Everything was the same.

The same house.

The same family.

The same boring, sheltered existence where nothing exciting ever happened. Everything about her life was predictable as if she were following a script, one that included a safe, comfortable, stable life, an existence that did nothing to fill her with excitement and anticipation of what her future could be.

Her parents, Brad and Emily Friessen, were amazing, full of love and laughter, with a closeness even her friends were envious of, and they lived the kind of life everyone seemed to want—everyone, that was, except Becky. However, in all honesty, she wouldn’t trade her family for anything, a family filled with laughter, closeness, and questions about as familiar as the pull of breath every time she walked through the door after school. “How was your day?” they would always say before asking her to keep an eye on her little brother, Jack. Then there was Trevor, her older brother with autism, who would never have a life of his own.

The steps creaked on the porch as she stepped up. She pulled open the squeaky screen and then the inside door, which had been painted the same white as long as she could remember. She expected her mom to come around the corner, since Becky was home directly after school instead of working a shift at the grocery store, her part-time job, which filled her smart car with gas and gave her a modicum of freedom. Her backpack, which was filled with her schoolwork, binders, and basically her entire locker from her second time around senior year at high school, was still looped over her shoulder.

Yup, she’d actually been short two courses to graduate the previous year with the credits she would need to start her next adventure, college—all because the robotics course she’d once been excited about had only shown her she was never meant to be an engineer, so now instead of being on her way to college, she was stuck at home, working part time in a dead-end job, taking more courses that would finally bring her closer to her dreams. Only therein lay the problem she hadn’t spent a lot of time considering: Becky didn’t have a clue what that dream job could be. Instead, she kept seeing this same predictable life that would bore her to tears.

She did know it wouldn’t be anything to do with the ranch, anything way out in the country where her closest neighbor was a mile away. She wanted people around, action, aliveness, excitement, but instead of sharing any of that with her mom, her dad, or anyone in her family, she kept it to herself.

Her sneakers squeaked on the pristine hardwood floor as she took another step, holding her backpack strap. She realized as she strode into the house she’d grown up in that she didn’t hear the familiar clatter from the kitchen that said her mom was cooking dinner, or Jack, her six-year-old little brother, who was always chattering, running, playing. She expected him to come running as he always did and slam into her, all smiles, his way of saying he was happy to see his big sister. She often wished he’d dial it back a bit and finally get that she wasn’t unbreakable.

It was unusually quiet.

“She’s here now.” She heard her dad’s voice, and the floor squeaked as he stepped out of the kitchen, giving her a pointed look, the phone to his ear. It was in that second that she knew he was talking about her to whomever he was speaking with. “Thanks again for letting me know.”

Then he disconnected the phone and stepped into the living room, where he rested it on the side table. Had she done something? She wracked her brain, trying to figure it out. Again, her dad said nothing, and she took in his dark blue shirt and the faint white lines that weaved a pattern through the cotton. His sleeves were rolled up, and she could see a line of mud on his forearm as if he’d just come in from someplace on the ranch and hadn’t had a chance to wash up. His thick dark hair was wavy and in need of a cut, and the gray threading its way through was taking over the color more and more.

“Hi, Dad, where’s Mom?”

“She’s over at Candy and Neil’s, picking up your little brother and dropping off Trevor for the night.” Her dad glanced to the door and gestured. “So you’re not working today? Good, because I want to have a talk with you.”

He took her in, and her heart kicked up as she wondered again for a second whether he’d found out something she’d done or maybe hadn’t done—but she was careful. She didn’t share with anyone what she was thinking, instead slipping back and away and remaining purposely vague. His expression was curious, and that had her saying, “…Okay? About what, Dad?”

“Go hang up your coat and your backpack, and come and help me start dinner,” he said, gesturing to the kitchen. He was being vague, too. Maybe that was who she got it from. So what was up? Her dad didn’t cook, her mom did, so something was a little off. The house was way too quiet. Talking was something her mom always wanted to do, whereas her dad was more about stepping in when there was problem and fixing everything.

The tap was running in the kitchen when she walked back in, wearing her blue jeans, which were beyond comfortable, and her bright orange and brown peasant blouse with sleeves that flowed to midarm. She took in her dad washing his hands, his arms, and then shaking the water off as he reached for a towel.

“So how was school today?” he said. That was her mom’s line. She noticed a pot steaming on the stove. Her dad reached over and turned it to low.

“Great, so is that dinner?” It smelled good, and she lifted the lid to see a pot of chili. Yum.

“Your mom started it this morning asked me to reheat it. She wants you to make a salad,” he added.

She gave him a withering look, and a smile touched his lips. “Pretty sure she didn’t say that,” she said, but then, her dad really wasn’t any use in the kitchen, and he helped by not cooking.

“No, but make the salad just the same. I’ll wash the lettuce for you.” He winked, and she rolled her eyes, because next she’d be doing all the work and her dad would be helping himself to a beer or something else, leaning against the counter, asking her…what? Oh, yeah, he wanted to have a talk with her.

“Here.” Her dad had the fridge open and tossed her a cucumber. She caught it and pulled down the chopping board that was always clean and propped upright against the backsplash. Her dad began washing the lettuce and a bunch of green onions and tomatoes.

“So how about elaborating a little more on school? The courses you’re taking are what, again?” Brad asked as he rinsed the tomato and then took the cucumber from her before she could chop it, giving it a rinse under the tap.

Becky pulled the wooden salad bowl from the cupboard above her and set it on the counter, then reached for a knife from the block. She sliced the cucumber. “Calculus, remember, and history,” she said, thinking of the classes she’d thought were a great idea at the time. She was passing them, of course, but they too held little interest to her.

“Hmm” was all he said.

“Could tell you all about the French Revolution we’re studying or the formulas I managed to nail today in Calculus, if you like.”

Her dad shook the water off the lettuce, and she was about to point out he should really use a salad spinner. She was about to but knew then he probably wouldn’t, since he likely didn’t have a clue where her mom put it. That would force Becky to take over everything, which she pretty much was now as she took in how out of place her dad appeared, prepping a salad in the kitchen. He slowly turned his head, giving her a withering dark look. His answer so clear she wanted to laugh.

“No, but I’d like to talk with you about what’s next, about college,” he said. So that was the big talk he wanted. Who had been on the phone? Maybe that would give her a clue as to what this was about.

“Sure, what about?”

Her dad nudged her with his elbow. “You’re evading, Becky. Don’t think I don’t know you haven’t really figured out what you want to do. Not once have you ever said what you’re dying to do. Everyone has a vision, as in a lifelong dream of something, but you’ve never once said anything about yours. In school, you do well enough, and I’m starting to get the feeling that—”

“Linguistics,” she said to cut her dad off before he started down a road he’d never ventured on before, analyzing her and maybe steering her into something she didn’t want to do. No, that was what her mom did. She analyzed and poked and questioned, and at times it seemed like nagging even though Becky knew she cared and worried. This was starting to sound like something her mom had put her dad up to.

“Linguistics, really?” he said and rested the dripping leafy green lettuce on the cutting board when he really needed to tear it up. She realized washing the lettuce was all he was going to do.

“Yup, linguistics, you know, the study of languages and variations, how they’ve changed over time, how they’re processed by the brain. Linguistics,” she added, this time with more sureness, wanting to pat herself on the back and thinking this would shut down any more of this probing into her future plans.

“Sounds like you pulled that out of your butt just now.” Her dad was studying her, and she realized he probably knew her better than most. She said nothing as she stood there, and he leaned down, resting his forearms on the edge of the counter. He was level to her, considering she was only a little taller than her mom, at five foot four, and her dad was such a tall man—and, as her girlfriends said, a man who hadn’t let himself go. He was built like a linebacker, with a chest that was built to hold a woman, and he was a hotty for a man his age. The thought made her cringe, knowing her friends often drooled over her dad. If only he knew.

“Becky, linguistics, really?” he said. She didn’t miss the humor that seemed to light up his eyes. “I’m starting to think you’re more about becoming a professional student.”

“What?” How could he say that, even if she was more comfortable keeping on with school until she found that spark of something that excited her, even though she wasn’t an exceptionally gifted straight A student? She did want to find something and thought it would come to her when she was away at school, preferably someplace like Berkley or Cambridge, Ohio State, or even Michigan, someplace hopping and alive with people, with a nightlife and energy that would feed that part of her that at times was so bored living on her father’s ranch in Hoquiam, a quiet piece of the world where nothing ever happened.

“Dad…” she started as he handed her the tomato. Just then, she heard a vehicle.

“Sounds like your mom’s home, so how about coming up with something better than linguistics? Oh, and that was your principal, who called with the good news.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “You have all the credits you need to graduate. You’re done. Wait till your mom hears.”

She realized now what her dad was saying and the reason for this talk. Her mom was on her way in. Soon enough, she’d know the news and start poking away at Becky until she came up with an idea for her future, and if she didn’t, Emily would start pushing her in a direction she didn’t want to go. “Great. Thanks for the heads up, Dad.”

Her dad lingered just a second in the doorway, long enough for Becky to realize he understood her more than she was comfortable with, more than she liked. Then he was gone, and she listened to the car doors, the chatter of her family.

She pressed down on the knife and hit something hard. “What the…?” Too late, she felt the stabbing pain and realized she’d cut into her finger. She saw white bone and blood gushing, covering the cutting board and turning the salad fixings into a bloody mess. She just stared, hearing nothing and everything as she was hit by a wave of dizziness, and the sounds around her drew out long and loud. The world seemed to lighten around her and then plunge into nothing, as everything suddenly went black.