I sighed and checked my iPhone again. I’d been standing on the now deserted trackside platform for nearly forty-five minutes. I was tempted to call Aunt Connie, but I knew it would be a waste of time. There was next to no cell service starting just a few miles outside Missoula. And then I heard the unmistakable clop of cowboy boots on the wooden walk, just around the corner of the small depot. As I pivoted, I was greeted...

It was becoming an all-too-familiar sight: my dad standing in the corner of the kitchen, one hand holding a cup of strong aromatic coffee and the other stroking a two-day stubble. I sat with my head hanging down, a spoonful of oatmeal halfway between mouth and bowl. “Tom, that’s the last time I’m bailing you out for fighting. You owe me two hundred bucks. You need a change of scenery. Your mom and I have already talked wi...