North Country(83)

“I was alive.” There’s no closure for Isla where Holly’s concerned.

“It didn’t feel like it. To me, you died that night like Jay did.” Her eyes are glossy again as her hand slips free of mine. “And now you’re back from the dead, and I am really struggling.”

“With seeing me?”

A burst of laughter sails from her lips, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Seeing you, talking to you, feeling for you.”

I take a step forward.

“No.” She steps back, keeping us apart as she takes slow deep breaths, as if to compose herself. Or to keep herself from falling apart. “All those years, I told myself that I’d accepted what happened and moved on. I wanted to move on so badly. But the truth is I never did. Never. Not when I married Dillon, not when I had Isla, not in all the years between then and now. This whole time, I’ve been lying to everyone, including myself. And that night the girls threw the rock through your window—” Her words break on a sudden, sharp inhale, as she turns away and the tears spill out. “I don’t know if I’ll ever stop loving you, no matter how hard I try.”

Her raw confession strikes deep. I don’t know if she means to comfort or wound me, but she certainly doesn’t seem happy. I swallow the rising lump in my throat. “I guess neither of us have much control over things because, like I told you back then, it’ll always be you, Em. Always.” My admission comes out in a hoarse whisper.

She furiously wipes her palms against her cheeks, but the tears keep coming. “I’ve gotta get back to Isla. And I need time to … I need time.” She rushes off.

I don’t chase her, giving her a few seconds’ lead before I amble out of the tack room to watch her vanish into the darkness, Duke at her heels.

Biscuit lingers at his stable door, waiting for attention.

I oblige, scratching his muzzle. “That’s right, I’m not dead,” I whisper to no one in particular. “And I’ll be here when she’s ready.”

Even if that day never comes.





Chapter 28





Logan




December


“So?” Glen’s chair creaks as he leans back. “How far’d you get in my Top Ten Excellent Shows list?”

“Season two of Breaking Bad.”

“And?”

“It’s okay.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah, fine. It’s fucking awesome,” I admit. I’ve had to force myself to turn it off and get to sleep some nights. This whole world of streaming is dangerous.

“Told you I’d steer you right.” He waggles a finger at me. “But don’t get any ideas.”

“Dude. It’s your recommendation list.”

“For excellent television, not goals. So what else is new? How’s life?”

“The same as it was when you asked me two weeks ago. Splitting wood all day, every day. We have a five-year supply of firewood for the house and now the market’s selling cords. Earned this—” I hold up my hand where a giant sliver gouged my palm, earning Glen’s grimace. “We took the animals in for harvest.”

“And what about when you’re not working? ”

My gaze drifts beyond him, to the odd snowflake that falls. They’re calling for up to twenty centimeters this week—the first big snowfall of the season. “I’m helping my lunatic of a brother-in-law build a regulation-size ice rink with boards, penalty boxes, overhead lights, and everything.” It took us four afternoons to set up, and that’s with Jon already prepping the land the week before. Since then, he’s been out there flooding, day after day, watching with childish glee as the layers of ice form. There’s even talk of spraying game lines. “And then there was the Cold River Santa Claus Parade. North Country Bison has a float.”

“Saw it. Big stuffed bison on a wagon. Is that actually real?”

“Yup. Jon found a taxidermy student who wanted to practice his skills. Cost next to nothing.” The float sits in one of the barns and comes out on special occasions.

“And did you go to the parade—”

“Nope.”

Glen’s face flattens. Every time I check in, he pushes me to get out, talk to people who aren’t blood-related. I am a continual disappointment, even if I’m following all the rules. “How are things with Jon?”

“Fine, I guess.” I shrug. “Someone left one of the gates open last week and he blamed me, but I know I closed it. Luckily none of the herd got out.”

He hums. “Anything else exciting?” He pauses a beat, waiting, and then holds up the Cold River Post, showing off the front page. “Nothing else you wanna mention?”

“So you’ve seen it.” I knew the article was coming and I’ve been dreading it.

“Hard not to when your mother drops off a copy with your name underlined in red pen.”

I shake my head, picturing Annie Landry strolling up the steps to the local parole office, beaming with pride. “It was her idea.”

“You diving into a lake and saving this woman’s life? Good idea, I’d say.”

“No. The article. She knows the reporter. Goes to church with her.” When Margie Burgess caught wind of what happened on Lake Temagami, she showed up at the market, asking questions. “The two of them concocted this whole thing.”