Page 12

12

I sleep poorly that night, and if dreams trouble me, they’ve faded by morning. Connor brings me coffee in bed, kisses my forehead, and tells me that he’s already told his female relatives that I won’t be joining them for the second day of skiing.

“You’re my favorite,” I inform him.

“I am pretty great,” he agrees. “I’ve got Male Bonding with Trevor, Nick, and Grandpa today. You’ll be okay here?”

I nod, shoo him away. By the time I extract myself from the warm cocoon of the blankets, he’s on his way out the door. I draw back the curtain to watch him go. The light filters down through the boughs of the trees, making the snow glint. I watch until he vanishes.

I try not to think about the photograph. I tidy up what we left out last night, make myself breakfast, pour another cup of coffee, clean again. I check my phone, wondering if perhaps some ghost of signal has allowed emails and messages to get through, but there’s nothing.

“This is ridiculous,” I say to myself the fourth time I skirt around the table, avoiding the book with its illicit bookmark.

Yesterday was strange. I was caught up in my emotions, not thinking clearly. I saw a photograph of some random little girl and I got an odd notion in my head. The moment I take that photograph out, I tell myself, this whole thing will seem foolish. She probably looks nothing like me.

I step briskly over to the table. I open the book and pull the photograph out in one fluid movement, flipping it onto the table.

And there she is. The little girl looks up at me. Brown hair. Braids. Sharp little chin. Lots of children look like that.

My fingertips trail along the line of her face, down to her neck. There are two tiny dots along her throat, right above her collarbone. Birthmarks. I missed them before. I touch the matching marks on my own neck.

I shudder, sitting down.

It was supposed to be a dream. Gone with the rising sun.

“Who are you?” I whisper, searching my own memories for the answer, but there’s nothing.

A keening wail breaks through the mire of my thoughts. I startle, nearly knocking over the wineglass. A child is crying outside—and there’s only one child here. I rush over to the window, the photograph still in my hand. Sebastian is standing outside, wearing nothing but sweatpants and a thin cotton shirt. He’s crying, scrubbing at his face with his little fists.

“What the fuck?” I manage, frozen in place—and then common sense catches up and I pull on my boots. I throw my coat on, grabbing a blanket from the back of the armchair as I head out. I have the presence of mind to shove the photograph into my coat pocket as I stride to the trail.

He doesn’t even see me. He’s staring off into the distance, crying in hiccupping sobs.

“Hey, kiddo,” I say, trying for soothing.

He twists around. A river of snot runs from his nose. His eyelashes are all gummed together with tears. My stomach twists with fleeting panic. How long has he been like this?

“It’s freezing out here!” I throw the blanket around him. At least he’s wearing shoes—not boots, but little tennis shoes with dinosaurs on the toes. “Where did you come from? Why are you all alone?” I ask him, but he’s crying too hard to answer.

Olena’s supposed to be watching him, isn’t she? I look around, rubbing his arms. No sign of her.

“We need to get you back to your cabin,” I say. If someone’s looking for him, surely that’s where they’ll go. “It’s okay, little dude, we’ll get you back to your mommies.”

This promise at last seems to calm him down. The wails stop, and he looks up at me with those achingly perfect brown eyes. I smile in a way I hope is reassuring.

I stick out my hand. He lifts both of his in a very clear demand, and I sigh. “Okay. I’ll carry you.” I grunt as I haul him up. He burrows against me, his face swiping wetly along the curve of my neck as he finds a comfortable spot. I swallow down my distaste and resettle the blanket.

I listen for voices calling out his name. Nothing. No Olena running around frantically. I cut straight through toward Red Fox, relying on memory, and regret it when I have to wade through a drift of snow up to my calves, each step made more laborious by the ungainly weight of a now-quiet three-year-old.

“What were you doing out here?” I ask him.

“I was playing,” he says. “I was looking for foxes.” It comes out wooking fuh fot-ses , which even I have to admit is adorable.

“I think maybe no more looking for foxes without a grown-up, okay?” I say.

“Otay.”

Goddamn, he’s cute. I was always supposed to love kids. Beth wanted nothing more than one of those huge families, big enough that all the older girls look after the babies. Instead it was just me. I had cousins, of course. Dozens of them. Most of them lived in Idaho, though, and the ones that were closer were all older than me. It never stopped Beth from pointing out babies to me, offering me up for babysitting, telling me what a wonder it was going to be when I had my own children. She would talk in a disturbing amount of detail about what it would be like, having a baby grow inside of me, the way it never had in her. It’s God’s miracle , she would say.

We’re at Red Fox. I knock on the door, balancing Sebastian on my hip. There’s no answer. I try the knob but it won’t turn.

“What are you doing?”

The voice brings me around fast enough that Sebastian squeaks and wraps his arms around my neck. It’s Nick, Connor’s uncle. He stands with his hands in the pockets of a black wool coat, a scarf around his neck. He’s got a lighter complexion than his brother or his nephew, black hair peppered gray, the same square jaw but without the soft cheeks to gentle it. He looks like his father.

“I’m—I—” I stammer. I haven’t done anything wrong, but my mind is rifling through the last five minutes looking for things I could get blamed for.

“What are you doing out here with the kid?” he asks, restrained suspicion in his voice. Not an accusation—yet.

“He must have wandered off on his own. I’m not sure who was watching him, so I came to check the cabin, but…” I turn slightly in a full-body gesture toward the door.

He looks at me for a beat, like he’s trying to decide if I’m lying.

“I’m cold,” Sebastian says faintly, and Nick’s expression tenses.

“Let’s get him inside. Come on, my cabin’s closest,” he says, and takes his hand out of his pocket to beckon me. I scurry down the steps as best I can, following him. My arms are starting to feel the strain of holding the kid, but Nick doesn’t offer to take him from me, and I don’t ask. He walks staring straight ahead, his expression dark.

“Any idea where his moms are?” he asks.

“Skiing. I think Olena was supposed to watch him,” I say. Then hastily add, “But I’m not sure.” I don’t want to get her in trouble if I’m wrong.

He grunts a response. “Up here.”

This cabin is smaller than ours. The ornament on the door is a bumblebee, and I’m faintly amused at the thought of the glowering man being stuck with a cabin with such a cutesy name. He ushers us inside.

“Put him on the couch. Grab another blanket from the bedroom, I’ll get a fire going,” he says, and disappears outside again.

I set Sebastian on the couch. I have to prize his hands from around my neck, but then he nestles against the cushions, shivering. I pull his shoes off, and his socks, which have soaked through. His feet are bluish, and I rub them between my hands, giving him an encouraging smile.

“All safe and warm,” I tell him.

“I didn’t find the foxes,” he says mournfully.

“I’ll help you look later,” I promise, maybe foolishly. I hurry to the bedroom to grab the comforter. There’s a suitcase sitting out on it, unzipped and flung open. The clothes inside are folded neatly. Shirts I now know enough to recognize are expensive, a pair of dress shoes, a maroon sweater that probably takes five years of education to clean correctly. There’s a pair of simple silver cuff links on top of the sweater, as if discarded there absentmindedly.

Once upon a time, I might have palmed one. Just one. Take two, and it’s obvious they’ve been pilfered. Take one, and the owner will assume it fell somewhere, got lost between cushions or down a vent.

I glance toward the door before shutting the suitcase and moving it to the floor. I pull the comforter off the bed and pretend I wasn’t tempted.

A minute or two after I get Sebastian properly burritoed in blankets, Nick reappears with a load of firewood. Without so much as glancing our way, he kneels by the woodstove and begins constructing a careful fire.

I remember Joseph making a fire at our campsite with that same concentration, explaining to me about airflow and trapping the heat and natural sources of tinder. He always explained things to me. Told me the proper names of things. “You can use moss,” he’d tell me. “I like Spanish moss the best, but it doesn’t grow up here. Though you know, it’s not actually a moss? Tillandsia usneoides . Related to pineapples, if you can believe it.”

Joseph had a degree in biology with a focus on botany. He worked installing air-conditioning units for Beth’s uncle, but he delighted in sharing what he remembered with me. I mistakenly believed his delight was about me, not simply about having an audience.

Nick Dalton uses a stick of pressed material meant to catch fire quickly and reliably. He strikes a long match and whoosh , crackling flames. He shuts the stove door. “Should warm up pretty quick,” he says. “How’s he doing?”

I look down at where Sebastian has tipped over to nestle into my side. His eyes are closed, those long lashes sweeping against his cheeks. “I think he’s asleep,” I say.

“Must’ve worn himself out with all the excitement,” Nick says. He pushes to his feet, hands back in his pockets. “You just found him out there?”

“More like he found me,” I say. “I heard him calling.”

“He’s lucky. Could have frozen to death,” he says, matter-of-fact. “Olena was watching him?”

“She must be frantic.”

“Well, we can wait for him to warm up and bring him to the lodge. See if we run into her along the way,” Nick decides. I nod, glad someone else has a plan.

“Hopefully before Alexis and Paloma get back,” I say. “I’d rather they heard he was safe before they find out he was missing.”

A grunt, this one in agreement. He’s still just standing there, looking at Sebastian in a way like he’s really looking at both of us, but trying not to be too obvious about it. “I remember one of the kids going missing once. Connor, or maybe Trevor. Rose was just about out of her mind. At least that was summer, though. Mostly worried about the lake, then.” He lets out a breath. “Having kids makes you crazy. First because it’s your job to protect them from every little thing and they’re completely helpless, and then because it’s not your job anymore, and you’ve gotta let them be out in the world without you.”

“You have kids?” I ask, trying to remember the family tree Connor briefed me on.

“Two girls. Madison and Paige,” he says. “They’re with their mom this Christmas.” He’s still looking at Sebastian instead of me, but now his eyes flick up to my face. They linger there, the way they did when I introduced myself. “How about you? You and Connor planning on having kids?” he asks. It has the air of a question used to fill the space, to silence another thought he isn’t ready to voice.

“We haven’t talked about it,” I say. Yet another thing we haven’t had the time to get to. “I don’t know. I’ve always assumed I wouldn’t want any.”

“Any particular reason?” he asks. It should feel intrusive, but he just sounds curious.

“I didn’t exactly have the best upbringing,” I say. “I know plenty of people with great parents, but it doesn’t feel real to me. Like that could be a happy thing.”

“I always wanted kids,” he says. “My dad was always on me about having sons, that old-fashioned ‘carry on the family name’ thing, but I hoped we’d have girls. Of course I didn’t exactly predict what having teenage girls would be like.” He sounds rueful, and I’m pretty sure I can guess the ages of his daughters.

“Sounds like you’re in the thick of it,” I say.

“Doesn’t help that their mom and I split recently,” he says. “They’re still pretty pissed about that.”

“I’m sorry,” I say awkwardly.

He waves a hand. “It is what it is. These things have got to work themselves out.”

Beside me, Sebastian stirs. He wipes his nose on his sleeve and blinks up at us. “Can we go home now?” Sebastian asks. “I’m hungry.”

“Come on. We’ll head up to the lodge. Get you something to eat there,” Nick says with a huff. I get up, wiping my palms on my jeans nervously. Nick was around back then, of course he was. He has to know who that girl was.

Who I am.

Sebastian’s shoes are still wet. Nick leaves them by the woodstove and we make sure Sebastian’s feet are bundled up in the blanket as I carry him—Nick offers this time, but Sebastian clings to me.

As we approach the lodge, several questions are answered all at once. Olena’s voice reaches us first, high-pitched and frantic.

“What if he got lost? It’s freezing out here! It’s literally freezing! I can’t believe—”

Another voice answers her, masculine but too quiet to make out; it sounds like someone trying to calm her down. Or at least shut her up. I have a pretty good guess about who it is, and I’m proven right as soon as we step out of the stand of trees to discover Olena, hair mussed and face blotchy with tears, and Trevor, his hands on her arms and wearing an expression of mingled stress and annoyance. Olena spots us—and Sebastian—first, and lets out a cry, rushing toward us.

“Sebastian! You’re okay!” she says.

Trevor rocks his weight back on a heel, eyes lazy as he looks us over. The set of his jaw betrays tension, despite his unconcerned expression. “Told you he was fine,” he says.

Olena is touching Sebastian all over, like she needs to press her palms to him to prove she was worried, to feel like she’s doing something.

“I only turned away for a moment and he must have taken off. I’ve been looking all over for him—” she begins.

“He’s been with us for, what, fifteen minutes?” Nick asks me. I give a mute nod. “Must’ve been wandering longer than that, given how cold he was.”

Olena wrings her hands, grip twisting around her index finger. Strands of her dark hair stick to her tearstained cheeks. “I got distracted.”

Trevor’s hands are in his pockets. He meets my eye and shrugs slowly. Nick makes a disdainful noise, and Olena bites her lip.

“Please don’t—Mrs. Dalton will fire me,” she says. “He’s okay, right? So you don’t have to—we don’t have to tell—”

“Why didn’t you get help?” I ask, not taking my eyes off Trevor. “Why are only the two of you out here looking for him?”

“I was going to. I…” She trails off. Glances back at Trevor.

“Figured we’d probably find him ourselves. Not like he could have gotten far,” Trevor says, seemingly unconcerned. “No use causing a huge fuss.”

“The kid could have died,” Nick says, a growl in his voice.

“But he’s fine,” Trevor replies. “Right?” A faint quaver in his voice betrays his uncertainty.

“No thanks to you,” Nick says.

“Hey, it wasn’t my job to watch him.” Trevor looks over his shoulder, back toward the lodge. “If we’re done here…”

“Do you have the key to Red Fox?” Nick asks Olena. She rummages it out of a pocket, hands it over. “Go get yourself cleaned up. We’ll take the kid back and make sure he stays where he’s supposed to this time.”

“Are you going to tell—”

“Go,” he says, not inviting disagreement, not offering comfort.

She totters back toward the lodge, still crying quietly. Trevor waits a moment later, then lets out a sound almost like a laugh and heads in the same direction.

Nick shakes his head, a look of pure disgust on his face. “I hope you don’t mind babysitting a bit longer.”

“I guess not.” I try to sound cheerful about it. Sebastian is playing with my hair now, his fingers making jump scares in my peripheral vision as he paws at me.

“That kid,” Nick says suddenly, startling me. It takes me a beat to realize he means Trevor. “I know it was rough on them, growing up without a dad, but still. I did my best, you know. Tried to step in, but I got distracted. Had my own life. Then my own kids. I should’ve done more.”

“Connor and Alexis turned out okay,” I say, treading carefully. It’s one thing to criticize your own family, another when someone else does it. But Nick just sighs.

“It’s funny. I keep thinking Trevor turned out like this because Liam wasn’t there to set him straight, but in some ways he’s just like him. Liam had this way of looking at you that made you feel like you were the most important thing in the universe. Wasn’t anyone he couldn’t charm. He knew it, too. Always loved to be adored. Worshipped, even. And he got plenty of it.”

He’s deep in memories, but they’re not fond ones. Rose had this same tone, too, only she was more guarded.

Nick shakes himself. Smiles, gentling his expression. “I guess Connor’s pretty charming, too, huh? Didn’t take him long to talk you into marrying him.”

It’s the first time it hasn’t sounded like a dig at my intentions. “I know everybody thinks we’re rushing into it.”

“Sometimes you’ve got to grab what’s in front of you,” he says. “Nothing in this world is permanent. You never know when it’s all going to go wrong. Stand around waiting for the right time and you might lose it altogether.”

“Yeah. I think that’s pretty much it,” I say. We’ve reached the cabin. He unlocks the door and pushes it open a few inches, but doesn’t go in.

“If it’s all right, I’ll leave you to watch the tyke. I promised Mom I’d drop in at the lodge,” he says. I nod. “It was nice talking to you, Theo.”

I laugh a little. “You mind telling your mom that?”

He gives a wry smile. “I’ll see what I can do.” He hands me the key to the cabin and then steps off the porch. Then he pauses, turns back toward us. “ Theo. You don’t ever go by Teddy, do you?” he asks.

My lips part. Breath slides from my lips. Teddy. The Scotts chose my name, and they never once called me by that particular nickname. And yet I can almost hear it. Teddy, let’s go. “No,” I croak. “Why?”

He puts both hands in his pockets. “No reason, I guess. Forget I said anything.” With that, he’s gone. I stare after him until Sebastian starts squirming in my arms, and at last I turn away, stepping inside the cabin.

Teddy , I think again, and it’s almost as if another voice is whispering it. A voice that, like everything else in this place, skates on the very edge of memory.

I shiver and shut the door.