Thick smears of mud splashed against the truck’s side as it bumped unevenly along the dirt track. The so-called road twisted and narrowed, barely twenty feet wide at best, winding a few hundred meters out from the scattered trailers that someone had optimistically dubbed a 'park.' Beyond that, the provincial highway lay another two kilometers away, a pale ribbon swallowed by the vast prairie dawn.
The dim light of early March offered no mercy to the slick patches hidden beneath the tires. Joshua Young squinted at the rearview mirror, catching sight of his son’s face pressed close to the glass. Mikey’s hair was tousled and damp from the cold moisture inside the cab, cheeks flushed pink against the dull glow of the dashboard lights.
Mikey kicked at the console with his worn boots, oblivious to the rough ride and his father’s mounting worries. His laughter bubbled up, bright and untethered, a stark contrast to the heavy ache Joshua carried in his chest.
The boy was holding together pretty well, all things considered. Better than his old man, for sure. The last few months had been a mess of upheaval and bruised hopes. Leaving everything they’d known behind—homes, friends, the life burned to ash—was a brutal shake. Yet, Mikey adapted with a resilience Joshua barely understood.
He thought of the fire that had taken so much. The family lost, the connections severed in a heartbeat. Still, some strands remained. Grandpa’s old ties from Cyprus had smoothed the way to this new place, a cold patch of prairie where the wind seemed to slice through the thin walls of their trailer. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Joshua glanced again at his son’s freckled face, blackheads peppering the bridge of his nose, betraying his youth beneath the grime. He felt a stab of guilt, that familiar burn that never quite left him since the fire. The desperation to provide, to protect, warring with the reality of this fractured life.
“You gonna keep reading all night again?” Mikey’s voice was small but insistent, breaking the silence that had settled like a weight between them.
Joshua’s gaze flicked to the cluttered coffee table at home, piled high with technical manuals and certification guides. The John Deere exam looming ahead was just another knot in a tightening noose of responsibilities. Farm season was about to start, promising long, muddy nights that would bleed into early mornings. Somewhere in the margins, there was no time left for being a regular dad.
“Yeah, sorry, Big Mikey. What’s the plan today? You gonna finish that dog book? Maybe do some coloring?” he tried, forcing a smile he didn’t feel.
“Yup!” Mikey’s eyes sparkled with the earnest enthusiasm only a first grader could muster. “Mrs. Travers wants us to draw a picture of our house.”
Joshua’s glance drifted toward the trailer cluster, walls smeared with yesterday’s mud, autumn leaves plastered in soggy mats over the steps. The place was a far cry from anything a child’s drawing should capture.
“Maybe clean it up a bit first, hmm?” he suggested.
“Yup!” Mikey’s grin was wide, infectious, and for a moment, Joshua let himself breathe.
Grades were average, but Mikey’s spirit was pure gold. That Mrs. Travers had nothing but praises for him, and Joshua suspected some of the charm might come from Mikey’s mother—her sparkling green eyes, her warmth, a memory that hovered like a fragile flame.
The other kids in the neighborhood were slow to warm to the new family, but Joshua was hopeful. Slowly, things might settle.
“Hey,” Joshua reached over, smoothing down Mikey’s static-prone hair beneath his woolen toque. “What do you say we hunt down some seeds tonight?”
“Why?”
The dreaded cascade of whys began.
“I dunno. Maybe start a garden if we find some soft earth? Grow some veggies, save a bit on groceries. Get a little dirt under our nails, like Grandma used to say.”
Joshua swallowed, the memory of a burnt garden flashing painfully behind his eyes—charred remnants of a life lost. “I’d hang out there on Saturdays when Mom worked, watch Grandpa fix his old trucks, help Grandma pick beans.”
“Can we grow some flowers for Mom?” Mikey’s voice was tentative, hopeful.
A sudden silence stretched between them, the weight of absence pressing down. “I... don’t think so, bud,” Joshua said softly, the words catching in his throat.
“And Grandma always said the food from the place you live gets right into you.”
Joshua hesitated, the tight knot in his chest loosening just a little. “Maybe this place can get into us too. Change us a bit. Help folks here warm up.”
Assimilation, he thought bitterly. Resistance always felt futile. But he needed something simple, something good.
“Okay?”
“Yup!” Mikey nodded with unwavering faith.
“Right after we get home. Then I gotta hit the books.”
The headlights caught a lone figure trudging along the roadside. Familiar, weather-beaten, a faded denim jacket hanging loose over dirt-caked jeans. Joshua exhaled a slow breath, cheeks puffing out as he considered the approaching silhouette.
“How much time we got before the bus, Mikey?”
“Five whole minutey-doos.”
“Alright. Let’s try to be decent neighbors, yeah?”
The figure glanced back, eyes sharp and guarded. Joshua watched as she pushed a grimy lock of hair from her face and quickened her pace to the truck window. There was something wild in her—a farm girl roughness, tangled hair, nails blackened beneath grime.
“Hey, D’arce,” Joshua called, raising a hand in greeting.
“Hey,” she replied, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her jacket with a shrug. “What’s going on?”
“It’s damn cold. Want a ride?”
“Colder yesterday,” she said, voice flat.
“You look like you’re in a hurry.”
Her fierce eyes locked on his. “Single dad stuff?”
“Yeah. You know, you could call me in the morning if you want.”
“Left my phone at...”—she cut off, voice rough—“The last guy I hooked up with's got it. Dumb move, but I had to get out of there.”
Joshua noticed how neither D’arcy nor Mikey met each other’s eyes. Mikey pressed his back against Joshua’s shoulder, kicking the truck door softly, shy and uneasy around the woman. D’arcy’s gaze flicked away quickly, guarded and distant.
“You ever think about washing those clothes?” Joshua asked, nodding toward her filthy jeans and jacket.
“Muck pigs all day. What’s the point?” she muttered.
“You could sit in the back.”
“Nah. Then I’d just be stuck waiting on the highway for my ride. Walking’s warmer. Besides,” she smirked, eyebrows raised, “I like making him wait. Gotta keep people on their toes. Otherwise, they start taking you for granted.”
Joshua chuckled softly, the sound muffled by the truck’s creaks and groans. The morning chill settled heavier now, a reminder of the many battles fought just to survive here, in this stretch of broken ground, cold hearts, and colder nights.