Page 12

We haven’t been to the tree house, all three of us, in forever.

Well, I say forever, but I know exactly how long it’s been.

After what happened to our fathers, the tree house was no longer a sanctuary for Austin.

In high school, he retreated to indoor activities, finding the solace in creativity that I find in the woods, where I can be closest to my dad.

Austin became one of the other cool guys who toted their guitars around and looked hot and mournful in their beanies, like they were nursing a broken heart and a slipping GPA.

Caroline hung on a little longer, but in the end, her own interests eclipsed the time she was willing to spend schlepping out to the tree house in the woods, crunching over twigs and unmarked paths to find our way to our special spot.

Even now, she’s pouting about how the soles of her new shoes are going to be “so gross.”

I did once consider using the tree house as a place to store hiking equipment, but it was too big a risk. When my friends hang here now, it’s always a surprise pop in:

When Austin wants to test his latest lyrics (I’m easily pleased, but Caroline is quick to call something out for being too cringe or too cheesy) or complain about how the latest guy his mom is dating feels the need to bond with a football or unsolicited girl advice.

When we’re studying for exams and Caroline’s dads arm us with plenty of prawn crackers and Pocky.

When I need to bitch about Kiara enchanting yet another person I liked first, and Austin draws Kiara’s face, Caroline brings darts, and we pockmark that paper until I feel better.

“I haven’t been back here since summer,” Austin says with some surprise, loping alongside me on patchy grass and pebbles. He turns over his shoulder to address Caroline. “You?”

She shakes her head. “Same. It’s fine in summer, but autumn is different. Creepier.”

They both know better than to ask when I was last here; it’s my home away from home. It’s sequestered in the woods, not deep enough in for parents to worry but far enough from the town proper to feel remote.

“Yeah, with good reason,” Austin says, somber. He yanks up the hood of his navy pullover.

I stiffen but don’t say anything. He’s not wrong . And the two of us would know better than most.

The rest of our journey passes in silence. It’s hard to keep up a conversation with the thrash of the October wind. I shove my fists deep in my pockets until I feel the bite of nails. Caroline huddles in Austin’s jacket, subconsciously angling her steps until their shoulders brush.

According to Prior’s End lore—if you believe The Way of the Wish , the guidebook Radhika’s family self-published before we were born—no one knows who built the tree house, and it’s been around basically forever, but it hasn’t stopped anyone from adding on to it.

Mostly for safety but sometimes for aesthetic, adding their own mark to the place.

Even my dad, along with Austin’s mom and Caroline’s dads, replaced some boards the summer before he left and added a platform encircling the loft.

It’s technically open to everyone, but for the last seven years, it’s been me replacing the dollar-store paper garlands whenever they fade, the string lights when they pop, the chalk artwork on the platform.

When we reach the rope ladder, Caroline lifts her feet to examine the muddy soles of her Converse and sighs.

I don’t take it to heart; nature isn’t her thing anymore.

She’s all about fashion and makeup these days.

Anytime we go remotely near the woods, she gets jumpy and anxious.

It’s hard to imagine she’d once been stoked to join me, Austin, and our dads on a possible camping trip in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Warblers trill nearby, wind whispering through the trees. I’m the first to scramble up, then Austin, then Caroline. Our feet scuff over the faded remains of my chalk wildflowers, swept away with the rain.

“You okay, Nova?” asks Caroline as I turn on the star-shaped LED ceiling lights. We plop on the floor cushions, which are comfortable and squashy with age. “You’ve barely said a word. Is it being here?” She looks around with sad eyes. “It’s gotta bring up some…stuff.”

That’s one way of putting it. My laugh teeters on the edge of bitter. “I can’t stop thinking about the last thing I said to him. I was a fucking brat.”

Austin gives me a quizzical look. “What could you have said that was so bad? You were just ten.”

“A brat,” I repeat.

What else can I call a girl who had everything— a dad who loved her —and still, with one damning sentence, exiled him forever?

I know I promised to take you to the festival tonight, Nova, but I know why Shane did this foolish, foolish thing. I have to go after him.

Why does it have to be you?

The woods are in my blood. Shane is my best friend, my brother. Like you and Austin. You’ll understand when you’re older what it means to be responsible for someone. I’ll bring Shane back before the week is over, and then I’ll take you to the festival every single night. I promise, Nova.

Fine! Go, then! If you love the woods so much, stay there forever! I hope you never come back!

I don’t remember what he said after that.

What I do remember: his disappointed eyes. My sullen silence when he told me, I love you, be good for your mother, I’ll be back . The way I didn’t return his hug even when he held on extra long, waiting for me to forgive him. How I knew I was in the wrong even while I was withholding it.

If I could do it all again, I would never say those things. I would squeeze every last moment of that hug like I could put a stopper in time, bottle his love because it was so, so precious.

The walls of the tree house make my secrets seem much bigger. Unwieldy. Like they’re too much for just me. My friends’ faces are unguarded. I could tell them. I could do it right now. I could tell them about seven years ago.

Shame fills me like smoke. Scours my throat. No. I can’t.

“Aurora’s been whispering in Mom’s ear about ‘moving forward,’?” I say instead. My voice is as scathing as I can make it. “It’s code. They want the court to declare Dad legally dead. Mom wants to.”

Wants isn’t the right word. But she’s going to do it anyway, isn’t she?

Austin’s mouth twists. “Aurora will be gone soon. She never stays past Halloween.”

“Doesn’t she have a partner she needs to get back to?” asks Caroline. A little wistfully, she says, “The cut and clarity of her diamond engagement ring is superb.”

Trust Caroline to notice. “Not,” I point out, “that we’ve ever heard of a wedding or a spouse in the last seven years.”

Austin hums thoughtfully. “Think she knows what you did last night?”

I snort, reaching for the fried pickle he hands me. It’s cold and limp now, but I still chew it. “I think if she had half the powers she claims she does, she would have seen it coming.”

Caroline crosses her legs and leans forward with her elbows on her knees. “We need to talk about what happened tonight.”

“We don’t,” says Austin, doling out the food three ways. “We’ve been over this already.”

I stare at the paper napkin I’m using as a plate. I’m a terrible person for not losing my appetite after what we just witnessed.

No. It’s not my fault. It’s just an accident, like Kiara said. It could have happened to anyone. Commercial pitting machines aren’t perfect. People don’t always chew as much as they should.

See? Perfectly reasonable, plausible explanations. It’s nothing like what happened to Dad.

“Austin, you can’t seriously wave this off as another ‘very normal, very regular thing.’ Kiara almost died ,” Caroline says, eyes wide. “If Tayla hadn’t known how to do the Heimlich maneuver…”

Great, even the mozzarella stick is terrible.

With a greasy, rubbery taste coating my tongue, it’s not easy to say my next words, much less believe them.

But I have to pose the hypothesis and run all the angles.

“Maybe all this has nothing to do with me and more to do with the black cat that crossed her path. If you think about it, that’s when all her trouble actually got started. ”

“Except she said her mascara wand attacked her,” says Caroline. “So she would already have gotten dressed and done her makeup before working her shift at Bee Outdoors when the hikers found Inky.”

“Inky,” I say under my breath. “More like Lucifer.”

Austin laughs and chows down on another pickle because his stomach is an undiscerning bottomless pit.

“ Guys ,” Caroline says, face scrunched with frustration. “You might not want it to be true, but that doesn’t mean it’s not. Whatever’s happening to Kiara is real.”

“I agree,” declares a new voice.

All three of us startle.

Radhika’s head hovers above the platform, the rest of her presumably swaying on the rope ladder below. We must not have heard the creaks over our conversation.

Shit. How much did she hear?

“What are you doing here?” I ask, not caring how rude it sounds. My voice makes it clear that the tree house is our place. As far as I know, this is the first time she’s ever visited, and she sure looks it from the way she’s visibly taking it all in, like she doesn’t want to miss a thing.

About nine generations ago, our families shared a common ancestor, Henry Prior, which is as good as being strangers, honestly.

Dad used to be more sentimental about the other branch on our family tree, especially since Radhika and I are the only two of our generation.

But we’re so distant that her parents never even expressed their sympathies when we lost Dad, and if it wasn’t for a handful of group projects over the years, I wouldn’t even have Radhika’s phone number.

As I suspect, she doesn’t take my tone to heart. Radhika rolls her eyes. “The tree house is public property. Also, I followed you.”

“What the hell?” Austin says at the same time I demand, “Why?”