I fixed my eyes on GiGi, who bent over the injured deer.

She never flinched. Her hands moved like she'd stitched up wounds a hundred times before. Her leather gloves creaked as she pulled on the fiber. She hummed a Patsy Cline song, producing a gentle sound.

GiGi bit down on the thread and snipped it from the spool.

"Hold still, now," she muttered. The drawl of the hills shaped her raspy voice. She poured some isopropyl on the wound and stitched it up. "Ain't no need to be squirming. You ain't gettin' outta this one, sugar."

I shifted in my seat, elbows on my knees, and I watched her work. I admired GiGi's hands. Tough as old leather, but nimble when she needed 'em to be. She wasn't the woman who took no for an answer, not with fixing things. Whether it was a broken fence, a busted-up truck, or even a deer, shot in the side, she had the means for it.

"How's she doin', GiGi?" I asked.

GiGi didn't look up from her work. She pulled the thread through the deer's flesh, knotting it tight. "He will be alright," she said. "Tough little thing. It's no worse than when you caught your own leg on that barbed wire two summers ago; remember that?"

I grinned, rubbing the spot on my leg where the scar still ran thick. "Yeah, I remember. You patched me up good."

She chuckled. "Darn right I did. I'm doin' the same for this fella. Ain't no reason for him to die. I don't eat deer meat."

She finished stitching the wound, then patted the deer's side with a soft touch. "There now, good as new. Least for a while, anyway."

GiGi sat back on her heels, wiping her hands on her apron, and looked up at me with a smile.

"You ever heard tell of a Ghost Buck, Kellen?"

I shook my head. I was only ten, but I'd been around long enough to know the stories that floated through Cannon Beach. The older folks, but a Ghost Buck? That was a new one.

"Ghost Buck?" I asked.

GiGi leaned back against the old Oregon ash tree, folding her arms over her chest. "Well, sit yourself down here and listen good. Ghost Bucks, boy, they ain't any ol' deer. They're special. Mysterious. They say they're the bucks that live a long time. They shoot at them, chase them down, but somehow, they always slip away. You can hear 'em at night, see 'em out of the corner of your eye. They never show themselves full-on, a shadow in the woods."

My eyes widened in disbelief.

"Oh, they're real," she said with a wink. "I reckon every hunter has seen one, at least once in their life. You shoot at a Ghost Buck; you'd better be ready."

GiGi picked at her apron.

"Ghost bucks only show up when they want to. They always have a reason for their visits." Whether it be a warning, good luck, or bad luck."

GiGi cleared her throat before speaking again.

"The last time a Ghost Buck visited me, I ignored the warning, bad things happened, and I lost your momma. I can do things right this time," GiGi said, looking over at the wounded deer.

I was quiet for a long moment, my small hands resting on my grass-stained knees, thinking it over. I looked down at the deer, now breathing easier, and then up at GiGi.

"You think this one's a Ghost Buck?" I asked.

GiGi's eyes got serious. "I know it. Let's hope for good luck," GiGi said.

"Now come on, noodle, strap up your shoes; we've got to build a shelter around him to keep him safe before the rain comes."

The next morning was bright, and I could see nothing but clear skies for miles. I packed my sketches and grabbed a bottle of orange juice from GiGi's fridge. Then, I snooped around the shed in the backyard.

My old snow sled was still hanging from the wall, covered in cobwebs, but still shiny underneath. My signed Barry Bonds baseball and glove sat by the door. I last played catch with them eight years ago. My dark blue mountain bike rested on its kickstand in the corner.

I'm kind of glad GiGi is a hoarder. She keeps everything. With my bike still in good shape, I won't get foot blisters during my visit. Plus, I won't have to risk my life driving the caddy.

I popped the kickstand and rolled my bicycle out into the grass. It needed some air in the tires, and a little WD-40, and it would be ready for anything. I flipped the bike onto its handlebars. Then, I went back into the shed for the grease and tire pump, which sat in its spots.

We're going to get you right.

While slicking up the chains, Burnie yelled at me from across the yard. The woman's vocal cords consist of wire. She didn't know how to use an inside voice; she had no interest in doing so even if she did.

"How'd I know you'd be out here, fiddlin' with that rusty junk?" she asked.

"It's still in good shape for its age," I said, pedaling to let the grease work through the old bike.

"You sure ya' don't want a lift? I am going downtown myself, got a hot date with my primary care doctor," she quipped.

"No, I'll be fine," I replied.

I'd rather take my chances on a rusty ten-year-old bike than ride in the car with Burnie.

"Make sure he's gloved up," I joked.

Burnie smiled. She liked dirty jokes. GiGi would pop me on the head for a comment like that.

"Ah, there's the noodle I've been searching for."

Kellen. Not noodle.

Arguing with Burnie was like arguing with your own reflection. I stopped correcting her five "noodles" ago.

Burnie didn't walk away. Instead, she lingered, watching me and the bike.

"We are going to roast a healthy bird tonight and eat at the table like civilized folks. We may even bring out the good dishes for it. Of course, your mom, Talula, will be there. She would like it if you joined us. GiGi would feel the same," she said, holding the back of her neck.

Burnie. Nervous?

"I don't have anywhere else to go," I replied.

"Look, Kellen, you know what I'm saying. Can you drop the 'woe is me' act for one night? Yes, your mom left you, and your family lied for years. But tonight, let's leave that behind."

"Sure. Y'all only pushed her out of my life and then had the unhinged idea to tell me she was dead."

Burnie stood there, mouth agape, like I'd said something crazy or false. But it was all true.

"Oh wait, I should have accepted that. Then, when she came back around seven years later, alive and well, I should have accepted her. She confirmed she didn't fight to see me. She also gave up her parental rights like it was nothing," I said.

Burnie was at a loss for words for once. So, I gave her more.

"Like I was noth-ing to her, Burnie," my voice cracked, and I felt myself getting worked up about it.

"Noodle, I'm sorry. There's a lot you don't know. If you let her talk to you, it might help you understand."

"Understand what? I don't have kids, but I can't imagine doing that. Nothing would keep me away from my child," I said.

"Everything isn't black and white," Burnie said. "It isn't as cut and dried as you make it out to be."

"Yeah-well. "I don't want to talk about her now. I want to ride my rusty old bike, if that's okay with you, Burnie," I said, lifting the bike up.

Burnie twitched her lips at me and raised a brow.

"I know you're upset, but remember who it is ya' talkin' to."

I rubbed my brows and wiped the sweat from my forehead. When I get mad, my sweat gets hot and sticky, and it itches. My blood started to race from the conversation. The itching grew stronger.

Any other time, the itch would send me into a spiral.

Right now, I welcome it. I had to focus on that itch. If I didn't focus on it, I'd cry instead.

How is it so hard for everyone to understand why the topic upsets me?

Burnie stood there, her shoulders slack.

She knows what she's doing.

"I'll do this for you and GiGi, not for her," I said, my jaw tight. Then, I swung my leg over the bike and pushed off the gravel driveway.

The chain clicked as it had in the past, and the gears shifted with a sense of satisfaction. I leaned forward, the handlebars steady in my hands, and the world sped up around me.

When I reached the downtown area, the talk that Burnie and I had was left in the wind.

Thinking about my mission, I felt a rush of anxiety. If I find this stranger, what will I say?

Hey, I don't know you from a can of paint, but I have been thinking about you.

Well, if she's in her right mind, she'll clop me upside the head and run screaming. But if she shares my slight instability, it will flatter her.

I hopped off my bike and set it up against the Tattered Lily. The town we were in was tight-knit; I never worried about thieves or murderers. I could tape a hundred-dollar bill to the seat of my bicycle, and they'd both still be there when I got back.

Your kids could play around the whole town without you worrying about their safety.

If your kid was causing trouble, you should know about Mrs. Calisa. She lived in the pretty yellow cottage on View Street. She was always watching, and she knew all the gossip in town. She was the first ringing your line about it too starting with, "Now you know I don't like to talk on folks, but..."

She was the one who called GiGi when Mitch and I wrecked his ped scooter in the beach water. He was out a scooter, but we would have gotten away with it.

I walked into the Tattered Lily, and Helen greeted me right away.

"Wow, aren't you fancy?" her eyes twinkled at me as she spoke.

I can see why she and Burnie get along.

I looked down at Helen's shirt, another white tee, covered in stains. I looked down at my clothes. I was in my best threads, but the fancy side of New York wouldn't even notice. But, being in Cannon Beach, I'm sure the shirt was fancy.

"Well, I hope I don't come across as a pretentious asshole because of a silk shirt," I joked.

Helen looked me up and down. "Not at all," she said.

"What is it I can help ya' with? You want some more of that apple pie? Ya' ain't eat none of it last time. I made a fresh batch of my sweet tea too," she beamed.

I let out a short laugh. "It was a bad day, but no, I am actually here to see if you know where I can find this girl. I sketched her the other day, and I wanted to—to—give it to her," I stuttered.

"What are you, a train?" Helen quipped, nudging me in the side.

I pulled the sketch from my book and passed it to Helen. She took it from my hands. She pulled out a pair of square-rimmed glasses from her apron pocket and placed them on her nose. Helen held the photo out, pulling it away and then closer. She squinted through her glasses.

"Nope, haven't seen her. But if I may, this is some great work," she said.

She passed it back to me, and I slipped it into its place.

"You sure?" I asked.

Helen paused.

"Well-I'd know, wouldn't I? I see every face that comes through this town," she replied. "How don't you know who she is? You drew the daggon picture of her," she snipped.

My cheeks burned.

"You are right," I said. "I'm going to go ask around, but thanks anyway, Helen."

Helen gave me a friendly whack on the back. "You smitten, ain't you?" she asked.

The question made me shrink into myself, and I couldn't look her in the eye. I looked down at her black non-slip shoes and smiled.

Helen looked hard at me, her smile fading. "Be careful," she said before turning away.

I was ready to walk out the jingling door, but Helen's words stopped me. I remembered the girl. She clung to the railing, daring herself to jump.

"Helen?" I called out to her. "If you don't know who she is, why would you think to say that of all things?" I asked.

Helen placed her hands in her apron, shrugged her shoulders, and gave me a wink.

I stayed gone until the sun dipped behind the bigleaf maples.

I coasted down many streets, glancing at the faces of strangers. I wondered which house might be hers and if she even lived in Oregon. She could have been passing through or visiting family.

I didn't even know her name, but the possibility of not seeing her again made me feel sick.

Why?

I walked the beach and the trails. Then, I checked the water tower on Lovers Lane. I even went into The Can, an old bar for the regulars. There, they drink and clank their glasses. They shout and laugh, sharing the same wild stories from their youth. The people I asked had no clue who she was; one guy made a joke that if he did know the good-lookin' lady in that photo, she'd be his. His one strong tooth poked over his bottom lip as he laughed, and I didn't return it.

With no luck and time running short, I had to give up the search.

On the ride home, I thought about the Ghost Buck shot in GiGi's yard and what happened next. I wondered if there were human versions of a Ghost Buck. If there were, I could only hope she'd want to see me again. I'm still grateful for that moment we shared.

My legs got heavier the closer I got to GiGi's. My feet were tingling and numb from pedaling for so long, with minimal breaks. One of Burnie's home-cooked meals will do me good.

Right when I hit the end of the driveway, I hopped off the bike and let it fall to the ground like a weight. My legs felt like pasta noodles; the bike would have to wait there until morning.

Stepping through the front door, the garlic and herb scent punched me in the stomach. I didn't realize how hungry I was; I had only had an orange juice today. I walked into the dining room. GiGi was at the end of the table, smiling with her breathing machine. Talula sat next to her. When I walked closer, Talula popped up and pulled a chair out next to her.

"Come have a seat, sweetheart," she said.

GiGi glared at me with an expression that told me what she wanted to say: "Sit your butt down."

I gave half a smile and nodded, taking my seat.

Talula sat back down next to me. She unrolled her napkin and placed it on her lap. Then, she folded it up and put it on the table. After that, she removed it again and slid it under her plate. It seemed she couldn't decide what to do with it.

Is she nervous?

I glanced over at GiGi and watched as she took a few deep breaths in and out, catching her breath. She looked drained and pale. Someone stole the sunshine from GiGi; the sight angered me.

How can everyone sit here like everything is normal?

Burnie was still placing the famous roasted chicken from Cannon Beach on the table. The setup looked like we were having a Thanksgiving dinner.

"The food smells great, Burnie," I chirped from my seat.

Nobody else was talking.

"Uh-uh," Burnie said. "This is ya' momma's doin."

Talula cleared her throat before speaking. "I heard you like my bird recipe," she said with a smile.

"I do it better, of course, but I'd be lying if I said my famous rotisserie was my own doing. Talula taught me everything I know about cooking," Burnie said.

Talula swatted at Burnie, a mischievous grin on her face.

"Let Kellen be the judge of that," Talula said.

I was uncomfortable. GiGi was eyeballing me from her side of the table, and this was the quietest I had ever seen her. She was watching, waiting for the storm.

"We do not have to make small talk," I interjected.

Burnie slapped a chunk of chicken onto my plate and gave me a silent death stare.

"I'm saying, let's skip the small talk. We can't ignore the conversation that's been weighing on us for years. Also, we shouldn't pretend GiGi isn't over there struggling to catch her breath," I said. "Everything is falling apart; let's get on with it all."

Talula pushed her chair back from the table. The legs scraped against the wooden floor. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Alright. I'll start."

It's long overdue.

"I was young. I got taken advantage of, then the boy who preyed on me wanted me to clear you out with a metal clothes hanger. But even without seeing you, smelling you, knowing you, I still loved you, and I couldn't do it," she snapped.

My stomach sank. It's not what I was expecting.

Why leave me behind, though, and why let me think you're dead?

"Tal-ula!" GiGi coughed the words out. She hunched over the table, hacking through her words.

"En-ough!" GiGi was getting worked up.

Talula pulled her eyes off me and glanced over at Gigi.

Did I expect this to take any other route?

"He's twenty-two years old. It's time he hears the whole truth and nothing but!" Talula snapped back.

I shuffled in my seat, now unsure of what to do with my eyes or my hands.

Burnie sank into her creaky chair and scooped up some mashed potatoes. She watched the chaos unfold.

"The kids at school ate it all up. They labeled me a whore. Everyone thought I wanted it because he was the quarterback of Seaside High School. They believed there was no way I didn't ask for it." Talula chewed on her lower lip.

I must have gotten that anxious habit from her.

Talula wiped her wrist across her nose.

"There was one person besides Burnie who stuck by my side. That stood up for-for me," Talula's voice cracked.

She picked up the bottle of Sangiovese and drank straight from its spout.

She sat it back on the table and pushed the bottle away before speaking again.

"Then, I became a murderer," she said, wiping a tear from her cheek.