Read The Same Sky for Free Online Page B

brushed them away. “I’m so sorry,” said Jane. “Oh, Alice, I’m so sorry.”
    “Yeah,” said Jake sadly. “It’s been—”
    “Where’s Dennis?” I asked, to change the subject.
    “What do you think?” said Jane. “He’s running the store.” My parents had taken over the town grocery store, Hill’s Market, from my grandparents. My father, Joshua Hill, learned from his father how to be a butcher. He’d met my mother while hiking in the Bob Marshall Wilderness. Before they had us, my mom and dad hiked the Appalachian Trail and the Pacific Crest Trail. They backpacked in Mexico’s Copper Canyon and ascended Machu Picchu. Then they returned to Ouray, took over the store, and never looked back. My mother told me that when Jane and I were born, all her dreams had come true. I still remember her voice breaking a bit as she said, “Now I get to enjoy.”
    After she died, my father became quiet, leaving us with his parents and taking off for days at a time to go into the backcountry. He hunted and fished, teaching us to do both as well. The first time I brought Jake to Ouray, I challenged him to climb Mount Sneffels, my favorite Colorado fourteener. He barely made it to the picnic lunch before begging me to halt.
    “You’ve got to reach the peak, or try,” I admonished him, using my father’s stern tone. “You can’t just stop!”
    “Watch me,” Jake had said, settling in a grassy spot and pulling a salami sandwich from his backpack.
    Now he conferred with my father about the July 4 brisket; the men planned to stay up all night July 3. Years before, Jake had built a smoker in Jane and Dennis’s backyard, winning over all our nephews by letting them try out his welding equipment. In the airport, my father clapped his hand on Jake’s back, leaning in and saying something about the dry rub. “Hi, Dad,” I said, under my breath.
    “You know how he is,” said Jane.
    When Jake and I had booked our July trip to Colorado, we thought we’d be bringing Mitchell to meet the family. When those plans changed, Jake convinced me we needed a break from the Texas heat anyway and should keep our reservations. We’d already given everyone at Conroe’s the week off, he insisted. I loved Colorado but found it full of uncomfortable memories and relationships that stressed me out. It was hard not to compare myself with Jane. I was jealous of her kids, and being around her made me question my decisions. At the same time, I worried about my baby sister. No matter how much I pushed, she refused to have the genetic screening that could save her life. I’d have a talk with Dennis this visit, I decided.

    Jake and I were staying in the apartment above Hill’s Market. It was where our family had lived when Jane and I were babies, before our parents bought the Oak Street house. Now it was rented out or used for visitors. (Dennis had a large family in nearby Gunnison.) As Jake and I lay in bed for the first night of our three-night stay, I stared at the familiar striped wallpaper. “It does smell good here,” I whispered. “Cleaner, or something. It smells like snow, even in July.”
    “Don’t get any ideas,” warned Jake.
    “Don’t worry, my love,” I said. Still, as we spent our first morning making pancakes at Jane’s house, getting used to the constant activity as the boys whirled through the kitchen like tumbleweeds, I felt a yearning. It wasn’t that I wanted to live in Colorado, of course, though I adored the way the sun shone on the mountains, loved the way the water was always ice-cold coming from the faucet, felt safe and happy lying on the lawn with no thoughts of chiggers. Maybe it was Colorado. Who knew?
    That evening, July 3, Jane and I left our husbands and father in the yard with growlers of beer and the slow-cooking brisket. Jane said I could sleep over, as Dennis would be up all night, but I declined. I walked from Oak Street to Main Street, past the old Randolph house, where my first boyfriend