I step off the porch and lie down on the grass, stretch myself out and look up. The yard is bright, the moon almost full and the sky without clouds. The stars endless out here, visible and distinct. Orion, Taurus. Some assurance in the fact that the sky will stay unchanged. I don’t look, but I know the hens are roosting, quiet and defenseless.
I set off the flare, the blaze shooting through the night. Which hopefully he is watching, this late. I grab some kindling and a few pieces of firewood from the porch and get a fire going in the ring. A final luxury, a campfire, just for the sheer pleasure of it. The warmth against the cold night air. I sit on a boulder and watch the embers lick the tinder. The sparks sail into the dark. No good to think about how this is the last time, but I do. Think about it.
How small my world has become, here. How simple and good. Eight years of that, Coop. Peace and quiet and happiness. More than a lot of people get, really. You should be grateful.
In a while, he is there, his figure moving toward me, illuminated by the light of the fire, his body casting a long shadow across the yard.
“Cooper?”
I think of the first time he showed up, right here, with the AK and the flare and the dead rabbit in his backpack and a crow hovering at his shoulder. “Thanks for coming,” I say.
“You all right?”
“I got a favor to ask.”
He settles onto a boulder across from me. His forehead damp with sweat, huffing a little. Must’ve hightailed it down here. “Sure. Anything.”
“I’m heading to town, in the morning. Gonna tell them about the girl. Take them to her. Marie is on her way. She’ll take Finch to her grandparents’。” Funny how saying something out loud can bring such grief. It rises up, settles in my throat. “What I’d like from you is some help with the chickens. Can’t leave them here. Don’t want to set them loose in the woods, either. They won’t last a single night.”
He blinks, his face lit by the fire. Pain in his eyes, distress. “I could hide you. I know places. Let me help.”
“Appreciate that, Scotland. More than you know.” And I do. All these years of his spying and meddling—for the first time, I wonder if maybe all along what he wanted was to help us, in his own strange way. “With our picture out there, that changes everything for Finch and me. Like you said, FBI’s probably already figured out who we are. Cindy’s parents, if they think we’re alive, they’ll be looking. They’ll relaunch the search, get our faces out, all over again. Everywhere, just like before.”
“You could go somewhere. Move. Start over.”
“Nowhere to go, this time.” I let the end of the stick catch fire. “We’re backed into a corner. I did that to us, I know that. Time to face the music.”
Scotland sits in silence, watching the fire. “Your mind’s made up?”
I nod.
“You got pen and paper? I’d like to write Finch a little note if that’s all right.”
“Sure.” I stand up, go into the cabin, and get a notebook and pen from the drawer.
I return to the fire, and he settles onto the porch and begins writing, his back propped against the front of the house. He’s there a long time, staring into the night and writing, until at last he rises. “I’ll set this on the table,” he says, disappearing into the house.
He comes back. “Tell Finch—” His scar twitches, his face a constellation of grief.
“I’ll tell her.”
“I’ll come by and get your chickens tomorrow.”
“Wait till the afternoon, if you don’t mind. Give Marie and Finch a chance to clear out of here. It’s just—if she sees you.”
“I understand. Tomorrow afternoon, then.”
I surprise myself. Reach out and place my hand on his shoulder and wish for a moment that I hadn’t chosen to hate him all these years. “Thanks.”
“You take care now, neighbor.”
And then he is gone.
* * *
I fall asleep for a while, and when I wake up, my back and neck are stiff, and the fire has died down to a heap of coals and it’s cold. I drag myself up and stretch. Open the chicken coop and peer in. “You girls keep on with what you’re doing. You’ll be in a new home, but you’ll be all right.” I reach in and pat each one of them on the head, which they don’t duck away because it’s dark and they can’t really see. “Bye now,” I say.
Coop, you crazy old bird. Talking to chickens again and maybe even crying a little bit.