Page 183 of Every Silent Lie

“Where the pilot sits in a plane to fly it.”

“No, silly!” He takes the plane and hops down off the stool, holding it in the air and starting to run around the island. “Like this!”

“Oh, silly Daddy,” Dec murmurs, shaking his head.

I’m held in another moment, caught off guard, as Albi races around the island, gliding the plane high and low, swooping it in circles, all the while providing sound effects. I force the vision of Noah away, trying not to imagine him in Albi’s place.

“Camryn?”

I blink, coming back into the room on a small jump. “Sorry, I—” I what? I was imaging your son was my son? I was wishing it was? Not that Albi wasn’t here but Noah was, just wishing he could be here too? I push the tips off my fingers together, and Dec nods. “I’m just going to get some fresh air,” I say, motioning to the sliding doors past the table and chairs.

“Of course.” He leans over the counter and hands me a croissant. “Please eat this.”

I smile my thanks and accept, taking a small nibble in demonstration before leaving him with a semi-content mild smile, that’s more than laced with concern.

“There’s a hoodie on the back of the chair and my slippers are by the door.”

“Slippers?” I parrot in surprise. “I never had you down as a slippers kinda guy.” I never had him down as a daddy kinda guy either, and yet here I am with Dec the Daddy. And what a wonderful daddy he is too.

As I take myself away, I wonder if he’s regretting this. Having to keep an eye on me in case I have a wobble. Stealing his time away from Albi to make sure I’m okay.

I set my croissant on the table and pull on his khaki hoodie, which I imagine makes his grey eyes pop beautifully, before shoving my feet into a huge pair of tan suede moccasin slippers and claiming my croissant. “Sexy,” I murmur, looking back at Dec. He raises his eyebrows, amused, as Albi continues to tear around the island, swooping his Spitfire.

Shuddering when the icy air hits me, I quickly close the door and take in Dec’s garden in the dark again, not that there’s much to see, just various levels covered in snow. But I imagine it’s beautifully landscaped beneath, and I can’t wait to see it in springtime. I take myself to the small, sheltered nook to the right, where a built-in hot tub’s been built, and perch on the edge of it. Silence. No breeze, no wind carrying the sound of traffic from the main road. No kids playing nearby, or the sounds of people going about their daily business on the surrounding streets or in neighbouring gardens. Total silence. Everyone’s inside their warm homes waking up with smiles and excitement for the day. Kids tearing their way through wrapping paper, cheering his visit.

I fold one arm across my chest and eat the croissant, despite not being even a little bit hungry. I have no idea how I’ll get through a whole Christmas dinner. But I will, just like I will get through today.

The branch of a nearby red Japanese Maple tree catches my eye, dusted with snow and hanging lower than the others, encroaching on the covered sheltered area where I’m sitting. I stand and look down at my small feet in Dec’s big slippers and hum as I shuffle along in them so to keep them on my feet. My chewing slows when my eyes confirm what they thought they saw.

An icicle that’s thick at the top and tapers down almost a whole foot, but it’s not complete. It doesn’t narrow to a sharp point. It’s broken halfway down, and near the top, at the thickest point encased in ice, is a white feather. A perfect white feather.

And resting on the branch above it are two other white feathers. Except those ones aren’t frozen in ice. They’re free, just sitting there, having floated down from the sky. Three feathers. Two uninhibited, one . . . not.

I swallow, tilting my head, and an overwhelming urge comes over me. Not to break it and free it. It would surely be damaged, the fine feathers ripping. It needs to melt for it to come out of the ice perfectly. This urge is something else, something unexpected. Not that I don’t want to see her, but I had planned to visit before lunch. She likely won’t even be awake at this godforsaken hour, but I need to see her.

I shuffle back to the doors and heave them open. Dec looks up from pouring milk on Albi’s cereal as I kick his slippers off. “Do you mind if I go see my mum?”

Albi immediately stops in his tracks, the plane lowering. “You have a mummy?”

“I do,” I say, smiling at his astonishment, but feeling overwhelming sadness for him too.

“Daddy doesn’t have a mummy,” he declares. “Like me. I don’t have a mummy either. I just have a daddy.”

How this boy breaks my heart. “And an amazing daddy he is too.”

“Yep! Daddy has a daddy, but we don’t see him much, do we, Daddy?”

“No, fella, we don’t.” Dec comes to me. “I’ll take you.”

“No, no,” I reply quickly. I can’t pull him away from his boy today. “Please, don’t insist or be grumpy about it. I can walk. I’d like to walk.” Besides, it’s not even six, yet. By the time I’m ready and have walked there, it’ll be closer to eight, a more acceptable time to visit.

Doubt creeps onto Dec’s face. He’s not happy, but he relents, and I’m grateful. “Fine.”

“Can your mummy come for Christmas?” Albi asks.

“I’m afraid not, Albi. She’s quite old. She can’t walk anymore, and she’s a little . . . forgetful.”

“Mr. Percival is very old, and he can walk. He’s nearly a hundred!”