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 He stood in back between his brother and his father, but he really wanted to be nearer to the edge of the cliff. On the journey he’d caught a couple of glimpses of the spectacular view through the trees. From up here they could probably see all the way to where the big rivers came together – the place they would meet with the other families at the end of summer. On his toes, he could at least spy the fuzzy, purple horizon.
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 “Just a quick one?” Davey begged. He sat up in his bed while his father, Christopher, stood waiting to tuck him in. “Not tonight, bud,” said Christopher. “But I’ve been seven for a month, and you said you couldn’t tell me the old stories until I was seven,” said Davey. “No fair,” Susan interjected from the doorway. “I was seven forever ago, and I’ve never heard those bedtime stories.” “I told you,” explained Christopher, “that they’re not to be told to kids one at a time.”
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 “Bathroom?” asked Mike, his body halfway into the cramped gas station. It was a stretch, but he was desperate. He couldn’t imagine finding a public restroom somehow jammed into this small space – packed-in shelves filled with snacks. “Nuh-uh,” the squat cashier said between clicks and pops of gum. “Try the Tim Hor’uns. They open.”
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 “Has it been two years now? Well good for you,” Sherry congratulated Melanie. “Yeah, thanks. I quit just after Christopher,” Melanie admitted. “Oh, I’m sorry. I never made the connection,” said Sherry. She reached across the small table and touched Melanie’s hand.
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The Hunting Tree for Kindle
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