“Maybe you’re just not a kid person.”
“Hey,” I said, “I don’t deserve that.”
He burst out laughing, the yellow of the scrambled eggs jiggling in the back of his mouth. “Val, I’m just fucking with you, come on.”
I reddened. What is my deal? Did I have a thing for charismatic, slightly mean scientists, preferably on the older side? I did and I didn’t. Wyatt switched from collegial to cruel faster than I could clock. Jeanne noisily scrubbed the egg pan, humming along to “That’s Amore.” I was grateful for the noise.
He got up, trudged into his bedroom, and returned carrying a large, foil-wrapped bar. “I know what’ll work the magic.” He loomed over me and the girl, unwrapping a jumbo-sized chocolate bar studded with almonds. Broke off a piece.
“That might not be good for her,” I said.
Ignoring me, he knelt and gently turned the girl toward him. I think she was too startled to protest. “Hey, kid,” he said. “I think you understand more than you’re letting on. Ya got me?”
Bizarrely, she nodded, her face solemn and serious.
He held the dark square under her nose. She sniffed it. Her eyes widened and she reached for it, but he jerked his hand away, brandishing the treat above his head.
“No,” he said with a wide smile. “You know what no means, right?”
She nodded again. What the fuck. She sat up, at full attention, wiped her face with her hands.
“You want this?” He dangled the square of chocolate close to her. “You want to try this?”
She jumped up shockingly fast. He fake-tried to keep the piece of candy from her, but she nabbed it, shoved it in her mouth, and chewed—eyes closed—face in ecstasy.
“Not bad, huh,” Wyatt said.
She opened her eyes and reached out her hand.
“Want some more, kiddo?”
She nodded.
“Then you have to understand what we’re doing here, sweetheart. We need to know what you ate to thaw out alive. Do you understand? What you ate”—he gestured at his mouth, then hers—“to thaw out alive. What your family ate. But mostly, what you ate. So you need to talk”—he pointed at me, at himself, at Jeanne—“to us.” He snapped up a picture book, stabbed at the illustrations with his finger. “Polar bear. Walrus. Iceberg. Learn these words.” He pointed at me. “With this very patient, very nice woman here, all right?”
Big-eyed, she nodded at him.
“You think about that, if you want more of this.” He rattled the candy bar in front of her; she snatched it from his grasp and rocketed down the hallway. Tripping on the double sweaters she still wore, she skidded into her room and slammed the door. We all chased her, but she’d disappeared under her bed deep into her sanctuary of pillows and blankets, the crying replaced by sounds of paper and foil tearing and little noises of pleasure. Jeanne stood in the doorway, arms crossed, mouth a straight line.
“We can’t let her eat all that!” I said. “She’ll be sick.”
Wyatt mumbled, “That was the last of my stash.” The three of us lifted up the bed and placed it down on the other side of the room. She sat in a ball, her hands, mouth, and much of her face smeared with chocolate, the wrapper empty in front of her.
“Fuck,” Wyatt said. “Fuck.”
The girl smiled, elaborately licking her fingers before her face went rigid. She threw off her covers, lurched a few steps forward, and vomited against the wall. Face flushed, she turned toward us with a look of embarrassment and stumbled out of the room.
Jeanne sighed and wandered off to the kitchen, returning with a bucket of hot water and some towels.
“Nice one, Wyatt,” I said.
“Hey, scientific method. She responds to chocolate.”
“Violently.”
“Hey, at least I tried something.”
“Like I haven’t been trying?”
He put a hand through his hair and blinked. “Maybe so. But you need to try a little harder, my friend. We’re running out of time.”
* * *
THAT NIGHT I dreamed I stood on the deck of a ship at sea surrounded by stories-high icebergs, each a sculpture carved by a madman. Creaking and groaning, they floated in a shimmering ectoplasm of their own vapor. Cold wafted off them; the air popping with the taste of carbon dioxide. A cathedral-shaped berg, awash in the golden glow of Arctic twilight, turned regally toward me, its wake foaming against the hull of the ship. As its flying buttresses rose and sank, something flesh-colored caught my eye, an eerily familiar shape. I ran to the bow of the boat, frantic for the apparition to reappear. The great berg swayed, its massive base jutting leagues beneath it in the jade-green sea, so much larger than what was visible above the waves, and I was reminded of something Andy used to say: Icebergs are like people, you only ever really know twenty percent of them.