Chapter Eight
Harlow
A year or so later
Resting a hand on my hip, I dragged my sleeve across my face and scanned my gaze over the charred trees stretching in front of me. Turning away, I strode a few steps to a fallen log, leaning over to pick up a water bottle and draining it. In the other direction, I could see Denali in the distance, the centerpiece of the Alaskan Range. We were just finishing up a controlled burn about an hour north of Willow Brook, Alaska, where I had taken a position on a hotshot crew last year.
Being a hotshot firefighter was everything I expected and more. I had a clean break from the harsh tension between my father and me, and had immersed myself in the work. This job gave me the gift of living and breathing the outdoors. I loved the wilderness; I always had.
