“I know that your Pops wanted to find that treasure more than anything.”
His words aren’t meant to hurt, but they do all the same. There were too many times when I felt those words to be a simple fact. ...more than anything. Meaning more important than me. More than his sanity. More than our well-being. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my father, but obsessed is an understatement. It’s lonely living with a recluse with a one-track mind. “Yeah, he sure did,” I say on a sigh.
“The terms?”
“Generous,” I admit, but leave out the gut-wrenching feeling that I’m giving up a lot. Sure, I’d be securing my future with college and a sum of money that means I won’t have to worry about anything that comes up but putting myself in league with the Jacobs’ just seems wrong...and possibly extremely dangerous.
“You know what it’s like out there,” Dickie says, turning toward the opening of his bay garage. From where we are, you can just see the peak of one of the mountains. Even though I doubt Dickie can actually see it, his eyes glaze over like he can, like he’s staring at a long-lost love just returned. “Sponsors hand money over like water just for a slice of the pie. We’re the real winners. The adventurists. The researchers. The hunters. The boots on the ground to get shit done while they sit in their city high rises demanding updates. Cooped up in their steel cages, wishing they were like us.”
I try to picture Lance Jacobs back in Phoenix, and that picture is so easy. The only thing I can’t picture is the cage part. Nor the part where he actually cares that we’re the ones putting our lives on the line to find the treasure. Guys like Lance Jacobs think they’re entitled to the treasure because they can throw money at it. They don’t understand the blood, sweat, and tears my family has put into finding it over generations. They think cash solves problems. And maybe it does. I’ve heard countless stories about backers and hunters actually finding their sought-after horde, both parting ways happily, living their lives like kings.
“Why did Pops think he was close?” I ask Dickie. I’m ashamed I don’t know the answer to this question. Marilyn created a gap between us a mile wide. I didn’t make time to listen to Dad go on and on about the treasure because... Well, because I’m a shitty daughter. I scuff my feet against the footrests of the stool. I threw myself into schoolwork instead.
Dickie cocks his head at me. “You don’t know?”
I shake my head.
His gaze narrows to beady slits, but then he turns toward the Superstitions again. “I guess that information is lost with your father then. He didn’t tell ol’ Dickie. I know that.”
Surprise shoots through me. He tells Dickie practically everything. Not our secrets, but everything else, he would’ve shared. My skin pricks. If he didn’t tell Dickie, maybe he really was onto something.
I could tell Dad was excited during his last treks into the mountains. He hinted toward finding another clue and asked me to meet him a number of times. I’m too stubborn for my own good because look what that got me. We may never know where Dad was and why, and how close he got.
And there comes the real travesty about what happened. If I’d just asked Dad about the treasure, met with him one time, I might’ve been able to answer the questions about where Dad was headed when he walked up the trail to the Superstitions on the west side of the mountain that day. Instead, all I could do was shrug and rely on old information.
The guilt of that will follow me around forever because my father paid the price.
8
Like a moth to a flame, the new students on campus attract everyone. Wyatt, Stone, and Lucas are everywhere. It’s like Saint Clary’s has three new shiny toys and everyone wants their chance to play with them.
No matter how much I wish it wasn’t true, jealousy rears its ugly head. It’s not only that they just got here and already have more friends than me. Yes, that part really isn’t fair, but it’s also watching the girls paw all over them like they’re a drink of ice water in this heat.
Life isn’t fair though. If a Wilder knows anything, we know that.
Thankfully, Dickie gave me a ride to campus since my bike is fucked now. He said he’d look at it, but I don’t have hope that it’s salvageable, or if it is, if it’s even worth saving. I guess with the money I get for scrapping the truck, I can buy a new bike. I’ll have to think on that when I walk back to the dorms later. My dad always said walking was the best exercise. Bodies and minds aren’t meant to be idle, and walking takes care of that. Then again, my dad said a lot of things, and I’m wondering if the majority of them were to make up for the fact that we were going without. Sure, you can walk. But if you have a vehicle to actually take you places, isn’t that automatically better?
After lunch in Saint Clary’s cafeteria where the displays of curiosity about Stone, Wyatt, and Lucas come to a head, I try making my way to class only to have the three new hotshots at the school surround me. Wyatt, if I’m not mistaken, is more reserved than earlier. If I look closer, he may even have shadows under his eyes, like he didn’t get enough sleep on my terrible, hand-me-down sofa. I smile at that. Maybe they’ll let me sleep in my dorm alone now.
As usual, Stone moves closer than needed. “Do you have an answer for us, Dakota?” His gray-blue eyes are sharp today, like the crackling
