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Prologue

Ten Years Ago

Blaire

“So … what’d you wish for?” I ask as we leave the Whiskey Moon festival in don Whiskey Springs The flashing carnival lights, laughter, and heady sweet scents of cotton candy and funnel cake grow distant by the second

I slip e-pink moon in the late June sky Most people would call it a strawberry ood idea to call it a “Whiskey Moon” and end has it that any wish you make under this moon comes true—one way or another

“I’ll tell you what I wished for,” I volunteer since the cat’s got his tongue, though that’s nothing new

He slides his keys froer door of his truck for me

Wyatt gets like this soh I’ve never quite figured out where he goes when he tunes the world out like this

“Say soe Wyatt’s shoulder, knowing full well that he hates it when I ask hih It’s not healthy to be stuck in your own head all the ti in

He sniffs, adjusts his faded hat, and then flashes so around the truck bed A minute later, we’re headed west, beyond the city liaze is trained over the dash of his dusty pickup

Gravel plinks against the underbelly of his ‘76 F-150 as pluhts Cracking ful of tepid mountain air

“Wyatt Co the protest of my seatbelt The perpetual scent of freshly cut hay, worn leather, and ozone fills the narrow space between us as I trail ertips up his forearm “Two months from now, there’ll be no one here to pick your brain You’ll have all those beautiful thoughts in there and no way to get them out”