The Alignment Read Free

falling away in the distance to reveal the snow-topped Rockies on the horizon. To my right is mountainside, pointing straight up. To my left, open air extending out to the face of a small white bluff interrupting the thick pine forest. A shoulder of the Black River peeks through the trees below it. The pictures did not do this justice.
    “Pinch me,” I say. I can’t tell her it’s all too new, too foreign, to feel real. Someday I’ll cherish this view like it deserves to be cherished.
    Nancy gives me a sly look, her eyes smiling. “I can’t believe this place sat as long as it did. Surrounded by all this conservation land? This is the very definition of peace. You can pretend all of this is yours and there won’t be anyone around to complain.”
    “It’s perfect.” I’ve made an awful mistake.
    “You do have one adjacent neighbor but…” She turns toward the river and squints into the distance. She waves the thought away. “He’s too far away to borrow sugar.”
    I thought the quiet would kill me in Chicago. Out here, it’s going to slowly skin me alive.
    “And this is where I’m going to leave you. Cell phone service is great up here. Please call me if you need anything. I mean that.”
    I give her a hug, and she lets herself out. I hear her tires on the gravel, rolling down the hill. And then, nothing but the wind.
    This must be what it feels like to be the last person on earth.
    I envision my old house. My front door. Shoes in the front hall. The switch for the light with the spent bulb too high for me to replace, but I always try to turn it on anyway. Yet somehow, the unforgiving solitude under this sky, surrounded by these snowy mountains, is less lonely than being back home on my busy street where I knew every neighbor. I will go back someday, but not before I’m prepared. He could be there right now.
    I should not be so pleased the paper in my pocket is not there with him.
    When my arms fall asleep on the railing, I remember how much I have to unpack. I go back through the house and out the front door. The coyote dog is sitting next to my car as if he finally has his greeting prepared. I feel like I need to shake his paw. He watches me intently while I unpack the trunk.
    “I could use some help,” I say, on the twentieth trip back to the car.
    The coyote dog stands, looks into the woods as if hearing someone calling his name, and saunters off. I stare after him and wonder if he just pretended to hear something in order to get out of helping. See, I am already going crazy out here.
    As if longing for him to find me isn’t crazy enough.

Chapter 2
    Trey
    R iver greets me at the driveway with her tail wagging hard enough to bend her body to the side. It’s one of her more obvious signals for no visitors. I pull the Ninja into the garage, take off my helmet, and tug the door closed. Halfway to the house, I halt. Something feels different. Something is off. I turn on my heel to glance at River—surely she would feel it too.
    She cocks her head in a “What?” I notice the bloody trail carved into the gravel from the back of the house to the garage. This sloppiness will drive me out of town, force me to do what I’d rather not do. It’s my own damn fault. I just don’t remember it being so messy.
    I look at River. “Is someone here?”
    She lowers her tail and gives me a defensive look, and I know what will happen if I don’t trust her—the silent treatment, for hours, maybe days. Since I’d rather not be without her help, I nonchalantly grab a piece of firewood off the porch like I was planning to bring it into the house, open the front door, and listen.
    All clear.
    And I am so whipped. By a dog.
    I go inside but the surge of blood through my veins persists in its effort to warn me. Something feels vastly different. I’m never wrong. It doesn’t really matter, though. If he wants to wait and surprise me, that’s fine. I’m always game for that, in fact, I welcome it.
    My phone buzzes in