Charity paused in her presentation of the original town charter, looking over at us with concern. At what point had they said the words they couldn’t come back from? Had they ever been spoken? Or was the silence the true cost of cowardice on both their parts? Of unwillingness to see the other’s point of view?

Was I standing on that precipice with my father? Or was I already over the edge?

Another group wandered toward us, and I took blatant advantage of his aversion to public scenes, throwing my arms around him.

He wasn’t perfect. He was flawed and stubborn and too stuck in his ways to accept the change that was inevitable. But never once had he loved me more than Charity or vice versa. “I love you, Dad. I’m so sorry I can’t be what you want me to be. But I love you.”

I pulled back before he had a chance to react and walked away before I could judge him for what might linger on his face.

As I walked out the door, I heard him laugh. “Yes, I’m the head unicorn in charge around here.”

Opening day was still in full swing when I left. Part of me felt a little guilty for ducking out early, but when push came to shove, I had somewhere more important to be, and after asking around, I realized Cam hadn’t returned.

I took his Jeep to my house and was back in it five minutes later, headed across the ridgeline to Cam’s.

The sun was just starting to set as I parked in the driveway. I walked into the house and called his name, but there was no answer. What was the right thing to do here? Take his Jeep to my house? Leave it here and walk home? Stay until he returned? Would it do more harm than good to shove myself into the spaces he’d clearly said he didn’t want me in?

I hung his keys on the hook by the door and debated calling him. Maybe he’d decline, but maybe he’d pick up. My feet carried me to the library, where the dying afternoon light threw bursts of sun and shade on one of the walls and on the land outside the picture windows.

I ran my fingers across the empty chessboard, remembering all the times Xander tried to teach Cam and me to play, lecturing us for hours about the logic of it all while Cam argued that there was zero logic—it was all about emotion, protecting one piece you valued above the others. Then I smiled, remembering the moment we decided to steal the pieces so Xander would stop nagging us.

Something about what Art said kept tickling my brain, and I picked up Cam’s copy of East of Eden from where he’d left it on the side table when he’d finished reading it to me.