I watch the fat seep out of the meat as the stone heats up and it sizzles, giving off an aroma that reminds me of the mess hall, not that rabbit was a regular smell and I have to swallow back that instant choking regret I get often. I’ve identified it as homesickness, even if the packhouse was never really that for me. I guess it’s just a general longing for the mountain and the ties to my long-forgotten family. The farm still sits empty. Although I always knew it was there, waiting, I never had the courage to go and see it. I’ve never been good at facing my pain, walking away. Closing it off always served a better purpose. Jasper used to tell me you had to face your problems head-on to be free of them, but then, he never lived to prove that was true.
I miss my brother most of all, even m
