‘Saw the little one run off into the woods, remember that? We gotta go again, I want a kick-ass moose head, mount it so it’s popping from my wall—there’s an empty spot over our fireplace that’s just beggin’ for it.’ He whacks my father on the back. ‘Beggin’ for it! Are we going to fill that wall? You always got my back; what do you say, Adam? Partners?’

A baby deer? I think of the fawns I saw on the documentary on the plane, born when the wildflowers bloom; small and spotty, weak and defenceless, they rely on their mothers for everything. My father’s shot one of their mums. That can’t be right. He’s an animal lover just like me.

I can’t seem to comprehend what I’m hearing.

‘Let’s talk business first thing tomorrow, okay, Ralph?’ my father says. ‘It’s Sky’s birthday and we’re just having a little celebration.’

‘Of course. Excuse the interruption, enjoy yourselves. Just let me get your number again.’ He takes out his phone.

I put my hand to my stomach. I’m feeling nauseous. Was this the secret conversation Adam and Jaxon were having? I remember my father whispering to Jaxon when I was on the stairs before we went camping, I don’t want her knowing yet. He’s been lying to me. Pretending. I can’t even …

‘Great to meet you.’ Ralph beams at me. ‘My niece is about your age—what are you, seventeen?’ He looks for something on his phone. ‘Here she is after a hunt. Looks a little like you, actually.’ He glances from the phone to me and back again. ‘Don’t you think, honey cakes?’ He shows his wife.

‘Y’know, I think you’re right.’ Now she beams at me too.

I look at the picture—a teen girl, long brown hair and fair skin, in camouflage gear, holding a bright pink gun. She’s smiling proudly. I can’t bear to linger on the huge dead boar by her feet, tongue hanging from his mouth.

‘You make sure to bring your dad down to visit us one day soon. Y’all can stay at our ranch. Your daddy’s the king of the woods, ha! Lucky girl.’

Bear. Rug. Bam. Baby deer. Orphaned. My head’s spinning. I’m going to be sick.

This can’t be happening. He’s deceived me. Coming across as this cool guy, good guy, nice guy, when he’s not. I have flashes in my head of gunshots, my father’s grinning face as the animal falls, red blood splattered in the snow. Talk business, he said. What kind of job is this? I hold my breath; the nausea’s getting worse.

Melody. I take out my phone. I have to tell Melody. She’ll come back. We have to go home.