Page 4

“Casper!”

I jumped, turned to stare down at the smiling face of Mrs. Christensen, my ninth grade geometry teacher. I blinked, opened my mouth…couldn’t think of what to say.

How strange. I found it easier to be confrontational than make pleasant chitchat. Casual conversation was almost beyond me. Partly because I had no idea how to respond to simple ordinary questions likehow are you?

How was I?

I’d spent eleven months in jail waiting to be tried for a crime I hadn’t committed. And the only reason I wasn’t still in jail was because my sister—my only living relative—had confessed to the murder and then overdosed on sleeping pills.

I was not good.

And people are not comfortable hearing that.

Mrs. Christensen didn’t seem to notice anything amiss however. “I’m glad I ran into you.” Her smile faded a little. “I was so sorry to hear about Astrid.”

I swallowed. “Thanks.”

“It’s a relief to know the record has been set straight.”

“Yes.”

Would the record ever really be set straight? I had to wonder.

“No one who knows you ever believed you could do something like that.”

She meant it. She was so sincere and so sweet; it closed my throat.

“You’d be surprised,” I managed.

Mrs. Christensen shook her head, patted my arm. “People can be very foolish. But time heals all wounds. You’ll see.”

Yeah, no.

But I appreciated the thought and the kindness behind the thought.

“Will we see you at the bonfire tomorrow night?”

“No.” That came out more gruffly than I’d intended. Buthellno.

Mrs. Christensen studied my face, gave my arm another little squeeze. “God bless you, dear. Merry Christmas.”

I bought three bottles of citrus vodka, two bottles of limoncello, a six pack of Lori’s Lavender Lemonade, and twelve cans of Campbell’s soup.

On the drive home I stopped at Hiraeth Hollow.

I used to bring Freyja down here on weekends to give her a good run and give the squirrels and rabbits a good laugh. Maybe in the back of my mind there was a little bit of hope that she was hanging out in the woods, hoping I was going to show up.

I pulled the Range Rover to the side of the road, got out, boots sinking into snow. I walked into the trees. The air was sweet with pine and smoky-snow smell. As I walked deeper into the green-blue shadows, the crunch of my boots on snow, my exhales and inhales were swallowed by the hushed stillness.

Silence.

I had not experienced silence in nearly a year.

And again, I felt overwhelmed. Tears stung my eyes, and I stopped, breathing it in, the cold-clean air and the ringing silence. Not a plane in the sky, not a car on the road. Even the river behind the towering pines, was silent, frozen over. I wiped at my cheeks before the tears froze, and walked on.

The profound hush was interrupted only by the occasional soft creaking of branches, as if the trees whispered to one another.Released on a technicality.

“Fuck you all,” I muttered.