“How much?”

“We rent ’em, but under the circumstances, no charge.”

Max slipped the GPS into the pocket of his hiking pants.

“I think you’re set.” Henry nodded toward the backpack. “Try it on.”

Max lifted the pack above his head and let it slide down his back, his arms fitting through the shoulder straps as it dropped. It was heavier than he had expected, but manageable. He buckled all the buckles he could see, and Henry gave the waist strap a tug to tighten it. “Keep this tight,” he said. “Let your hips and legs do the work, not your shoulders.”

“I appreciate you doing this,” Max said. “How much do I owe you?”

“Not a thing.”

Henry’s generosity embarrassed Max. He was the last person on earth deserving of such kindness. He shook the hand of the old outfitter. “Thanks.”

Headlights cut through the night as the Cherokee pulled up in front of the store.

“Be careful out there and… keep an eye out for that old man.” Henry nodded at the headlights outside. “He forgets that he’s not a kid anymore.”

“I’ll do my best, Henry.”

CHAPTER 52

The trek into the Boundary Waters had started with Spud carrying Pip atop his backpack, holding on to the boy’s ankles to keep him from falling. The cold wind that had bothered him at the trailhead had fallen still once they entered the forest, and the hike had warmed his joints and muscles. He kind of felt like one of those dads in a TV commercial. Of course, those fathers weren’t on the run. Still, the fantasy made his burden a little lighter.

In front of him, Reed walked like a man who knew where he was going and was in a hurry to get there, a pace that Spud could barely keep, especially with the heavier of the two backpacks and a six-year-old boy. Half an hour into the trek, Spud could no longer see the light from Reed’s headlamp. He focused on the path at his feet. There were no offshoots or intersections, so he knew he would eventually catch up.

But the trail ended when Spud came to his first beaver pond, the path disappearing into a muddy pool of water. He looked around but couldn’t see a detour—and where the hell was Reed?

Spud lifted Pip from his shoulders. “I think we should rest a bit, is that okay with you?”

“Sure.”

Spud could feel the pinch of cold at the tips of his toes, and his fingers had grown stiff inside of his leather gloves. He asked Pip, “How are you doing?”

“My face is cold.”

Spud took off his gloves, rubbed his palms together to warm them up, and held them against Pip’s cheeks.

“Where’s Dad?”

What Spud wanted to say was that Reed had abandoned them, that he was a selfish jerk who should go straight to hell. But what he said was “He went ahead to scout the trail.”

No sooner had Spud said those words than he saw the light from Reed’s headlamp in the distance, walking toward them.