BooksBarbecue
Back At Dawn
Chapters (39)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
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  39. Copyright

I race by others. They stare. One man tells me to slow down and I have the urge to turn around and tell him to go screw himself but instead I drop my head and run faster. I make another turn and pass through an unexpected dip that causes me to lose my balance and fall. I scrape both knees and the palm of my right hand. I rush up and carry on but stop when I reach a circular clearing. I bend over to catch my breath. A slight trickle of blood leaks from my palm. I lick it away. All I can think about is my mom sleeping in the four-man tent, not having a clue as to my father’s sudden appearance.

I’m a goddamn moron for being lost. Six trails head in opposite directions. I haven’t the slightest idea of which, if any, will lead me to my mother. Only one of them has a sign. It reads LODGE. The lodge won’t help me, so I follow the trail that leads in the opposite direction. As each minute passes I grow more certain that he’s come to hurt her. The thought terrifies me. Another fork in the path. I don’t stop to ponder it, instead pick a direction and go. It’s been at least ten minutes, maybe fifteen. I’m covered in sweat. Surely he would have spotted her car by now, parked right out in the open for anyone to see.

Up ahead I finally catch sight of another opening. My eyes now sting with sweat and my shirt is soaked. Both knees hurt. My hand throbs, still bleeding. My legs and lungs burn fiercely but I push the pain away and sprint even harder. The trail opens onto a road. There are signs pointing in the direction of certain numbered lots. Ours is 134. I follow the arrow. Finally the road looks familiar, and when I make the turn, I immediately see the back of my father’s truck.

When I reach the campsite they’re sitting on opposite logs facing one another, talking in hushed voices. My father smiles as though I should be thrilled to see him, fully expecting me to walk over and hug him, which I don’t, and instead I look at my mom, who also smiles. And in that smile I realize that she has told him where to find us. I feel betrayed. I bend over, hands on knees, trying to catch my breath.

“Hey, bud,” my father says. “How are you?”

“Good.”

“Been havin’ fun campin’?”

“Yes,” I say, then to my mother, “Are you okay?”

“Of course, Stratton,” she replies, as though the question is absurd.