Free There Will Be Bears by Ryan Gebhart Page A

Gene in a nursing home?”
    “Huh?”
    “You were all whatever about it.”
    “Oh. Um, I don’t know.”
    “You really don’t care?”
    “I care. I mean, of course. I just . . . don’t like to talk about things like that.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I’m tired of everything being bad all the time. Dad losing his job and getting depressed, and then our living in a motel. We were, like, homeless. All of my stuff is still in boxes. And then when you told me about Gramps . . .” She lets out a long sigh. “I should have seen it coming. But why would I say anything?”
    “It would have helped me.”
    She tucks her knees up to her chest, looking me in the eyes. “I thought you never wanted to talk to me.”
    “Tell me something about yourself I don’t know. What do you like to do?”
    “Study,” she confesses, like she’s ashamed.
    “Are you smart?”
    “Yeah. I can help you get ready for your test if you want.”
    “But you’re eleven.”
    “I’m in Advanced American Civ. We studied the Revolutionary War three weeks ago.”
    “Really? Wow, okay.”
    She gathers up her things. “I’m going to bed. ’Night.”
    I steal her spot, cover myself with the blanket, and watch a marathon of Taylor Swift stuff.
    Okay, tomorrow I’m going to study my yamhole off. No excuses.
    My phone goes off so early, the sun isn’t even up. I hear my ringtone.
    Moo
.
    Who the heck is calling me at . . . what time is it? God, it better not be Bright.
    Moo. Moo
.
    My phone isn’t in my pants pockets, not on the end table.
    “Seriously, Bright, I’m going to kill you.”
    My phone moos again.
    There! I fish it out from between the couch cushions.
    It’s five a.m. GRAMPS is flashing on my screen.

Gene never uses his cell phone for anything other than emergencies. He kept it in the cup holder of his pickup in case of an accident. This call has to be important. And I have a feeling it’s about the hunting trip.
    “Gene,” I say. “Hey.”
    “So you’re calling me Gene now?”
    “Um . . . yeah.”
    There’s an awkward moment where I think about what happened yesterday at the nursing home. But I won’t bring it up. And I know he won’t, either.
    He says, “You still coming to see me next weekend?”
    “That depends. Dad says I have to pass this test tomorrow.”
    “Good. I can’t have my hunting partner be a middle-school dropout.”
    “Hunting partner?” I say with fake excitement. I want to go. I really do. But guys on dialysis don’t hunt elk. Gene has gotten weaker and skinnier, and I can’t have him go on this trip just because I need to prove something. I mean, God, what if something happened out there?
    I say, “How is that going to work out?”
    “I had dinner with Marjorie Henry last night.”
    “Oh, yeah? She’s cool, isn’t she? So did you get a kiss?”
    “Always looking out for the important things.”
    “You know it.”
    “Tyson, Marjorie is the widow of Martin Henry.”
    “Your old boss?”
    “He owned a ranch in the Bridger-Teton National Forest. It’s where we would hunt back in the day. Marjorie owns the ranch now. She said we can use it whenever we want, free of charge.”
    “That’s fun.”
    “Her nephew Mike runs the place with his girlfriend. They have horses, all-terrain vehicles, and . . .” He gets into a coughing fit.
    “Are there going to be hunting guides?”
    “No.”
    “But Dad hid your rifles.”
    “Mike has a couple set aside for us.”
    “But Mom won’t let me go to the Tetons ’cause of the bear attacks.”
    “Just tell them that we’re going camping someplace, maybe in Idaho. No grizzlies in Idaho.”
    “You want me to lie?”
    “We bear swore that we’d go on this hunt. And you
never
break a bear swear. I don’t care what your mother thinks, what your father thinks, what my nurses think, or what anyone thinks. We’re going.”
    What about what I think?
    I say, “What about your kidneys? Don’t you have to do dialysis three times a