Chapter 24: The Ridge

The ridge was exactly as I remembered it.

A gravel track ended at a flat shelf of grey rock, and past the edge the whole of Kentucky lay folded in blue hills.

I killed the engine and the quiet came up around us.

Ronan stopped his bike beside mine and shut his off.

He did not say anything.

I carried the steel urn to the rock and set it down.

The wind pulled at my braid.

I had been nine years old the last time I stood here, with a hand in a hand much bigger than mine.

"This is where you said nobody could find you," I said to the urn.

My voice sounded small out here.

"You left yourself on a shelf in the club, Daddy, and the wrong man kept the key. I got you back anyway."

I wiped my face with my sleeve and laughed at myself.

"I'd like to think you'd be proud of me."

Ronan stood a pace behind me.

He didn't touch me.

He was waiting to be asked.

"Come here," I said.

He came and stood at my shoulder.

I twisted the lid.

It was heavier than I expected, and the metal was warm from the sun.

Inside lay the grey ash of a man who had taught me to gap a plug and drive a stick shift and throw a punch.

I held it out over the edge.

"Go on," I whispered. "Go wherever you want."

I tipped the urn.

The wind took him at once.

A long pale ribbon streamed out over the valley, spread, thinned and was gone into the light.

I stood with the empty steel in my arms and could not make a sound.

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