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art on the paperback’s cover was faded by time and sun, gone green-blue. The picture of my father on the back depicted a much younger man, his hair and beard lush and dark.
    “I...I know...you didn’t really have a good relationship with your dad. And I know you couldn’t give two damns about his novels. My dad died in a car accident and left me and my mother when I was seven, so I can understand, maybe. You just sit in your room and you think and think and think and you just wanna know—you just wanna know why, right?”
    I studied my hands as they rested on the table in front of me, and glanced over at the accusatory eye of the GoPro camera.
    “This series is what kept me company, man. You said you didn’t see much of your dad. Well, I never saw my dad ever again,” Sawyer said. “I would lie up at night reading your dad’s books until I got sleepy. Then for Christmas one year, my mom bought me the audiobook for the third book in the series. You know, the one Sam Elliott did in ‘95.
    “At the time, I didn’t know who he was, so I pretended it was E. R. Brigham reading to me. Like...a bedtime story, I guess. It probably sounds weird, but in a way, I liked to think of him as a—as a sort of dad. Those times. Since I didn’t have one.”
    When I looked up, Sawyer was gazing intently into my face. “That’s why I want this so bad. He did something very special for me, even if he didn’t know it. And I want to give back, y’know? I want to see his dream get finished. And after reading the stuff you’ve done—the autobiography about the dude in the mountains Bear With Me , the comic book you did a few years ago...I even caught the play in Chattanooga you cowrote with Marshall Davies right before you went into the Army.”
    “Really?” I asked. I didn’t bother asking how he knew I’d been in the Army. Most readers knew at least the largest events of my life. “What were you doing in Chattanooga?”
    “I was on my way home from college and my layover got cancelled. The snow.”
    “Oh, right. That was a fun night.”
    “Mm-hmm,” nodded Sawyer. “I actually went hoping your dad would be there, but no such luck.”
    “Yeah, he didn’t get around to my things. He didn’t go to my graduation from Basic Training, either. Nobody did.”
    “That sucks. I’m sorry, dude.”
    “No big thing. What’s your email address?” He gave it to me and I entered it into my phone with his number. “This way if you need to send me large passages of text—or vice versa—you can,” I said, standing up. “Hey, I gotta go. Gotta catch up with my mom. Talk to you later.”
    “Yeah,” Sawyer said. He picked up the camera, but didn’t turn it off.
    When I got outside, everybody was already in the car, my mother driving, the Pontiac idling. They were listening to the latest pop music fad song on the radio, at such a low volume I didn’t realize there was anything playing until I walked up and leaned on the window. The car was spotless but still smelled of the agent’s cigarettes.
    Bayard glanced at me over his shoulder. “Hey kid, you gonna be in town for a while?”
    “Yep. I want to look through my dad’s working notes and take a look at some of his old haunts. See if anything inspires me.”
    “That sounds like a good idea. I’ll be heading back to California in the next day or two myself.”
    The clouds were darkening again, threatening the green birches and pines of Blackfield with warm, dirty rain as they danced their swaying tango, flickering paler shades of money green in the cooling September breeze.
    “Thank you for doing the right thing,” she said, tucking a lock of her graying, once-auburn hair behind her ear. “Agreeing to at least attempt the book really made all the difference. I was back there and heard the sweetest things they were saying to each other about you. They’re all excited, son.”
    “Kid, if it makes a difference, I can send out one of my other guys to help you. I’m