuckled, or how self-conscious she’d grown about seeing her nose even without her eyes crossed. All of it ridiculous. She was my Evie, thirteen and perfect despite me.

She wrestled to keep her tangled curls in place. The wind heedlessly dithered, darting from one side of the rock to the other before dropping away and rolling across the valley below us. I spoke—charming, witty, confident—driving away all uncertainty. How could anyone not see what I saw? Oh, Daddy, again the popular refrain.

She’d make friends in short time. She hoped it was true. Texicas was the best thing to happen to us. She nodded her head, taking in the panorama. It is wonderful, isn’t it? I followed her gaze over a meandering maze of mini-valley. Not mountain valleys, per say, due to the lack of true mountains. More a network of shadows playing hide and seek among rocks lobbed from Mount Olympus during a contest of strength. Enchanting, nevertheless.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the playful breeze. This time, rather than a timid chill, it brought angry heat. Lashing across my face, it knocked me down. I collided with sand rather than rock. Struggling to my feet, I fought against the swirling wind. “What do you want with me?”

I didn’t know what or to whom I was speaking, but a childhood version of me spoke the words with all the energy he could muster.

“Nothing at the moment, except, Little Buck, remember time spent with Uncle.”

The child turned. Through his eyes I beheld the same ruddy visage, the nightmare man I’d known all along, but forgotten. His demon-red eyes and craggy skin. His knowing smile. “Little Buck is already forgetting, no?”

I closed my eyes tight, digging my fingers into the hot sand. “Leave me alone.”

The man’s voice echoed, as if from a great distance. “Not possible. Nephew and Uncle are one in same.”