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THE LAST STARS IN THE SKY

KATE HEWITT

Chapter1

Chapter2

Chapter3

Chapter4

Chapter5

Chapter6

Chapter7

Chapter8

Chapter9

Chapter10

Chapter11

Chapter12

Chapter13

Chapter14

Chapter15

Chapter16

Chapter17

Chapter18

Chapter19

Chapter20

Chapter21

Chapter22

Chapter23

Chapter24

Chapter25

Chapter26

Chapter27

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ALetterfromtheAuthor

Acknowledgments

Dedicated to my parents, George and Margot Berry, for their love of our own Lost Lake, and to my brothers and sister, for sharing the magic with me.

November

“It’sthenextleft”

Myvoicecomesoutabittoosharp,andIseeDaniel’smouthpurseasheflicksonhisturnsignal unnecessarybecause we haven’t seenanother car inover thirtymiles, but cityhabits die hard, Isuppose. Inthe backseat eleven-year-old Ruby, havingbeenasleepforthelasthour,shiftsandthensighsbeforecurlingupagain,likeasnail.Fourteen-year-oldMattie,sitting nextto her, holds her phone up, squintingatits brightoblongscreeninthe darkness, as ifitcontains all the answers ofthe universe,whichtoher,ofcourse,itdoes Oratleastitcould,ifonlyitstillworked

“There’sno signal ”

There hasn’t beena signal since just after we crossed the border two hours ago, so this complaint is not new. At least withouta signal she can’tcomplainaboutthe social media apps Ideleted fromher phone, resolutely, ruthlessly, because at somepointsasaparentyouhavetowakeup,likeaslaptoyourface,finallyfaceyourowninertiaand do something,evenifit makesthingsworse Especiallyifitdoes

NowIremainsilentasDanielslowsdownandthenturnsthecarintothedirt-and-gravelroadleadingrightdownintothe woods,adense,impenetrablethicketofevergreenoneithersideofthetrack.Thetirescrunchonthegravel,loudinthesudden, hushedsilenceofthecar.IletoutthebreathIhadn’trealizedIwasholding.

Welcome home. Ornot.

We drive in an increasingly taut and expectant silence down the road, the trees on either side of the narrow dirt track loomingabove,darkandmenacing,ormaybethat’sjustme,readingintoadifficultsituation Afterall,noneofusreallywant tobehere.

Thanksgivingis injustover aweek,andwe’remeanttobehavingturkey,watchingfootball,relaxing reveling inour comfortable home backinWestport, Connecticut, infrontofthe big-screenTV, the turkeyinthe oven, spinachdip and pita chipsonthecoffeetable,abottleofredbreathingonthesideboard Exceptthathomeisn’toursanymoreandwehadnowhere elsetogobuthere myparents’ramshacklecabininruralOntario,Canadathathasn’thadasinglevisitorinsevenyears

This is a chance to reset, I remind myself. Reboot. Refresh. Re-something. Take deep breaths and mindfullyremember whatis good aboutlife, whatwe’re grateful for… or so all the glossymagazines and curated Instagramfeeds tell me. All I needisamatchaicedteaandthespacetorecalibrate.Throwinayogamatandit’sallgood.

Iclosemyeyesagainstthedark,windingroad.Itdidn’ttakemuchtomakemecynical,andyetIstillwanttobelieveinit all Iwanttobelievethatsixweeks awayfromrealityis reallywhatweneedtorestartour lives,getthemback,better than ever WhatactuallyhappensbetweenThanksgivingandChristmas,anyway,besidesholidaypartiesandChristmasconcerts,a never-endingmerry-go-round ofpointless social events to the frantic soundtrackof‘Carol ofthe Bells’and endless trays of luridlyfrosted Christmas cookies? We’ll leave itall behind school, the social stuff, the news, the worry and we’ll come backstrongerthanever.We will. Danielwillgetanewjob,Mattiewillstraightenout,Rubywillrebalance AllatLostLake,intheisolatedbackwoodsof Ontario,Canada

Irealize,belatedly,thatIhavenotincludedmyselfinthatequation,mainlybecauseIdon’tyetknowhowIfitintoit.Inany case,Ihavemydoubtsastowhetheranyofthatwillhappen.Thetruthis,wereallyhadnowhereelsetogo.

“Shouldn’twebetherebynow?”Daniel’svoicesoundsloudandatinybitstridentinthequietconfinesofthecar,andit

makesmejumpalittle

“It’stwomilesfromthestartoftheroadtothecottage,”Itellhim.Remindhim,becausehe’sdrivenitplentyoftimes,asI have,althoughnotsincethekidsweresmall.Sam,myoldest,nowatClarksonCollegeinupstateNewYork,wasonlyeleven whenwe lastcame here for a vacation, the summer before mydad died. Ipicture Samhangingbetweenthe two frontseats, pokinghisheadtowardthedashboard,aseagerasapuppy.Thatwasasortofgoldenageofthecottage young-enoughkids whodidn’tmindtheisolation,aslongastheycouldswimandcanoeandfish EpicgamesofMonopoly,toastingmarshmallows onthefire,sittingwithmyheadonDaniel’sshoulderafterthekidshadgonetobed,watchingthefiredietoembersandfeeling thatbone-deepsenseofpeaceonlythisplacecouldbring.

Sevenyearslater,Iamtrustinginthatpromise.

I’vewondered,inadistantsortofway,whyweneverwentagain,aftermydad’sfuneralthatnextwinter.Wealwaysmeant to but, everytime we were poised to make actual plans, we never did Memories made it too hard Teenagers resisted the remoteness Andfivehundredmiles,alotofitonbackroads,madeiteasy,oratleasteasier,tokeepputtingitoff Untilnow.

“Idon’treallyremember the cottage,” Mattie says,like a confession,her voice hushed.She’s forgottenaboutthe lackof phonesignal,forthemomentatleast.“Besidesfromphotos,Imean.”

“Itmightnotlooklike the photos,notanymore,” Iwarn.I’mbracingmyselffor a falling-downwreck;Darlene,a kindly localwomanmymotherhiredyearsagoasanadhoccaretaker,hasbeencomingbyeverysooftentomakesuretheplaceisn’t actually fallingdown,butsevenyearsofemptinesstakeitstollonahouse,especiallyhere,withtheharshwinters,theendless snow,themice.

“Weshouldbetheresoon,surely…”Danielhalfmuttersasthecargrindsintoalowergear.“Irememberthishill.”

“It’sanotherhalf-mile.”Iknoweveryinchofthisroad, still.Ispenteverysummerofmychildhooduphere,barefeetinthe dirt,legscrisscrossedwithbramblescratches,mouthstainedwithraspberryjuice,facefreckledfromthesun Thelastseven years suddenlystretchbehind me like a vastand emptytundra oftime, whenImade myselfstop thinkingaboutthe cottage Aboutwhatitmeanttome,whatitcouldhavemeanttomykids.

Another turn, and we’ll come to Lost Lake, glinting silver under the moonlight. I find I’m holding my breath, leaning forward and yes, there itis. Adarklyopaque oval, fringed bydense evergreens;itis no more thana swathe ofblackness now, a stretchofemptiness. The moon, however, is hiddenbeyond a bankofclouds, so there is no silveryreflection, butI knowthelakeisthere,simplybythespace Thedarkness

“Arewethereyet?”Mattieasks,hervoicecaughtbetweenimpatienceandanxiety Shehasevenlessofanideathanmeof whattoexpect.

“Almost…”Daniel mutters,althoughIcantell fromthewayheissquintingaheadattheroadthathedoesn’trealizehow closeweare.Hedoesn’tknoweveryturnandbumpthewayIdo.ThisplaceispartofmeinawayIcan’texplain,nottomy husband Noteventomyself

“Remembertherock,”Isayquickly,justasthebottomofthecarscrapeshardagainstthegraniteboulderinthemiddleof theroad,grayfleckedwithpink,oppositetheoldbarn.Danielcursesunderhisbreath.

“Dad.”Mattiesoundsbothimpressedandscandalizedbyhisunexpectedlyfluentswearing.

“Sorry.”Danielpassesahandoverhisface.“Longday.”

Long year,Ithink,butdon’tsay.I’mnotabouttobringthatallupnow,rightwhenweareabouttoembarkonoursupposed secondchance

Becausethecottagehasnowcomeintoview,adarkhulkagainstadarkersky,itspineboardsinterspersedwithoncewhite, now grayingpitch,lookingsmaller thanIremembered,anddefinitelymoredilapidated.Agutter is hangingaskew,andmoss has spread across the boards, over the windows, turning the wood fuzzy, the glass greenish. The place looks completely forgotten,anditis oratleastitwas.

Danielbrakes,bringingthecartoastopinfrontofthebackdoor,whichbasicallyoperatesasthefront,sincethefrontof thehousehasadeckthatfacesthelake

“This is it?” Mattie demands. She sounds horrified, and I’m not surprised. Compared to the sprawling, modern McMansions back in Connecticut that she’s familiar with, this place is an unappealing rural ghetto. And yet already, improbably,myheartislurching,warming.Thisis,inessence,myhome,evenifIpretendedforsevenyearsthatitwasn’t.

NexttoMattie,Rubystirsandstretches,blinkingsleepoutofhereyes,lookingaround.“Arewehere?”

Danielslidesmealookthat’shardtointerpretinthedarknessofthecar,butIthinkit’ssomethinglike Satisfied?Itwasmy ideatocomehereafterwe’dlostourhouse IknewI’dratherbeatmyfamily’scottagethaninsomedepressinglyaffordable two-bedroomapartmentinBridgeportorStamford,ekingoutanexistencewithDanielasadeliveryguyforAmazon,Rubyand Mattieinthemediocrepublicschools.Atleasttheairisfreshhere.Wemightrememberhowtobreathe.Howtobe.Oratleast Iwill.Maybe.

NotthatI’ve ever said thataloud IfIdid, IthinkDaniel would laughatme for thinkingsuchthings were possible, the cottageassomesortofmagicalcure-all,aHallmarkmoviecometolife,withalltheaccompanyingsugar.

“Comeon,let’sgo.”ResolutelyIreachforthedoorhandle.“Darlenesaidsheleftitopenforus.”

Istepoutsideofthecarandtakeadeepbreath;theairisdefinitelyfresh,pure,andsharpwithcold.Alreadymylungshurt andtheinsideofmynosetickles,andit’sonlyNovember.Whatwill itbelikeinDecember?January?Will westill behere then?

“Come on,” I call to the girls, and I walktoward the front door It’s unlocked, just as Darlene promised, and as I step inside,thefamiliarsmellofthecottage pine,woodsmoke,ahintofleather,anddust hitsme,andathousandmemoriesrush throughmymind like a flockofsparrows, wings beating, bodies rushingby. I’msixagain, happilyhuddled bythe fire;I’m eleven,readingArchie comicsintheloft,dustmotesdancingintheair;I’mfourteenandboredoutofmymind.I’mtwenty-five, bringingSamhereforthefirsttime,dippingourtoesinthecrystallinewaterofthelakeashelaughs,andthenIdotoo,reveling inthis simple pleasure I’mthirty-nine, achingwithgrief as I gaze at myfather’s emptychair, the silence reverberatingall aroundme.

Iblink,andthememoriesfadeaway,replacedbythisnewreality.Nobodyishere.Nobodyiswaitingtowelcomeus.Istep into the laundryroom, whichserves as aninelegantfoyer to the restofthe cottage the washingmachine and dryer onone side,andaclutterofoldbootsandcoatsontheother.Mygazeskimsoverthenarrowwoodenshelfmydadbuiltdecadesago thatstill holds a jumble ofkeys,oldreceipts,some bugrepellent,probablytenyears outofdate Alumprises inmythroat, surprisingme Mydad died sevenyears ago, and yetfor a second, italmostfeels like he’s here, like he’ll walkaround the corner,armsoutstretched,smilewide.

Alex!

“Mom,are yougoingtoletus in?” Mattie huffs frombehindme,andIstepintothe kitchentogive the restofmyfamily roomtoenter

“Sorry”

“Thisisn’tsobad,”Danielremarksinsurprisebecausethecottageisnotnearlyasderelictinsideaswemighthavefeared. Darlenehasleftafewlightson,andeverythingiscleanandtidy,ifwell-worn.Itfeelslikeenteringatimecapsule;nothinghas changed,andyeteverythinghas.

Iwas lasthere for myfather’s funeral,three days after Christmas,a worldofice andsnow andfrozengrief.Mymother wasinadaze;myolderbrothermostlysilent,myyoungersisterhavingflowninjustforforty-eighthoursfromsomefar-flung placewhereshe’dbeenworkingasafreelancephotographer,eagertogetawayagainassoonasshecould Withthreesmall childrenintow Rubyhadbeenlittlemorethanatoddler Isomehowmanagedtofeedeveryone,findfuneralclothes,getus tothechurch, exist.Icanbarelyrememberanyofitnow.Idon’treallywantto.

“Shall Ibuild a fire?” There is anenthusiasminmyhusband’s voice thathasn’tbeenthere ina longwhile months, at least Being laid off and losing our house, our whole way of life, both humbled and embittered him or maybe it just embitteredme Wehaven’ttalkedaboutitenoughformetoknow,andIdon’tknowwhichofusismorereluctanttohavethat conversation, painful and necessary as it surely will be. Maybe we can have it here, or at least want to have it? That, I suppose,wouldbeastart.

Itake a deep breath, inhalingthose familiar, cottageysmells. Iwalkinto the livingroom, the heartofthe house, withits massivestonefireplace,woodenbeams,fadedsofasandtheloftareaabovewheremybrotherusedtosleep.MysisterJenna and Ishared a little bedroomoffthe livingroom;it’s filled withboxes now, or atleastitwas, the lasttime Icame here I haven’tlooked inside yet Myparents had a bedroomonthe other side, withwindows facingthe deckand the lake, and the bedroomoppositetheirswasforguests amotleycrewofcousinsandfriendswhoweregamelywillingtomakethisjourney totheouterboondocksofOntario.Addakitchen,smallbathroom,cellar,andaporch,andthat’sthecottageintotal.Sprawling initsownway,yetessentiallysmall.

How many summers did I spend here, watching the fireflies blink and weave outside my window, listening to the melancholy late-night call of the whippoorwill or the persistent whine of mosquitoes, the desperate rat-a-tat-tat of moths hurling their tiny bodies against the screen window? How many winter evenings, huddled under a heap of blankets, the comfortingcrackleofthefiretheonlysoundinthestill,icynight,makingmefeelsafeandwarm,lovedandprotected?How manycard games around the table onthe porch, how manysun-drenched mornings pouringhomemade maple syrup over my pancakes,how manygray,wetafternoons, the lake obscuredwithmist, the raindrippingfromthe eaves, feelingrelentlessly bored?

Yetitwasallsolongago,itfeelslikeithappenedtoadifferentperson Adifferentme “Alex?”Danielprompts.

“Sure,”Isayafterasecond;ittakesamomentforthememoriestorecedeandmybraintokickingear.“Afireisagreat idea.Ithinkthereshouldbesomefirewoodstackedontheporch.”

Danielgoesoffliketheproverbialhunter,whileIwalkslowlyaroundthelivingroom,runningmyhandoverthefireplace mantle,thebackofachair,reacquaintingmyselfwiththisplace.MattieandRubyfollowmelikeapairoflostpuppies.

“Wherearewesupposedtosleep?”Mattieasks,lookingaround,herlipcurlingalittle.Itisbasic,forsure.Rusticisthe kinderterm,Isuppose,butIdoubtmydaughterfeelslikeusingthatnow.Comparedtoourfive-bedroomhousewithitsfinished basement,bonusroom,andthree-cargaragethatweleftbackinConnecticut,it’sgoingtoseemrustic,indeed.

Andthatiswithouttellingherthatthepipesareprobablyfrozen,thewaterturnedoffforthewinter;therewill benohot baths or showers, no washingdishes or evenflushingthe toiletfor the entire time we are here, atleastnotwithoutdrawing waterfromthelake.

IrealizeI’mnotentirelyopposed.Mykids’liveshavebeensoft,atleastuntilDaniellosthisjobandprettymuchallour money,andthenliedaboutit,toboot.NotthatI’mblaminghim.Notexactly.

“There’splentyoffirewoodontheporch,”Danielannouncesashecomesbackintothelivingroom,hisarmsstackedwith logs “So,that’sgood”

Yes, it is, because we’ll certainly need it. The fireplace is the cottage’s only source of heating, besides a few ancient electric heaters buried awaysomewhere whose wires have probablybeenchewed throughbymice. I shiver because even thoughDarlenetextedtosaysheputafireonearliertowarmtheplaceup itswoodsmokescentisstilllingeringintheair it’sdiedoutnowandtheplaceisfreezing.

“I’llgetuswarmedupinnotime,”Danielsays,andIwonderifI’vespokenaloud

Mattie is still looking around in something close to distaste “So, where am I supposed to sleep?” she asks again plaintively.

“Youcansleepintheloft,fornow,withRuby,”Itellher.Somelong-agoinstinctmakesmesavetheguestroomfor,well, guests. Samcanuse itwhenhe comes ina week;after that, we canmove Mattie and Rubyaround as theylike. “Tomorrow we’llclearoutthelittlebedroom,”Icontinue,“andyoucanhavethat,ifyou’drather,althoughIthinktheloftmightbewarmer Heatrises,youknow”Itrytosmile,butmylipsfeelfunny Ican’tescapethefeelingthatI’mstuckinatimewarp Everywhere Iturn,Iexpecttoseesomeoneelse myfather,who’sdead;mymother,whohasbeeninanursinghomeforfiveyears,clinging tothelastfragmentsofhermemory;ormyoldself,whoislonggone.

“Whydon’tyouhelpmegetthegroceriesfromthecar?”Isuggest.IturntoRuby,whohasbeenwanderingaroundsilently, herthumbinhermoutheventhoughshe’selevenyearsold.“Rubes?”

“What?” She glances at me, blinkingslowly, lost inher ownworld as she so oftenis; at least it seems like a peaceful place

“Canyouhelpwiththegroceries?”

Another blink, and thenshe silentlyfollows me out to the car, alongwitha harrumphingMattie. As we step outside, I breatheinthefreezingair,andtiltmyheadtothesky,whichisscatteredwithamillionstars.Therearesomanythattheyblur together,ajumbledcanvasofconnect-the-dots

“Look,” I say to Mattie, nodding upward, but if I’m hoping for an isn’t-nature-great moment of bonding, it falls spectacularly flat. She gives me a typical teenaged glare and stomps over to the trunk of the car, hauling out one of the cardboardboxes ofgroceries weboughtinKingston,acitybytheborder andthelastmajor outpostbeforeweheadeddeep intothewoods.Mattietakestheboxandstompsbackintothehouse.

“Seethestars,Ruby?”Itryagain,andmyyoungerdaughtersimplysmilesatme. Sam might appreciate them,Ithinkwitha sighasIreachforanotherboxofgroceries He’sonlybeengoneforthreemonths,enjoyingfreshmanlifeatcollege,butImiss him,morethanIexpectedto Afterthreeorsoyearsofbeingmostlymonosyllabic,communicatingbygrunts,heturnedpleasant andchattyrightbeforeheleft.Hetextsmemorenowthanhespoketomeayearago,whichfeelslikeabittersweetvictory,and yetoneI’mgrateful for.He’s planningtocomefor Thanksgiving;he’s meanttoflytoOttawatheTuesdaybefore,injustone week.Iknow he’llloveithere,thewayheusedto,withanenthusiasmthatisn’tmarredbyteenagedangstoranxiety.Ican’t waittoshareitwithhimagain

MattieandRubyandIfinishbringingthegroceriesinside;Iboughtatonbecausethenearestsupermarketisfortyminutes awayandIwasn’tsurewhenwe’dnextbeabletogetthere.Besides,thereissomethingaboutbeingsofaroutinthesticksthat makesyouwanttobringinthesupplies,hunkerdown.

“IsthereWi-Fi?”Mattiedemands,asIstartstackingcansinthepantry;Darlenesweptitallout,emptiedoutwhathadbeen therethe lasttime Icame the ancientbags ofsugar andflour,the dentedcans offruitandvegetables.Theymusthave been quietlymolderingforall theyearssomeonewassupposedtocomeupbutneverdid Firstme,withmyvaguepromises,then mysister,floatingtheideaofworkingremotelyfromhereforafew months Mybrother,too,talkingofturningtheplaceinto somesortofbusiness,avacationdestinationforthetouristlookingfortheseriouslyremote.Noneofitcametoanything,which wascompletelyunsurprising.

“There’snoWi-Fi,”ItellMattie.“Atleastnotlikethereis was athome,butthereisasatellitethatconnectstotheTV,

andyouusuallycangetsomeinternetaccessthroughthat”Notmuch,though;emailsandsinglepagesareprettymuchall its speed offers;TikTokscrollingor YouTube streamingwill definitelynothappen. “Ithasn’tbeenturned onyet, though,” Itell her,keepingmyvoicematter-of-factbutalsoenthusiastic,“butmaybewecanmakeitwork.” Mattiegivesmeadisparaginglook.“So,what’sthepointofhavingitifit’snotturnedon?”

“Ithoughtwecouldtakeabreakfromallthat,foralittlewhile,”IsayaslightlyasIcanbecauseit’sstilladifficulttopic for Mattie,nottomentionapainful onefor me Twoweeksago,shewassuspendedfromschool for havingmarijuanainher locker,whichpromptedme,amongotherthings,totakealookatherphone anddiscoveraworldIwouldhavemuchrather hadnotexistedatall,anddefinitelynotinrelationtomydaughter.

Now she lets out a growl of frustrationand hurls that phone onto the sofa, the ultimate act of teenaged melodrama. It’s usuallyattachedtoherhand.

“Whatare we doing here?” she cries wildly, and Iglance atDaniel,who is crouchedinfrontofthe fireplace, propping kindlingintoapyramidlikeaproperBoyScout He’stoobusywithhisfire-buildingskillstonoticeMattie’soutburst What we ’ re doing here,Ithink, is getting away from everything that was bad back at home.Thesocialmedia.Thetoxic friends.Theolder,drug-dealingboyfriend.Thelies.Theshame.Somaybeitisagoodthingwe’reinthemiddleofthewoods, awayfromalltheinfluencesthatwerederailingMattie’slifeatanalarmingspeed,fasterthanIcouldevenkeepupwith.

“Look!”Rubyexclaims,andpointstothefirethatDanielhasstarted,afewsmallflamestentativelylickingatthekindling. Hegrinsandstraightens,andsomethinginmeachesatthelookofprideonhisface That’ssomethingIhaven’tseeninalong time Andyes,it’sonlyafire,andasmall oneatthat,butrightnow Iwanttoholdontowhatisgood;Iwanttonurtureit I smileathim.

“Thatlooksgreat.”

Mattie lets outanother groanand reaches for her phone again. Igo backto the kitchenand resume unpacking, findinga surprisinglittle liftfromstackingcans inthe pantry,haulingsacks offlour and sugar, packets ofpasta andrice The twentyfirst-centuryversionofhomesteading,Isuppose,includingplentyofstuffforthefreezer

After a few moments, Rubycomes inand starts pokingaround, while Iwonder ifIshould make hotchocolate, turnthis eveningintosomethingcelebratory.

“Look.” Rubytugs atmysleeve and thenshows me a photo she’s takenfromthe frontofthe fridge faded and old, its corners curledup.It’s ofmyfather andme;Imustbeaboutten.We’vebeenfishinginthelake,andwe’reholdingontoour rods like walkingstaffs He’s smilingdownatme,a lookoflaughingtenderness onhis face,andI’mgrinningstraightatthe camera, mygaze blazingwithfierce pride and joy, myfinger hooked throughthe mouthofa rainbow trout Idon’tactually rememberthemoment,butIrememberthephoto.MydadreminiscedmanytimesabouthowproudIwas,howI’dreeledthat trout inlike a pro. “It was your Walter,” he said fondly, namingthe fishfromthe old movie On Golden Pond, one of our favorites,aboutcottagelife.

Iwonderifthelakestillholdsanytrout,ifmydaughterswillwanttofish,nevermindactuallytouchthoseslimyscales IsmileatRuby “ThatwasmeandGrandpa,waybackwhen” Shenods,smilingback,andputsthephotobackonthefridge. Itakeadeepbreath,willthememoriesback,andkeepunpacking.

Iwakeupwhentheskyisstilldark,juststartingtolightenatitsedges,becauseI’msocold.Thefiremusthavegoneoutinthe night,andIcanseemybreath,afrostypuffintheair,asIhuddleundertheheavycomforter,Danielsnoringgentlynexttome It felt strange to sleep in my parents’bed, like I was stealing something, or maybe pretending Daniel snuggled right down, though;welayclosetoeachother closerthaninourking-sizedbedbackhome butnotquitetouching,whichfeltapt.

This morning, there is frostetchingthe inside ofthe windowpanes indelicate patterns ofwintrylace, and whenmyfeet touchtheicywoodenfloor,eveninthick,woolensocks,Isuppressagasp.NexttomeDaniel stirsandthenburrowsdeeper underthecovers.Ireachforafewmorelayers fleece,scarf,slippers andthenheadtothelivingroomtobuildupthefire.

Lastnightweweretootiredtodigouttheelectricheatersfromthelittleboxroom,butweshouldtoday,definitely,andsee if theystill work I tried to make a jollygame of it all, goingto sleep inthe freezingcold heapingblankets onbeds and findingthehot-waterbottlesunderthesink,alongwithquiteafewmousedroppings.

I tried, but I don’t think it worked. Everything felt too strange, too hard, and when I looked outside it was so dark, relentlesslyso,myeyesstrainingtoseesomething,anything,underthepalelightofasliverofamoon.Iusedtofindthequiet and darkpeaceful, at least IthinkIdid, but now it unnerves me Mattie stood next to me inher shortie pajamas, shivering theatrically,whileItoldhertoputonsomeextralayers

“Iknow youhavethem,andit’scoldhere,Matts,reallycold.”Itriedfor anencouragingsmile,althoughIsuspectedshe wasbeingdifficultonpurposebecauseshewasangry.Whatfourteen-year-oldkidwantstoupendherlifetospendsixweeks inruralCanada?Notthisone,atanyrate.

Ibuildupthefireandthenputthecoffeeon,havingfirsttofill thecoffeemakerwithwaterDaniel gotlastnightfromthe lake Justastherewasthroughoutthewintersofmychildhood,thereisnowabigbarrelinthecornerofthekitchen,ourfresh waterfortheday Hethoughtitwasallsomethingofalark,strappingontheheadtorchhebroughtfromhomeandpickinghis waydownthestonestepstotheblackexpanseofthelake,whichhasn’tfrozenyet,althoughchunksoficebobinitsfreezing waters.Hefilledtwobuckets,and,huffingandpuffing,broughtthembackup,timeandtimeagain.

“Thiswillgetmeintoshape,”heexclaimed,andIwasgladthathewaswillingtoenterintothespiritofthething,although Iwonderedifhestillwouldacoupleofdaysfromnow Well,itwasonlyforsixweeks Wecouldallmanagethat

All inall, I’mamazed thatmostthings inthe cottage still actually work, wheneverythingis sevenyears old atthe very minimum, buttheydo. The coffee machine sputters and hums to life, and soonthe comfortingsmell offreshcoffee fills the kitchen.Itakeamugand,wrappingmyhandsarounditforthemuch-neededwarmth,Iheadtothelivingroom.

Thefireisacheerful,welcomingblazeandIcurluponthesofa.Outside,itisstilldark,butImakeouttheshapeofLost Lakeasdawncreepsalongthehorizon thedockjuttingout,theleaflesstreesontheshoreline,itssurfaceintheearlydawn lightstill darkand opaque Irealize I’meager to go outand explore, to reacquaintmyselfwiththe haunts ofmychildhood Reacquaintmyself,even,withthegirlIusedtobe

Spendingmysummershere andallmyschoolvacationsupuntilaboutagesixteen,whenIfinallyputmyfootdown,and foundasummer jobwaitressingataSizzler backhomeinNew Jersey shapedme,more,perhaps,thananythingelseinmy life has. Itamazes me, now thatI’mback, thatImanaged to avoid trulythinkingaboutthe cottage for sevenwhole years. I managedtoforgetwhatitwastome,who I waswhenIwashere,andlivemyWestportlife runningahome,afamily,anda bookclub withoutmuchmorethanaflickerofsentimentalregretforallthosesummersandholidays,weeks,monthsandeven years inthisplace,myhome.

Asighescapesme,andItakeasipofmycoffee.Fortwentyyears,Ireflect,I’vemanagedtofillupmylifewithwhatnow seemslikethepaltryandtheinsipid.Atfirst,itwasallwell-intentioned,valuableeven;afteranunexpectedpregnancy Sam rightafterDanielandIgotmarried,Ibecameastay-at-homemom,thinkingitwouldonlybeforafewyearsthatsomehow

slidintoadecadewithoutmeevenrealizing

Havinghadtogiveupmyentry-levelpositioninpublishing,Imadebeingamothermycareer organiceverything,allthe babyand toddler classes, perennial parent volunteer, dedicated class mom, onand on, ad nauseam, until I started to annoy myselfwithmyownearnestness.Andthen,assomekindofself-protectivemeasure,Istartedtomakefunofitall,inaselfdeprecating sort of way. When your kids are teenagers, you don’t want to still be the mom who brings in the pumpkindecoratedcupcakesforHalloween

Atthatpoint,Itoyedwiththeideaofrestartingmycareer,butafter adecadeandahalfoutoftheworkforce,andonlya coupleofyears’earlyexperienceinit,itfeltimpossible.Who,really,wantstohirea42-year-oldasanentry-level editorial assistant? And as Daniel was makinggood money was beingthe operative word Ihad no desire to hire myselfoutas a lunchladyor retail assistantjustfor the funofit. Butthatdidn’tleave me withverymuch the aforementioned bookclub, tennistwiceaweek,andmakingsureeveryyearofourliveswasdocumentedincuratedphotocollagesgoingupthestairswas nevermeanttobemylife’sambition Butwhatis?

Ithinkofthe girl Iwas inthis place, the girl who strode throughthe raspberrypatches, mindless ofthe scratches, who pluckedaleechfromherlegwithscornfulfingers,whobarkedatabeartomakeitrunaway.

I wasthatgirl,andyetIcan’tquitebelieveit.I’mnotsureifIcanrememberhowtobeheragain,orevenifIknowhowto try.IlookatherandIseeaghostlyLauraIngalls,aTV-tonedfantasy;andyetonceshewasreal.Wasn’tshe?

AsIwatchthesuncomingoverthetopsoftheevergreens,Iwonderifthat’spartofthereasonIwantedtocomebackhere tofindmyselfinthisplaceagain,beforeit andthatversionofme islostforever

Inthe weeks before we lostthe house and life as we knew itblew up, Ibeganto dreamofthe cottage or, really, have nightmares.Inmydreams,theplacewasalwaysfallingapartinadystopian,mystical sortofway;thelakehadturnedintoa treacherous swamp, filled withwrithingsnakes;or, inone vivid dream, huge slug-like creatures thatsurfaced fromthe dark depthslikemalformedwalrusesandthensankagain,bubblingbackintothedarkwater

Thehousefarednobetter;inonedreamitwasonfire;inanotheragreatbigpithadopenedupinthelivingroomwhileI backed awayinterror, clutchingRubyto me. Inyetanother dream, lava flowed downthe hill outside, a great, moltenriver rushingtowardusaswehuddledinterror,rightherebythefireplace.Ialwayswokeupfromthesedreamsfirstgaspingfrom fear,onlytohaveitreplacedbyreliefthatitwasn’treal,andthenanacheofrealizationthatinsomewaysitsortofwas.

Youdidn’thave to be Freud to know whyIwas havingthe nightmares. Mymother’s nursingcare was expensive;a few monthsearliermybrother,asexecutorofherestatewithpowerofattorney,hademailedmysisterandmeaboutthenecessityof selling this place Not that it would sell for very much fifty acres in the back of beyond, even with its own small lake, wouldn’tfetchmorethanacouplehundredgrandCanadian,ifthat,butmybrotherwantedtoberidofit,hadforyears,which was understandable consideringnone ofus came here anymore. Iwas the one who held on, arguingitwas for mymother’s sake,butreallyitwasformine.

AndnowI’mhere,havingthislastgaspofcottagelife,whileframingitasanecessaryresetformyfamily We’llhaveto sell it inthe spring, Iknow; mymother needs the moneyfor her care, and Daniel and Iobviouslycan’t afford it now The prospectstill hurts me,though. EvenifI’ve beenavoidingitfor mostofthe lastdecade, this place still claims a partofmy soul.

I finishmycoffee, add a logto the fire, and thenhead to the kitchento make a start onbreakfast. I want to banishthe melancholythoughts ofwhatonce was and do mybestto live inthis moment, simple as itis. This is whywe came here, I remindmyself Notbecausewedidn’thaveanychoice,butbecausethiswasthebestone Andbaconfryingisthebestsmellto wake upto,especiallywitha lake now shimmeringunder wintrysunlight,the foghoveringover the water beginningtomelt awayinghostlyshreds.

Nobodywakesupuntilthebaconandscrambledeggsarewarmingintheoven,andI’monmysecondcoffee,standingby thewindowasthelastofthemistrollsacrossthelake,likefragmentsofadream.Thewaterisadeepgreenish-blackandas smoothasglass,theskyabovethecolorofpewter,withpalepatchesoffragilebluebreakingthrough,likehopeitself

Thetreesthatdenselyfringethelakeareeitherleaflessandskeletal-looking,all barrenbranchesandclaw-liketwigs,or thickly,denselyevergreen,utterlyimpenetrable,aforbiddingwallofnaturestretchingtowardthesky.Thedock,Icannowsee inthe morninglight, has rotted;halfofitcompletelygone, the other halffalleninto the lake, now no more thana tumble of mossyplanks.Aftersevenyears,Ishouldn’tbesurprisedattheextentofthedecay,andyetsomuchhereisstillthesame.The old canoe, made ofred tin, is still hoisted up onthe beach, fromwhenmydad lastpulled itup there, after he’d takenSam fishing

Irememberthatmorningperfectly thesunshininghighabove,theskysoblueitalmosthurttolookatit Thewholeday hurt,initspurityandbeauty,becauseIknewthatitwasalmostcertainlythelasttimemydadwouldtakemysonfishing;hehad terminalcancer,andhisprognosiswasinmonths,notyears.Hediedjustfourmonthslater.

Evennow Icanpicture himandSamheadingdowntothe dock,mydadwithhis rodandtacklebox,Samtrottingnextto

him,alert,excited,jumpingupanddownalittle IseemydadsteadyingSamwithhishandonhisshoulder asheclambered intotheboat,makingitrocktoandfro.TheeagernessonSam’sface,tofinallybeoutonthelakewithhisbelovedgrandpa;I thinkevenhe,atthatage,sensedthesolemnityofthemoment,andyetalsofeltitsjoy.

“DoIsmellbacon?”

Iturn,managingasmileasDanielcomesoutofthebedroom,dressedasIam,infleece,sweatpants,thicksocks.Hishairis stickingupinseveraldirections,andhehasaday’sgrowthofsilverybeard Helookslikeamountainmaninthemaking,andI cantellhe’spleasedbythisversionofhimself

“Idon’tthinkI’vesleptsowellinyears,”heexclaims,asheheadsintothekitchen.“It’ssoquiethere.”

“The girls must have too,” I reply, “because they’re still asleep.” Although, glancing at the clock above the mantle somethingelsethat’sstillworking,afterDanielwounditlastnight Irealizeit’sonlyjustafterseveno’clock.Stillearly.

Danielcomesbackintothelivingroom,holdingamugofcoffee “Iforgothowbeautifulthisplaceis,”hesays,hisgazeon thelake Themisthasnowcleared,theskyalreadylighteningtobluefromthegray,likecolorbleedingthroughcloth Thelake shimmersbeneaththewaterysunlight.“Whydidn’twecomeupheremore?”hemuses.

“Idon’tknow,”Ireply,althoughIsortofdo.Becauseacabininthewoodswithteenagersisn’tmuchfun.Becauseawater parkorDisneyWorldalwaysseemedlikeaneasier,ifmoreexpensive,alternative.Becausefivehundredmilesalwaysfelttoo far, and I was afraid to so muchas brushup against the memories I knew would still be here, readyto crashover me the momentIopenedthedoor

Daniel gives me a directlook “So, whatshould we do today?” he asks, and I’mnotsure ifit’s a challenge a not-sosubtle why are we here again? or thatheneedsaproject.For months,we’vebeenlikethis,acontinual parryandthrustof barbedquestions,meaningfulsighs,deliberatesilences.Neitherofuscanquitekeepfromshowing,inmyriad,minusculeways, howinjuredwefeel,eachoneofusthewrongedparty,andyetIknow,Iknow,webothare.Webothcontributedtothismessin ourownways,evenifIcan’tletgoofmyanger Intruth,Ihaven’ttriedallthathard

“That’s up for discussion,” Isayinas upbeata tone as Ican “Make this place more habitable for the nextsixweeks, I guess?Mattiewantstomoveintothesmallroom,sowe’llhavetoshiftsomeboxes.Weshouldcheckonthefirewoodinthe cellartoo we’llprobablyneedmore.Andagoodvacuuming.Darlenehasdoneagreatjob,buttherearestillalotofmouse droppingseverywhere.”

“That’slifeinthewoodsforyou,”Danielremarkssagely,andIsmileandnod.Helovedithere,backwhenthekidswere little;a weekor twoeveryyear whenhe couldpretendtobe a mountainman,getoutthe chainsaw,drive the truck He was goodatitall,too,Iremember;farhandierthanIwaswithapowertool,takingthevagariesofcottagelife mice,mosquitoes, damp inhiseasystride.

“Andwe’llneedmorewater,”Iadd,becausealreadyIknowthatwillbeaconstantrefrain upanddownthestepstothe lake several times a day. “Maybe that canbe Mattie’s job. It might be good for the girls to have chores here. Feel part of things”

Danieldoesn’treply,butIfeelhiswinceevenifIdon’tseeitbecausedespitewhatIjustsaid,myreactionisthesame We bothbackawayfromthethoughtofaskingMattietodoanythingshedoesn’twanttorightnow becausegettinghertocomply witheventhemostbasicrequirementsoffamilylifebringsbothresistanceanddrama.

“And we could explore a little,” Iadd, not wantingthe dayto be nothingbut a to-do list, cottage style. “The old fourwheelerisinthebarn,andthetrucktoo,Ithink.Idoubttheyworknow,butwecouldsee.Maybeyoucouldfirethemup.”A fewyearsago,Darlenewoulddrivebothonceinawhiletokeepthemgoing,butwhenitbecameeverclearerthatnoneofus werecomingbackanytimesoon,Ithinksheprobablystopped “Sure,”Danielsaysexpansively.

“Great,”Isay,andInodtowardthekitchen.“Thereareeggsandbaconintheoven.” Henods,andforasecond,wejuststandthere Danielbythefireplace,withhisbacktothefire,meinthemiddleofthe room,asifIdon’tknowwheretogo Thenheputshismugdownonthemantleandcomesoverandslipshisarmsaroundmy waist It’sbothdeliberateandawkward;we’vemovedaroundeachothertheselastmonths,makingsurenottotouch Ididn’t actuallyrealizehowmuchuntilthismoment.

Afterasecondortwo,whichfeelsliketoolong,Iclumsilyputmyarmsaroundhim.There’safamiliaritytoit,butwithout theease,whichmakesitfeelevenmorestrange.Westandthereforamoment,armsaroundeachotheryetsomehowitfeelsas ifwearenotquitetouching.

“Thiscouldbegood,”Danielsaysquietly,whichiswhatI’vebeentellinghimallalong,buthemakesitsoundasifitisa newsentiment “Forus”

That isnew,anditgivesmeajolt ofhope,atthepossibilityofit,butalsoalarmbecauseeventhoughneitherofushas saidso, us is a conceptwe need to address. “Yes,” Isayatlast. I’munder no illusions thatitis anythingmore thana brief detour, a step out of time, although one that I hope will bring us closer in the long term. In six weeks, we’ll be back in

Connecticut,orwhereverDanielfindsajob,tryingtocarveanewlifeoutforourselves,fallingintopatterns,makingnewruts It’swhatIcraveanddreadatthesametime,andlivinginthatparadoxisexhausting.Iclosemyeyesasthemorningsunsends itsbright,healingraysacrossthepineboardsofthefloor.

“Yes,”Iecho,withmoreconviction.“Forus.”

“What,amIsupposedtobeimpressed?”

Mattietucksherchintowardherchestasshescuffsonesneakeralongthedirtroad Ithasnotbeenaneasydayforher or forme Therehavebeen,I’vecometorealize,toomanyunwantedsurpriseshere,toomanystrangeandunexpectedthingsfor my suburban daughter. Last night, in the blur of getting to bed, Mattie didn’t fully appreciate the complete rusticity of our situation.Nowshe’sstartingto althoughappreciate maybethewrongword.Actually,Iknowitis.

Isuppress a sighas Iscanthe barrenlandscape leafless trees, frozenground, everythingmuted and brownand utterly, eerilystill inthe dead zone oflate autumn, earlywinter. No snow, no vivid autumnhues, justthe lack, like color has been leachedfromeverylivingthing Eventhoughthewoodsarestill,IfeelasifI’mbeingwatched

Iknowthere’snothingoutthererightnowexceptformaybeahungrysquirrel,ahibernatingbear I’mnotbeingwatchedby anyoneatall,andmaybethat’swhat’sunnerving.Theutterandabsoluteremotenessofthisplace,whereyoucouldscreamas loudasyouwanted,andnobodywouldhear.

If a tree fell in the woods, would it make a sound?

Theanswer,here,seemsobvious

Mattiecertainlyhasn’tbeenbowledoverbythewilderness She’seyedeverythingaskanceonourlittlenaturewalk,just the two ofus, as Rubyopted to staybackinthe cottage withDaniel. Our chance to explore our surroundings, have a little mother–daughterbondingtime,althoughpreciouslittlebondinghashappenedsofar.

We’veventuredouttopeerintothepumphouse,nowashadowy,cobwebbyclutterofoldandprobablybrokentools,and thentherootcellar,thedoor tooswollenfromrainandagetoopen,itslatchrusted.Justaswell,perhaps,asIhavenoidea howmuchstuffismolderinginthere

Wewalkeddownthedirtroadtotheoldgarden,turnedintoatundraofthorny,barrenraspberrybushesandfrozen,stony ground,andnowweareupatMapleManor,thewhimsicallynamedshackwhere,foradecadeorso,myparentsmademaple syrup.

Itwasashabby-lookingplaceinitsheyday,anditismorethanhalffallingdownnow.Mattienudgesapileofrustedtin pailsheapedoutsidethewallswithhersneaker “Thisplaceis,like, so decrepit”

Iletoutahuffoflaughter becauseofcourseit’s true “ButyouusedtoloveGrannyandGrandpa’s syrup,”Iremindher, althoughmaybeshedoesn’tremember.It’sbeenyearssincewe’vehadany.

Mattiescowlsanddigsherhandsdeeperintothepocketsofhercoat.Thewindcomingoffthelakeiscoldandcutting,and itmakesmyeyeswaterandmycheekssting.Deadleavesswirlandeddyaboutourfeetandthewindsoughsthroughthebare branches above us before itdies downagain,leavingthatalmostunnatural stillness the silence ofthe woods stretchingall aroundus,unsettlinginitstotality Ournearestneighboris,Ibelieve,morethanfivemilesaway,downaroughdirttrack The nearestgasstationistenmiles,andthenearesttownovertwenty

Ihaveanurgetoshoutortoclapmyhandsovermyears,I’mnotsurewhich.Something,tobreakthesilence,ormaybejust togetareactionfrommydaughter.

“Howlongarewestayingherefor?”sheasksonamartyredsigh,eventhoughI’mprettysuresheknowstheanswer.

“ThroughChristmas,probably,andthenwe’llhavetosee”Hopefully,thenDanielwillhaveaplan Weallwill Mattieshakesherhead,inawearysortofdisbelief,whichIsupposeisbetterthanherrantingatmeyetagain Thismorning weclearedthelittleroomofitsboxes,tobeabedroomforher;Rubywashappytostayintheloft.Ihadvisionsofmakingit cozy,pilingupthepillowsandduvet,butamousehadmadeanestinthemattress,andMattiesquealedinhorroratthesightof themessspillingoutontothefloor crumbsandcornkernels,mousedroppingsandmattressstuffing.

“We’llbringamattressdownfromtheloft,”Itoldherquickly,placatingly,butshebackedaway,handsheldupasifinself-

defense,declaringshe’dneversleepinaroomwhereamousehadbeenmakingitshome

“Thenyouwon’tbesleepinganywhereinthecottage,”Danielinformedhercheerfully,whichdidnotimprovethesituation.

“Samwillbeheresoon,”Iremindhernow.“Thatwillbefun,won’tit?”

Sheshrugs,andItrynottosigh.They’donlyjuststartedtogetalongbeforeheleft;MattiewasfinallyoldenoughforSam totakeseriously,andI’mhopingthatwhenwe’realltogether,itwillfeel…right,Isuppose,inawayithasn’tinalongtime.

I’malsotryingtothinkofawaytomakethiswholepropositionmoreappealing inallmymemoriesofhappytimesatthe cottage, itwas never mid-November, the whole world frozen, everythingthe muted brownofdead things, and so quiet We shouldhavecomehereinMarch,whenthesapis running,or,better yet,insummer,whenthelakeis sparklingandblueand warm,andthewoodsopenupwithbirdsongandberries.Unfortunately,thatwasn’twhenourlivesfellapart.

“IsDadgoingtogetanew job?”Mattieasksunexpectedly,andIhear anoteofvulnerabilityinher voicethatmakesme bothtenseandache

“Yes,”Ireplycarefully “That’stheidea”

“Howcanheevenfindone,ifwe’restuckuphere?”

“Hisresuméiswithahead-hunter,andoncewegettheinternetgoing,he’ll abletomakesomeenquiries.”We’dalready discussedthelogisticsofit makingsurethephoneandinternetwork,ashortflightfromOttawatoNewYorkifneedbe,for interviews.Ifhegetstothatstage.

“Whyareyousomadathim?”Mattieasks,andIstiffeninsurprise

“I’mnotmadathim,” Itell her after a moment,whichisn’texactlytrue,and,fromthe lookshe gives me,Mattie clearly knowsit.Butwhyisthisaboutmebeingmadathim,ratherthanhowDanielletme us down?Not,ofcourse,thatIwantto frameitthatwaytoMattie,oreventomyself,butstill. I’m not the bad guy here,Ithink,andthenquicklyremindmyselfthatno oneis.

“It’snothisfaulthelosthisjob,”shestates,her toneturningtruculent,andIdraw adeepbreath,inhalingcold,freshair andwoodsmoke,lettingitbothsteadyandbuoyme

“Iknowthat,Mattie,”IsayasgentlyasIcan.

“So?”Anotherchallenge,thisoneasneer.

“Itoldyou,I’mnotmadatDad.”Atleast,I’mtryingnottobe.It’sthelyingthat’sbeenthehardesttotake,butsomepartof me knows I’ve punished him long enough for it. I continue, my tone turning a little repressive, “It’s been a difficult, complicatedsituation,andwe’reworkingthroughthat Together”

Sheletsoutasnortofdisbeliefandthenstartswalkingawayfrommeinawaythatfeelsdeliberatelydismissive Ilether go,clenchingandunclenchingmyhandstokeepmyfingerswarm,andtogivemyselfachancetoregainmycalm.It’stypical thatMattiewantstoblameme,ratherthanDaniel.She’salwaysbeenabitofadaddy’sgirl,andI’mtheonewhoinsistedwe comeuphere,awayfromeverythingsheknew.Thefactthatshe’sbeensuspendedfromschoolisprobablymyfault,too,inthe warpedworldofherteenagedmind Ishouldhavedonemybesttobailherout,thewaysomanyparentsatherprivateschool do,ratherthanletherfacetheschool’swrathforbreakingtheirrules

Asighescapesme,long,low,anddefeated,andslowlyIfollowMattiebacktothecottage.

Insideitiswarmatleast,andthereisthedisconcertinglyloudsoundoftheTVfillingthespace,makingmewanttoclap myhandsovermyears.Itfeelssoincongruous,so wrong,comparedtothepeacefulquietofthemorning,theneededstillness, whenIallowedmyselftobegintohope.

“IgottheTVworking,”Danielsaysjubilantly “AndtheWi-Fitoo Icalledthesatellitecompany theyjusthadtoflipa switch”

“So I see.” Mattie has alreadysnatched her phone, swipingat it frantically, lookingfor the Wi-Fi signal, longingto be pluggedinandconnectedto something.Ilookaroundfor RubybecauseIknow thatshedoesn’tlikehavingthenews on.So muchofitissogrim.

“She’supintheloft,reading,”Danielsaysquietly,andhemutestheTVIgointothekitchentoseewhatwecanhavefor dinner “Weneedtostayintouchwiththeworldatleastalittlebit,”Danielsays,ashefollowsmeintothekitchen

“Iknow.”Itakeoutaboxofmacaroniandahunkofcheese.“Itwasjustalittlestrange,hearingitblareoutlikethat.I’m surewe’llbegladforitinthelongrun.OnedayinandMattieisalreadygettingbored,Ithink.”

Daniel rocks backonhis heels.“I’ll take a lookatthe four-wheeler andthe truck,see ifIcangetthemstarted.I’msure she’dlikeblastingaroundonthefour-wheeler.”

“Yes,great”Irestmyhandsflatonthecounterandgivehimasmile,consciousofMattie’saccusations,theuncomfortable kerneloftruthburrowedinsidethemthatIknowIhavetodigoutandexamine “Thankyou,foreverythingyou’redoing I I knowthishasn’tbeeneasy.”

Danielnodsgruffly,hishandsshovedintothepocketsofhisbatteredcords.“Well,ithasn’tbeeneasyforyoueither.”

“No, but…” I take a breath, trying to choose my words with the utmost care, each one both precious and dangerous,

because,amazingly,thisisthemostwe’vetalkedaboutthiswholesituationinmonths,sincethefirsttimeDanielcameintothe kitchen,hanginghisheadlikeanaughtychild,scuffinghisshoesonthefloor. I have to tell you something,he’dsaid,andI’d staredathimincompletebemusementbecauseIwascertainhewouldneverhaveanaffair,soitcouldn’tbethat,andyethis tonesuggestedsomethingsecretandshameful.

“I haven’t reallytried to make it mucheasier,” I saynow, a concession or a confession? Both, perhaps, and bothare needed

Danielissilentforalongmoment Igotothepantryforanonionandthenstartchoppingitwhilehesimplystandsinthe doorwayofthekitchen,staringatthefloor.FromthelivingroomIhearthecrackleofthefire,Mattie’ssquealofsuccessasshe finallygetsherpreciousWi-Fi.

“Well…” he says at last, whichisn’t muchofa response, and yet ittells me a lot. It tells me he agrees withme but is reluctanttosayso,anditmakesmewonderifI’mnottheonlyonewhoisstillangry

“MaybetomorrowwecangointoCorville,”hesuggestsafteramoment,anditfeelslikeakindoftruce “Seethesights” “The sights of Corville?” I let out a little laugh. “Theyare few, but sure.” At twentymiles away, witha populationof thirteenhundred,itisthenearesttown,itsmainattractionsafair-sizedgrocerystoreandahardwareandafeedstoreandnot muchelse.

“Thegirlsmightenjoyit,though.”

“Yes,theymight”Andafterjustoneday,theyneedabreakfromtheboredom?

“Doyouremember,”Danielsaysquietly,“whenwebroughtthekidsherewhentheywerelittle?Italwaystookafewdays torelaxintocottagelife,youknow,theslowpaceofit.We’dbeedgyandrestlessforabouthalfourvacation ”

“Andthenbythetimeweleft,wewantedtostayanotherweekatleast,”Ifinishwithasmallsmile.“Yes,Iremember.”

Daniel smilesbackatme,andforasecond,wesimplystandthere,lettingthecottageworkitstime-wornmagic.Itseeps intoourbones,settlesoursouls Wejustneedtobepatientandletit Notresistitssoft,sweettug,itsquietpromisethathere andonlyherecanyousetyourworldtorights

FromthelivingroomMattieletsoutahowloffrustration.“ThisWi-Fiis so slow!”

Afterdinner,wemanagetorecapturealittlebitofthatmagic.MattieandRubyclearthetablewhileIwashdishesinthesink, andDaniel dries.Thenwebuildupthefire,andIgetoutthemarshmallows;wetoastthemover thedancingflames as night drawsin,anunendingblacknessoutside,unrelievedbythemoon,hiddenbehindbyabankofclouds.

“It’sso quiet,”Rubysays,asshesnugglesintome,hermouthrimmedwithstickiness,herbodywarmandsolidcurledinto mine

“Yes.”Wehaveallsaidthatsomanytimesalready,invaryingtones wonder,disbelief,trepidation,peace.Isqueezeher shoulders,andsheleansherheadagainstme.

Mattieiscurledupintheoldwickerchairopposite,wheremymotherusedtoalwayssit.Icanpictureherthere,withacup ofcoffeeinhand,ormaybesomeknitting Shewasadiligent,determinedknitter allmykidshavebabycardigansandbooties sheknit,invarious,elaboratestyles,withcrochetedlace,colorfulpatternsofdollsorsheep Ididn’tappreciateitallnearlyas muchas Ishould have, acceptingthe blankets and booties almostas a matter ofcourse, puttingthemawayindrawers with barelymorethanamurmuredthanks.

Itwasn’tuntilmymotherstopped,aboutsixyearsago,aftertryingtoknitsomemittensforRubyandbeingunabletofollow thepattern,frustratedbyherinability,andmaybealittlescaredbyit,too,thatIstartedtorealizethelevelofconcentrationand efforttheytook,nottomentionthesheeramountoftime Noneofwhich,Irealized,Ipossessedintheslightest I’dnevereven knitascarf

“Thisisnice,isn’tit?”Danielsays,andIblinktheapparitionaway,thememorylingeringinmymindlikeremnantsofmist, thewhispersofghosts.Mattieisinthechair,notmymother.

“Yes,itis.”IsmileatMattie,whohasthawedslightlysincehavingconnectedtotheoutsideworldviaherphone.Although wedeletedallhersocialmedia,westillallowhertotextherbestfriendLily,whoisagenuinelynicegirlandwasnotpartof the problemthatengulfed mydaughter’s life inthe shape ofa seventeen-year-old boynamed Drew and his gangofno-good friends.He,thankfully,isoutofherlife,hopefullyforever.

Andit is niceherenow,Ithink,withthefirecrackling,thecottagefinallywarm,oratleastwarmish,thenightoutsideso darkand makingus feel evencozier. Is there anysound more comfortingthanthat of a cracklingwood fire, the shower of sparks,thesettlingintothegrate?DanielandIshareasmilethatfeelsbothconciliatoryandcomplicit,abridgebeingbuilt,a jokebeingshared MattielicksthemarshmallowoffherfingersandRubyburrowsmoredeeplyintome,elbowdiggingintomy side,butIdon’tmind Iwanttoliveinthismoment;Iwanttoquietlygloryinit,spinitout

Thenthecontentedquietissplitbyanunearthlysoundfromoutside along,lonelyhowlthatechoesthroughthestillnight,

onandon,beforefinallyfadingawayintosilence

Rubyjerksupstraight,hereyeswide.“Whatwas that?”

“Awolf,”Ireplyafteramoment,reluctantly,becauseIfearthegirlsaregoingtofreakout;andthetruthisthebackofmy neckisstartingtoprickle.Thesoundisunlikeanythingyou’dhearintheConnecticutsuburbs,ghostlyandeerieandalarmingly close.

“Awolf?”Mattiestaresatmeinincredulity “Areyouserious?Thereare wolves here?”

“Mattie ” I stare at her helplessly Does she not realize we’re in the Canadian wilderness? There are wolves, and bobcats,andbears,nottomentionall theother fauna squirrels,chipmunks,foxes,deer,and,yes,snakes,althoughharmless ones.Ithink.HassheneverseenawildlifedocumentaryonPBS?Maybeshehasn’t.

“Ofcourse,therearewolveshere,”Danielsays,thevoiceofcalmandreason.“We’reinthewoods,Mattie.Butthatwolf soundedfaraway itshowlwasechoingoverthelake Ithinkit’sprobablyontheotherside”

Rubyshivers and thenburrows evendeeper into me Iputmyarmaround her againand we all sitinsilence, waiting, I realize,tohearthehowlagain.

“Thewolves won’thurtyou,”Itell Ruby,butIrealizeIdon’tsoundconvincedbecauseI’mrememberingthemomentof sheerterrorwhenIoncecamefacetofacewithawolfonthedirtroad.Iwasabouteightorso,walkingasquietlyasIcould, soas,ironically,nottoattracttheattentionofwolves.Itcameoutrightinfrontofme,staredatmeforanendlessmomentwhile Istoodthere,trembling;itseyeswereavividandsurprisingiceblue Thenittrottedsilentlydowntheroad, toward me,fora heart-stoppingsecond,before,indifferenttomypresence,itlopedoffintothewoods “Theyreallywon’t,”Isay,morefirmly thistime,andMattiejustshakesherheadandreachesforherphone,asiftheinternetwillsomehowwardoffthedangersofthe wild.

“Doyouknowwhereyourdadkepthisguns?”Danielasksquietly,awhilelaterwhenthegirlsaregettingreadyforbed. “Hehada 303rifle,didn’the?Anda 22”

“Yes ”Idon’twanttothinkaboutguns Mydadhadthemonlyasaprecaution,mostly “Weshouldfindthem,makesuretheystillwork,”Danielsays.“Justincase.”

Asiftopunctuatehisstatement,thewolfhowlsagain,andIwonderifitsoundscloser.“Ithinkhekepttheminthebedroom closet,”ItellDaniel.“Theyreallyshouldbeinagunsafe,but…”Thatwasn’tsomuchofathing,backintheday.

Danielnods,mountainmaninaction.“I’lltakealook.”

Thewolfisstill howlingintermittently,itslong,lonelysoundmakingmetenseeverytime,asIputRubytobedupinthe loft,armingherwithplentyofblanketsandahot-waterbottle Hereyesarewide,theblanketsdrawnrightuptothetipofher nose.

“Whydowolveshowl?”sheasks,andIpause,tryingtothink,butthenIrealizeIdon’tknow.

“Ithink,”Isayslowly,“they’rejustsayinghellototheirwolffriends.”

Rubygivesmealookofblatantskepticism,butthenshesnugglesunderthecovers,andIknowtheanswerhassatisfiedher enoughtogotosleep Andit’smostlytrue,isn’tit?It’saboutmarkingterritoryorsomethinglikethat,Ithink,butagainIrealize Idon’tknow.

There’ssomuchIdon’tknow,IacknowledgeasIclimbtheladderbackdowntothelivingroom.Danielisinthebedroom, thegunsintheircaseslaidoutonthebed.Ilookaway.I’mnotthatcourageouswildwoodsgirlofmychildhood,Irealizewith alurch.MaybeIneverreallywas.

CorvilleisexactlyasIrememberedit,everythingunapologeticallyunchanged,fromthehardwareonthecornertothebridge overtheBonnechereRiver,totheCountryDepotfeedstoreandsupermarketontheoutskirtsofthetown,ontheroadouttothe largertownofPembroke,anotherthirtymilesaway Theonlydifferenceinthewholetownisatiny,hipster-ishcoffeeshopby thebridge,advertisinglattesandfreeWi-Fi,andInoticeaswedrivepast,completelyempty.

Therereallyisn’tmuchtoseeinCorville,butDanielhadalookatthetruckandfour-wheelerthismorning,andhewantsto get some spare parts fromthe hardware, and I’d like to stockup ona few more groceries. EventhoughI bought plentyin Kingston,thereareacoupleofgaps,andwhoknowswhenwe’llbebackhereagain?IsomehowdoubtthatRubyandMattie willwanttoexperiencethedelightsofCorvilleforasecondtime

“Peopleactually live here,”Mattieremarksinawonderingtoneasweparkintown;theparkinglotismostlyempty,and halfthestoresarestillshuttered.WhileDanielgoestothehardware,Mattie,Ruby,andIwillstrollaround.

“Don’t be a snob, Matts,” I say cheerfully enough. “It’s a perfectly nice place.” Although I fear any town without a StarbucksoranAbercrombiewillseemdeficienttomydaughter.“Let’swalkdownbytheriver,”Isuggest.

Ican’trememberthelasttimeI’vebeendownhere,underthebridge,wherethewaterrushesbyinwhite,frothingrivulets, divertingaroundseveral,largeflatrocksthatstretchfaroutintothewater

Thegirlswanderalongsidetheriver,glancingattherocks,perfectforsteppingoutonto,butneitherofthemdoes,andwhy wouldthey?

That isn’t the kind of life we’ve lived which has been sanitized, suburban, and safe. Even “risky play” at school is supervised,aseriesofbalancebeamsandknottedropeswherekidscanplayonlywithcarefulinstructionandteacherspresent.

“Let’sgooutontherocks,”Isuggest,andMattielooksatmeinhertypical teenageddisbelief,scathinglyeloquentinher silence It’slikeasuperpower,thewayteenagerscangivesuchexcoriatinglooksofsneeringdisdain Dotheypracticeinthe mirror, or is ita skill theyobtainata certainage, like gettingyour Hogwarts letter, aged eleven? Here is how you sneer… “Comeon,”Isay,mytonesomewherebetweencajolingandinsistent.“It’llbefun.”

“Thewater’sverycold,”Rubysaysinasmallvoice.Shehasalwaysbeenverycautious,tothepointoftimidity.

“It’s freezing,”Mattiecorrects,foldingherarms “Noway”

Theirintransigencesaddensratherthanirritatesme They’re children Whereistheirsenseoffun,ofadventureandplay? “I’llgofirst,”Isay,andIeyethefirstrock.AsIsizeitup,IrealizeitisalittlefartherawaythanIthought.It’samatternot simplyofsteppingfromshoretostonebutofhavingtomakeanhonest-to-goodnessflyingleap.Iam,foramillisecondatleast, goingtobeentirelyairborne.

“Well,Mom?”Mattiesays,andthereisalaughingchallengeinhervoicethatmakesmebrave.Ijump.

IhearRuby’squickintakeofbreathasIlandontherock,stumbleslightly,andrightmyself Myheartispounding Iturnto mydaughters,armsspreadout,smileinplace “See?”

Mattieshakesherhead.“Whydoyouwantustodothissomuch?”

BecauseIwanttothemtohavefun?BecauseIneedtoprovesomethingtothem ortomyself?Idon’texactlyknow,butfor somereasonitfeelsimportant,thislittleleapintotheriver,farmore,Iknow,thanitactuallyis.

“Theviewouthereisamazing,”Ireply,asifthat’sananswer Mattiehuffs Rubyhuncheshershouldersandlooksdownat thewaterrushingbyfast,foamingwhite Istareoutattheriver,tumblingoverrocks,rushingforward,andwaitforoneofthem toact.

ThenMattieletsoutalong-sufferingsighthatmakesmesmile.“Allright, fine,”shesays,and,crouchingalittle,sheleaps ontotherockwithme,asnimbleasaballetdancer,legsoutstretched,hairflying,exceptlikemeshestumblesasshelands,and we end up clutchingeachother for a few tautseconds as we stagger around. Irealize Ican’tremember the lasttime we’ve

touchedeachother Hugged,orevengivenapatonthearm

Mattiereleasesmequickly,droppingherarmsandsteppingaway.Ipretendit’snobigdealasIturntoRuby.“Rubes?”

“Idon’tknow…” She nibbles her lip, eyeingus onthe rockas ifwe’re all the wayacross the Grand Canyon. For her, maybeweare.

Rubyhas had low-level anxietyabouta lotofthings, ever since she was little. Notenoughfor a diagnosis, and Iknow becauseI’vetakenhertoseveralspecialistsovertheyears,totrytofigureoutwhyshehasherquirks ahatredofseams,a fearofloudnoises,periodsofselectivemutism Acronymshavebeenbandiedabout OCD,GAD,PDD Noneofthemhave stuck,andintheend,thedoctorsdecidedRubywasjustRuby,quirksincluded.Andrightnow,shelookslikeshedoesn’twant tojump.

“Comeon,Ruby,”Mattiesays,surprisingme.“It’snottoobad,anditis prettycoolouthere.”

My heart surges with love and pride and gratitude Mattie’s encouraging remark is something so small, and yet it’s progress “Onlyifyouwantto,Rubes,”Itellmyyoungestdaughter “ButMattie’sright Itisprettycoolouthere”

Andthen,withoutwarning,mydaughterjumps.Shefliesthroughtheair,herexpressiononeoftotalterror,herstrawberryblondhairflyingoutfromunderneathherbobblehat,beforeshelandspracticallyontopofme.Igrabher,andsodoesMattie, andforafewprecioussecondswe’reallinastrange,desperatehug,anditfeelslikethebestthingthat’shappenedtomeina longtime.

Thenwe separate, and, after a few seconds ofwanderingaboutwhatis essentiallya verysmall space, Mattie lets outa boredsigh,andRubyasksifwecangobacknow Butitstillhappened,Itellmyself Noonecantakethatawayfromme

We make the jump a second time witha bit more confidence and thenwe head backup to meet Daniel infront of the hardware,beforegoingtothesupermarkettostockuponafewmorestaples.Ibuyfivemorefive-poundsacksofflour,another twodozeneggs,alongwithanentirecartful ofotherstuff.Daniel shakeshisheadwrylyevenashepullsouthiscreditcard, happyenoughtogoalong,despitethecost

“Whatisitaboutthecottage,”heasksinamusingsortofwayasweboxupthegroceries,“thatmakesyouwanttostart homesteadingorsomething?Buyacowandaplowand,Idon’tknow,abarrelofsalt?”Hesmilesgood-naturedly,andIsmile back,enjoyingthefeelingofcomplicity.

“MymotherandIusedtopretendwewerepioneers,”Itell thegirlsaswepushthecarttowardtheparkinglot.Ihavea sudden, piercingmemoryofpickingwild strawberries withher ina meadow halfwayaround the lake. Kneelinginthe suntouched grass, prizingthe tinystrawberries fromthe fragile plants like red pearls fromanearthyshell, fillingup a drinking glassofgreenplastic,andpresentingittoherlikeatreasure IhadslippedafewintomymouthasIpicked,mylipsandchin stainedscarletwithjuice.

“Pioneers,”Rubysays,hereyesalightwithinterest.“How?”

“Wewerepickingstrawberries,”Iexplain,“wildonesthatarereally,reallytiny.Iwasgettingimpatientandsoshesaid weshouldpretendwewerepioneers,andthatweneededthestrawberriestosurvive”

“Strawberriestosurvive,”Mattierepeatsabitscornfully,butthensheremembersthatthisishergrandmother,whomshe loves,andsheaddsinagrudgingsortofapology,“ThatsoundslikeGranny.”

“Itwas.”Itwas exactly likemymother,wholovedthecottageandallitstoodfor,whowouldhavebeenareal-lifepioneer ifshecould,withherknitting,hermaplesyrupmaking,thestrawberriesandraspberriesandapplesshepickedandmadeinto jamandsauceandpies.“Weonlypickedthestrawberries thatoneyear,”Ifinish,onasmall,apologeticsortofsigh.“After thatthepinetreesgrewupoverthemeadowandsothestrawberriesdidn’tgrowthereanymore,withoutthesunlight Wenever foundthemanywhereelse”

Andforasecond,I’mhitbyasuddenwaveofgrief,sointenseandoverwhelmingthatitfeelslikeslammingintoawall.It leavesmebreathlessandreeling,soI’msimplystandingthereintheparkinglot,thecoldwindblowingoverme,asDanieland thegirlskeepwalkingtothecar.

“Alex?”Danielasks,frowningalittle,asheseesthatI’vestoppedwalking “Yeah sorry”IsmileatMattie,andIruffleRuby’s hair Itell themwecangetpoutine chips withgravy,aCanadian specialty if the chip wagonbythe gas stationis still openinNovember. I slide into the passenger seat and stare out the window,andIremindmyselfthatmymother isalive,evenifinmomentslikethisIfeel asifI’vealreadylosther.Iusedto visit her at least once a week, backinConnecticut; her nursinghome is halfanhour fromour old house. Before we left, I explainedtoherthatwe’dbeawayforalittlewhile,butI’mnotsuresheunderstood.Eventhoughshe’salwaysgladtoseeme whenIvisit,timedoesn’tseemtohaveanyrealmeaningtoheranymore

Backatthecottage,weallhelptounloadthegroceries;there’snowsomuchthatIhavetostacksomethingsonthefloor AlreadyI’mthinkingaboutThanksgiving,thepiesI’llmake,theturkeyinthefreezerthatwillneedtodefrostforthreedays,at least.MaybeMattieandRubywillwanttohelpme;Icanteachthemtomakepastry,mymother’srecipe,withvinegarandan egg,atablespoonofbrownsugartosweetenthecrust.

“We’recertainlywell stocked,”Daniel says,andInod,feelingsatisfied,almosthappyatthesightofall thosesacks and cans.

“WeshouldcallSamtonight,”Isay.“Tellhimtomakesuretopacksomewarmclothes.”

“I’msurehewill,upstateNewYorkhasgottobeascoldashere,oralmost,”Danielpointsout.“Butyes,let’scallhim.”

Thatnight,withthe fire blazingmerrily,the curtains drawnagainstthe icynightand,thankfully,nowolves howling,we call Samontheold-fashionedwallphone,thekindwitharotarydialandacurlycord Myparentsneverupgradedthis,alongwith somanyotherthingshere

“Hey,areyouuptherealready?”heasks,soundingsocheerfulitheartensme,makesthingsfeeleasy.“Howisit?” “Good.Rustic.”

“Rustic, huh? Is thatcodeword for, Idon’tknow, a wreck?” He laughs;everythingis funto him, as well as simple. I’m enviousaswellasproud

“No,notexactly,”Iansweronalaugh,andMattiegrabsthephoneandsaysintoit,“Basically,yes”

IhearSamchuckle,andIfindI’msmiling.ImissSamsomuch,andthethoughtofseeinghimagainfillsmewithjoy.Ruby takesaturnonthephone,standingonhertiptoestospeakintoit.“We’repretendingtobepioneers.”

“Pioneers,”Samrepeats,soundingimpressed.“Cool,Rubes.”Itakethereceiverbacktohearhimask,“So,areyoureally goingtostickitoutuntilChristmas?”

“Ithinkso”Wehaven’ttoldSamthespecificsofwhathappened thelossofDaniel’sjob,aswellasthehouse,Mattie’s suspensionfromschool Itfeltliketoomuchtoburdenhimwithjustashewasstartinghisfirstsemesterawayfromhome,and alsoIfelttoohumiliated.I’dfailedonsomanyfronts.SohadDaniel.

Instead,weconstructedsomeramblingstoryaboutneedingtotakesometimeout,Danieldecidingtodosomethingelse,the girlsneedingabreakfromschool.Wedidn’tmentionthehouseatall.Danielwantedtotellhimthetruth,whichwasabitrich, consideringhedidn’ttellmethetruthfornearlysixmonths,butIwasadamant We’dtellSamwhathadreallyhappenedwhen wewerefacetoface,whenwecouldexplain,reassure,promise Itwasn’tthekindofconversationyoucouldhaveover the phone.

“Well,it’s all prettywild,”Samsays,soundingsocheerful thatIwonder ifhe’s simplynotlettinghimselfthinkaboutit. After all,it’s prettystrange tohave your entire familydecide toup sticks and move to rural Canada for sixweeks. He must suspectsomething, buthe sounds untroubled, takingitinhis stride. He’s gothis ownlife to live now, after all, withall the pleasuresandpursuitscollegehastooffer,asubsuminguniversethat’saworldawayfromhighschool,family,thelifehelived onlyafewmonthsago Andthankfullyit'snotatrisk,sincehe’sgotascholarshipandsomefinancialaid Theknowledgeofhis lifeapartfromus makes mehappyfor him,as well as sadfor myself.This is how it’s meanttohappen,thenatural order of things,andyetasaparentitcanstillfeelwrong,oratleasthard.

“We’llseeyouonTuesday,”Itellhim.“Justfourdays!Yourflightgetsininthemorning,right,toOttawa?”

“Yeah, elevenor so I’ll email youthe info Can’twait” He pauses “It’ll be weird to be up there, withoutGrandpa or Granny”

“Iknow.”Myvoiceissoft.“Butit’sgoodtoo.BetterthanIexpected,inalotofways.”

“Good.I’llhavetogetthefishingrodsout.Thelakehasn’tfrozenoveryet,hasit?”

“No,notyet.”

“Cool.”

Weshareafewmorepleasantriesandthenwesaygoodbye,andIfeelthatlittlerushofsadness,likeanemptinessblowing throughme,asSamendsthecall Likemymother,butinanentirelydifferentway,itfeelsasifI’velosthimtoo

Danielmustsensesomethingofthisbecauseheputshisarmaroundme,andwegobacktothelivingroom,wherethegirls arecurledupinchairsbythefire,Rubyreading,Mattieonherphone.

“How’stheWi-Fiworkingout?”Iaskher,andsherollshereyes.

“It’s atrocious,” she says, but she doesn’t sound nearly as scathing as she once might have, and I wonder if the detox processisalreadyhappening Awayfromthebadinfluencesofsocialmedia,Drew,thein-girlsshewassodesperatelytrying to be friends with, the drugs, mydaughter canfinallystart to thrive. The cottage canworkits age-old magic. I’ll take that visionoftheHallmarkmovienow,allthesweet,sappysentimentality.Bringiton.Letitbringustogether,healingandhelping ustogrow.Cuethemoviemontage,theswellingmusicrightnow.

I’msmilingatthethoughtasDanielandIsitonthesofa,hisarmstillaroundme.Iletmyheadrestagainsthisshoulderand closemyeyes,enjoyingthenoveltyofusbeingtogetherlikethis,anothernewbeginning,justlikehesaid Ibelievehimnow;at leastIamstartingto

Ilistento the comfortingsounds ofthe fire the crackle and hiss ofthe logs, enjoyingthe waythe flames cast dancing

shadowsacrossmyeyelids MaybeI’mbeingtoohopeful,buttonightI’mhappy I’matpeace

Later, Iwill recall thatfeeling, examine itlike anartifact, tryto remember how thatsense ofcontentedness felt, stealing throughmybones,turningthemsoft.Makingmehope.Itwillbealong,longtimebeforeIeverfeelthatagain.Infact,itwillbe never,atleastnotinthewayIdidthen,withsuchablessedignoranceofallthatwastocome.

IthoughtI’dalreadysufferedthen,I’d done mytime,whatwithDaniellosinghisjob,Mattiebeingsuspended,asifthese laughabletrivialitiessomehow counted forsomething ThetruthwasIhadabsolutelynoidea Noideaatall I’dholdontothememoryofthatnightforafewsecondsatmost,tryingtoimbuemyselfwithitspeaceandpower,beforeit evaporatedlikethemistonthelake,ghostlyshredsofanothertime,anotherlife,wheneverythingwassovery,verysimple. BecausejusteighthoursafterIsatthereonthesofa,feelingsohappy,sohopeful,theworldasIknewit,as anyone knewit, hadended.

Iwaketothesoundofthegenerator crankilykick-startingtolife.After athree-daypower outagefifteenor soyearsago,my parentsinvestedinalargepropanegeneratorthatsquatsoutsidethekitchenwindow,touseifanysuchoutageshappenedagain Nonedid,butthegeneratorwasareassurancetothem,awaytofeelatleastalittleself-sufficient,thewaytheywantedtoback intheseventies,whenitseemedlikeeveryonewaslookingtoownacoupleofchickens,callthemselvesacommune.

AsIblinksleepoutofmyeyes,Iwonderwhyit’sstartingupnow.I’mamazeditcanstillrunaftertenyears;hazilyIrecall thatDarlenemighthavetestediteverysooften.

Iblinksomemoreandthensitup.Outsidethewindowthelakeislikeglass,assmoothasamirror,reflectingthetreeson itsshorelineperfectly,thedenseevergreenaswellasthebarebranchesofthemaplesandbirches Theskyisthehazyblueof morning;bybreakfastitwill havehardenedtoadeep,penetratingblue,acold,sunnyday Theweather matches mymood bright,determined.Iclamberoutofbed.

Idress quickly, mybreathcreatingfrostypuffs inthe air. There is frostonthe inside ofthe windowpanes again, and the railingsofthedeckaredustedwithsnow.IimagineRuby’sdelight;whenwefirsttoldherwewerecominguphere,sheasked ifshecouldbringasled ByChristmaswecouldverywelllikelyhaveseveralfeetofsnow Thethoughtmakesmesmile

AsIcomeintothelivingroom,IfeelaflickerofexasperationthatDanielisalreadyupbuthasletthefirediedown The roomiscold,andheiscrouchedinfrontoftheTV,hisfingerspressedtohislips.Thescreenisfull offire,someexplosion somewhere,nodoubt.Idon’twanttoknowaboutit.

“It’sfreezinginhere,”Isay,makingsuretokeepmyvoicemild.Danieldoesn’trespond.Ipressmylipstogetherandgoto poke at the ashes before throwinganother logonthe stirred-up embers. He still hasn’t spokenas I go into the kitchenand discoverhehasn’tmadecoffeeeither Thegeneratorisstillwhirringawayoutside,andIreturntothelivingroom;Danielhas notmovedaninch Aflickerofuneaseripplesthroughme

“Daniel?”Iask.“Didthepowergoout?”

Hegivesalittleshakeofhishead,almostlikeatwitch,andreluctantlyImovemygazetotheTVscreen.Ithoughtitwas thenews,butitlookslikeahomemovieofsomekind,thecameraswingingallovertheplace,fromadistance.Thesightisof fire,anawful,indistinguishableblazefillingupthewholescreen

“GoodLord,”Isay Ican’tmakeoutanybuildingsorpeople,justfireandsmoke “Where is that?”

Danieldoesn’treplyforasecond,hisgazegluedtothescreen.Then,inlittlemorethanawhisper:“NewYork.” Forasecond,Ican’tspeak.Ican’tthink.Thatsurreal,burninglandscapeofdestruction? New York?“What?”Myvoiceis thin.“WhereinNewYork?Whyaren’ttheyshowinganythingelse,somecommentaryorsomething?”Iwanthimtoexplainit tome,givemeananswerthat’sneatandtidy,butalreadyI’msensing,onadeeplyviscerallevel,thatit’snotgoingtohappen.

SlowlyDaniel turns to face me He reminds me, weirdly, ofanold man Somethingabouthis eyes, his mouth he has changed Aged,eventhoughhelooksthesame “It’sNewYork,”hestatesinalowvoice,thewordscominghesitantly,asifhe has tofindthem,thenlaythemdown.“AndWashingtonDC.AndChicago.AndLos Angeles.AndHouston.And…Miami,I think.Phoenix…”

I take a step toward him, thenfreeze. For a second, I’mcaught ina maelstromof emotions; I feel suddenly, incredibly furious,asifthereissomethingtoblamehimfor,andI’malsoterrified,frozeninindecision,becauseIdon’twanttoaskhim anymorequestions,yetofcourseIhavetoknow “What,”Iaskinanoddlycoldvoice,“areyoutalkingabout?” “Alex…” He pauses, takes a breath, then starts again. “There have been nuclear strikes, Alex. Several. Many, even. Overnight.”

Hestaresatme,hisexpressionstrickenandgrim,andIstareback,refusingtoletthewordscompute. Nuclear strikes? I haveasuddenurgetolaughwildly. Are you serious, Daniel? What do you think this is, some stupid action movie about a

tornado or an asteroid where we all have to escape the destruction? Theworldasweknowitends?Cuetheactionscene,the carchase,theexplosionswhenIdecidetotakeabathroombreakbecauseIcan’teventellwhat’shappening?

I close my mouth, which has dropped open, and turn back to the TV. I’msearching for something recognizable in the blazing,flattenedlandscapethatlookslikesomethingfromMars,alunarlandscapeofnothingnessbutfire.

“Howdidtheyfilmthat?”Iaskalmostbelligerently.Itisanabsurdquestion,butI’msearchingforloopholes.Mymindis alreadyracing,consideringhoaxes,cyberhacking,conspiracytheories,someonehastakenoveraTVstation Ineedthisnottobetrue

“Ithinkitmustbeadroneorsomething.Idon’tknow.”Heshakeshisheadslowly.“AllofManhattanhasbeen…hasbeen destroyed.”Hespeaksalmostwonderingly,ifhecan’tbelievewhatheissaying.“Therewasanewspersonearlierbeforeitcut off. The whole metro area ” He stops, and realizationslams into me. The metro area… Westport, where we used to live. Whereallourfriendsare Ourlivesare,oratleastwere

Mygaze swings backto the TV, but it’s just the same aerial shot, a canvas of orange and red, impossible to make out anythingbutfire.Isitrunningonaloop?Isitevenreal?There’snootherfootage,novoiceover,nothing.

“YousaidWashington,”Isayslowly.“AndChicago.LA…”

“I think so. That’s what they said before it cut off. The whole infrastructure of the country must have been completely damaged,evendestroyed…”Hetrailsoff,hisgazedrawninexorablytothescreen,alsolookingforanswersthatarenotthere. Nothing isthere

Ithinkofthegenerator,wakingmeupthismorning TheannoyanceIfeltafewmomentsago,atthefiregoingout,thelack offreshcoffee.I’medgingclosertoanabyss,butIdon’twanttolookdown.Ican’t.Iwon’t.

Iblinkslowly,tryingtoframethisinawaythatmakessense,thatispossible.Iwanttosayokay, so what we’ll do is… but Ican’tgetthere.It’sanimpossible,fathomlessleap.

Andthenithitsme,andIgaspifI’vebeenpunched,winded,reeling “Sam ”

“He’supstate,”Danielsaysquickly,automatically,asifIdon’tknowthis Asifitmakesadifference Doesit?“Ithinkit’s farenoughawayfrom,youknow,theradioactivecloud…”

Radioactive cloud? I have another urge, utterly inappropriate, to laugh. We can’t possibly, seriously be talking about radioactiveclouds.Thisissomeawful would you rather scenario,thekindthatSamlikestosuggestoverdinner. Would you rather be in the epicenter of a nuclear strike, or one hundred miles away? Cue the debate about radioactive clouds and nuclearfallout Mattiewantstobeincineratedintheblast;Rubywouldprefertoliveundergroundforfiveyearsuntilit’ssafe tocomeout

No. No.Thiscan’tactuallybehappening.TheTVscreensuddenlygoesblack,anditfeelsasifwehavebeenplungedinto silenceeventhoughtherehadbeennosound.

Apaniciscreepingovermelikeamist,blurringtheedgesofmymind.Myheartisthundering;I’mhyperventilating.Itake afew,deliberate,evenbreaths Think, Alex Mygazemovestothewindow;outsidetheskyisblue,thelakeisgleaminginthe morninglight

Withoutevenknowingwhy,Iruntothedoor,wrenchitopen,andthenstumbleoutside,thecoldairhittingmehardinthe face.Thereisaloononthelake,swimmingplacidly,cuttingasmoothripplethroughthewater.Theworldisstill.

Iglanceatthehorizon,halfexpectingittobealividred,amushroomcloudbillowingup,butit’sascalmandblueasthe restofthesky.Istandthere,shivering,clenchingandunclenchingmyfists,mymindafrightenedblank.I’mtryingtothink,butI physicallycan’t Everythingisbuzzingstatic,gettinglouderandlouderuntilIhavetheurgetopressmyhandstomyears,block itallout,butIcan’tbecauseit’sinsideme

BehindmeDanielstepsoutside,closingthedoorcarefullybehindhim.Westandthereinthefreezingcold,mybacktohim, thelake,shimmeringandbeautifulinthedawn,beforeus.Neitherofusspeak.

Finally,Iaskinawoodenvoice,“Whatdowedo?”

Daniel doesn’t answer for a moment “We need to find out more,” he says at last He sounds calm, but also resigned Unshakeable, even in this, and it occurs to me how I’ve counted on that about him, for so long No matter how I veer or vacillate,heremainssteadilythesame.Itiswhy,Iknow,Itookhislyingsohard;itwassocompletelyoutofcharacterforhim. Butthathardlymattersnow.

“SeeiftheUShasretaliated,”hecontinues,“oriftherehavebeenmorestrikes.How…damagedeverythingis,Iguess.I have no idea what the the consequences of this are. Will be. I don’t evenknow who sent the missiles, what happened to cause ”Hetrailsoff,soundingdazed “Noonecouldhaveseenthiscoming”

“How do we find out those things?” I ask in that same wooden voice I feel as if I have no idea how to do anything anymore;asifIneedoperatinginstructionsforabsolutelyeverything,evenbreathing.

“I’mnotsure.”Hesoundsmorecertainnow.Wearebothtryingtobepracticalbecausethatfeelsstronger.“TheTVisn’t working,besideswhatyousaw.Buttheinternetstillmight,sinceit’sconnectedtosatellite,andnotarouter.”

Iwhirlaroundtofacehim “WeneedtocallSam”

Ihaven’tbotheredmuchwithmycellphonesincewearrivedatthecottage,sincethereisnosignalhere,butnowIraceto ourbedroom,practicallypushingpastDanieltogetinside,andthenfumbleamongthedetritusonthebedsidetable mywatch, a glass ofwater, a tube ofhand cream. WhenIpress the buttononmyphone, Isee thatthe batteryis dead, and Iletoutan anguishedcry.

“Mineworks,”Danielstatesquietly,frombehindme Hethumbsafewbuttonswhilewebothwait,breathheld Hecan’t makeacallwithoutasignal,buthetriestoloadawebbrowser Alreadypainfullyslow atthebestoftimeshere,theWi-Fi, suchasitis,cannotloadasinglepage.That’snotunusual,uphere,butitstillfrightensme.

“Thelandline,”Ipracticallygasp.

Butwhenweracetoit,inthekitchen,liketwochildrenonatreasurehuntfollowingtheclues,thelineisdead.“Ithink,” Daniel sayshesitantly,placingitslowlybackintothereceiver,“theelectromagneticpulsefromthestrikes wouldhavetaken outthephonelines,alongwiththeelectricalgrid Everything’sconnectedbetweensouthernCanadaandtheUS” Ihaveafeelinghe’sgarneredthatkindofinformationfromthemanysci-fimovieshe’swatched,butrightnowit’sallwe have.

Ishakemyheadslowly,mymindstill racingyetunabletokeepholdofasinglethought.“WehavetogoandgetSam,”I say, because that’s all Icanthinkabout. Ican’tbear to thinkaboutall the others yet mybrother, mysister, mymother, my friends Mattie’s friends The girls’ teachers Daniel’s old work colleagues, university friends, aunts, uncles, cousins Everyone, absolutely everyone, we ever knew what’s happened to them? Are they dead? Injured? Stumbling aroundinsomeapocalypticuniverseIcan’tevenenvision?“Daniel. ”

“Alex…”Helooksatmehelplessly.“Iagreewithyou,ofcourseIdo,buthow?He’saboutthreehundredmilesaway.” “Still.” Aplanis forming unthinkable, maybe impossible, butstill. “We’ll drive,” Isay. “We’ll drive to him. Yousaid upstateNewYorkwillbesafefromthe thenuclearfallout,right?”Itstillfeelsridiculoustosayit,to mean it “Wehaveto gethimbackuphere”Becausethecottage,Irealizesuddenly,mightactuallybethebestplacewecouldberightnow It’sthe one place we know ofwhere we mightbe safe. Although will we be safe? Or will some nuclear ashcloud driftits wayup here?

Isthisthekindofscenariowhereweallthinkwe’refine,laughinginrelief,andtheninacoupleofdaysourhairwillstart to fall out, our skinwill turnblackand beginto bubble? Ahorrible mash-up of movie snippets and scenes frombooks is runningthroughmymind adocumentaryonChernobylcrossedwithsomeactionmoviewithTomCruise,withNevilShute’s grimtome On the Beach throwninforgoodmeasure AmontageofArmageddonmomentsdriftsthroughmymind,untethered yetpresentingitselfasanchoredinfact.

“Alex,”Danielsays,andIrealizeI’mhyperventilating,gaspingforair.“Alex.”Heputshisarmsaroundme,andIpressmy faceintohischest,hardenoughtohurt,becauseIneedsomekindofescapefromthis,somekindofdistraction,ifjustforafew seconds Icravecomfort,eventhoughtheempiricalpartofmybrainknowsthereisn’tany

Daniel doesn’t murmur that it’s going to be okay, or that we’ll figure this out, because of course those sentiments are absurdly,offensivelypaltry.Hejustholdsme,andforafewseconds,Iletthatbeenough.

Eventually,Ieaseback,takeadeepbreath.Myeyesaredry,mybreathingeven.“WeneedtogetSam,”Istateagain,afact, oneIrefusetoargueordebate.

Danielnods.“Wedon’thaveenoughgas,”hesaysslowly,thinkingthroughit.“Togetallthewaythereandback.” Ithitsmeagain,howmuchhashappened Howmuchhaschanged Willtherenotbegasstationsalongtheway,willthere notbe gas?Willitbeanarchyfromheretohiscollege,afieryworldofviolenceandchaos,deathanddestruction? We’re only one generation from extinction,Ithink,andthenwonderwhosaidit.Somepresident,maybe,duringtheColdWar.Itseemed alarmist, anexaggeration, eventhen, but right now, amazingly, it feels true. It might evenbe understatement because maybe everythinghasalreadyended,Irealizenumbly.Lifeasweknowit.Society,structure,culture,government,laws…itmightall begone,andIhavenoideawhetherwe’llevergetitback

“Canwelistentotheradio?”Iasksuddenly “Theremightbesomeonetransmittingsomewhere,right?Someonewhocan give us more informationaboutwhathas happenedoutthere.” AgainI’mthinkingofvarious vague sci-fi scenarios,the lone pilgriminanapocalypticworld,fixinguptheirhamradio,tryingtofindanother personoutinthewilderness. Can you hear me? Can you hear me? Come in…

Danielnods,hisforeheadfurrowed.“Maybe,”hesays.“It’sworthatry.”

The onlyradio is the one inthe car We sit huddled inthe front seats, our breathcomingout infrostypuffs, as Daniel twiddlesthedial

“Ithinkwe’llhavebetterluckwithAM,”hesays,butthereisonlystaticoneverystation.Thoughtsareflashingthroughmy mindlikestreaksoflightning WestportissixtymilesfromNewYork.Wouldithavebeendestroyedintheblast?No,surely it’stoofar.Butwhataboutthefallout,theradiationdust,allthatstufffromthesci-fimoviesthatIdon’treallyknowanything

about?Ihavenoideaatallabouttheanswers,howmuchdangereveryoneisin Mybrother,mysister,mymother She’smaybe eightymilesfromthecity,inherlockedmemorycareunit…mymindraces.

Havethecarersleft?Whataboutallthehospitalsthatnolongerhaveelectricity?Whataboutthepeopleonlifesupportor in desperate need of dialysis, breathing therapy, defibrillators… what about the babies? Preemies in NICUs, toddlers in pediatricwards…orevenallthechildrenathome,includingmyown,whosefuturehasbeenwipedawayinaninstant.

Ican’tletmyselfthinkaboutalltherepercussions,notuntilIknowmore Istraintohearsomethingamidtheradio’sstatic, butthereisnothing IshiverasIhunchmyshouldersandfoldmyarms,tryingtokeepwarm;Ishouldhaveputmycoaton

“Fromthe news reportIheardbefore itshutoff,” Daniel says quietlyas he continues totwiddle the dial,“itseemedthe strikeswereonlyoncities.”

“Only?”

“I mean,” he explains witha preternatural sort of calm, his face set and grim, “that theydidn’t target our ownnuclear warheadsoroilrefineries,oranythinglikethat,whichapparentlywouldhavemadeeverythingmuch,muchworseintermsof radiationand fallout, ongoingpollution, thatkind ofthing.” He glances atme. “That’s the world annihilationscenario. This isn’t.”

IsupposeIshouldtakesomesmallsemblanceofhopefromthat,andyetIcan’t.

Wedon’tevenknowwho’sresponsibleforthestrikes.Hasanywhereelsebeenhit SouthAmerica,Europe,Asia,Africa? OrisitjustthebigbadUSthat’sbeen,yes, annihilated?IremindmyselfthatIdon’tactuallyknowanything,thatallI’veseen isaTVscreenofsmokeandfire,thatthiscould, maybe,beonegianthoax Outside,thesunlightshimmersonthelake

Thenthestaticontheradiobreaks,andavoicecomeson,scratchy,tense,cuttingouteveryfewseconds.Webothholdour breath,straintolistentothefaint,tinnysound.Ittakesmeasecondtorealizeit’sthepresidentoftheUnitedStatesspeaking. “The mostimportantthingis for everybodytostaycalm,” he says,anda laughescapes me,tornfrommybody,highand wild Seriously?“Ifyouareoutside,”hecontinues,“pleasefindthenearestshelter Anyonewithintenmilesofanyofthestrike zones should stay inside, with the windows closed at all times If you have a basement, shelter in it Do not leave your residence.Irepeat,do not leaveyourresidence.Waterandfoodwillbedistributedtothoseinneedassoonaspossible.We are workinghard to restore our infrastructure, and hope to have electricityworkingagain, alongwithrunningwater, inthe affected areas, within the next few days. Please be patient and do not panic. This is a devastating moment for our great country,”heconcludes,hisvoicechokingbriefly,“butwewill,withtimeandeffortand,mostofall,unity,riseaboveit.God blessyouall”

Iletoutashudderingbreathastheradiobrieflygoestostaticagain,beforeanothervoicecomeson,thisoneawoman’s; shesoundsshakenbutfirm.“ThatwasthepresidentoftheUnitedStates,speakingfromanundisclosedlocation.I’mShelley StevensbroadcastingfromKYZWatertown.Tosummarizewhatweknowsofar,earlythismorning,ninenuclearmissileshave hit major metropolitan centers in the United States New York, Washington DC, Miami, Chicago, Houston, Phoenix, Los Angeles,SanFrancisco,andBoston”

“Boston ”The wordcomes outofme ina somethingbetweena shriekanda groan;Sam’s college is close tothe border withMassachusetts.IturntoDaniel.“HowfaristhatfromSam?”

Hisexpressionisshuttered,hisgazefocusedontheradio.“Aboutahundredandfiftymiles.Ithink.”

Igulpbackthescreaminsideme,theshrillinsistencethatwegogethimright now.Iknowweneedmoreinformation,we needaplan,evenifIcan’timaginewhatthatmightbe.Thisisn’tahoax,andthenumbterrorinsidemefeelstoobigtoabsorb, toallow

“Itappearsthatthereisapoweroutageovermostofthecountryrightnow,”thebroadcastercontinues,“aswellassevere disruptiontowaterandgassupplies.Telephoneandinternetservicesarealsocurrentlynotworkingacross,itisbelieved,most ofNorthAmerica.Asyouheard,thepresidentisadvisingpeopletostayintheirhomesandwaitforassistance,andtothatend martial law is infull effect across the entire countryuntil further notice. There is no word fromgovernment sources about whetherretaliatorystrikeshavebeeneitherconsideredorplanned,oriffurtherstrikesareexpected”

Ipressmyfisttomymouth,bitemyknuckles Hard Thebroadcastercontinues,hervoicewaveringalittle,“Untilweknow more, we advise, as the president of the United States has instructed, for everyone to stay in their homes and wait for assistance.ThisisShelleyStevens,broadcastingfromWatertown.”

Whentheradiogoestostaticagain,Islumpbackagainsttheseat.Myheartisracing,butIfeel,quitesuddenly,completely exhausted,asifgettingthroughthenextfewminutesisasinconceivableasgettingthroughthenextfewyears.

“IthinkIshouldgointoFlintville,”Danielsays,namingthetinytowntenmilesawayfromhere,intheoppositedirectionto Corville;it’snothingmorethanagasstationthatoffersafewgroceries,acoupleofhouses,andachurch Iturnto him. Everythought is comingso slowlyit’s as ifI’mhalf-asleep, fightingmywayout ofa stupor. “Flintville? Why?”

“Wemightbeabletofindoutalittlemoreaboutwhat’sgoingon.Somepeoplemighthaveabettersatelliteservicethere,

betterreception AndImightbeabletogetsomegas” “Okay.” Inod slowly, mymind seemingso sluggishthateverythoughtis hard to hold onto. The frantic energythatwas racingthroughmehasvanished;IfeelasifI’mmovingthroughmolasses,mindandbody.“ShouldIcomewithyou?” Daniel shakes his head. “No, I thinkyoushould stayhere withMattie and Ruby. I… I don’t thinkwe should leave the cottageempty.”

“Empty?”

“Idon’tknow”Herubsahandoverhisface “Peoplecanpanicinsituationslikethis ” “Situationslikethis?”Iletoutahollow,hopelesslaugh.“Whenhaveweeverbeeninasituationlikethis?” “YouknowwhatImean.There’sapoweroutageforacoupleofhoursandpeoplestartlooting,smashingwindows.Times thatbyafactorof,Idon’tknow,athousand.Amillion.”Heblowsoutabreath.“Wedon’tknowhowquicklyserviceswillbe restoredanywhere Oriftherewillbefurtherstrikes IftheUSretaliates ”

“Stop”Iholdupahand “Ican’tthinkaboutthat”Ican’tthinkaboutanyofit “GotoFlintville,”Itellhimevenly “Get somegas.”Danielnods,andIkeephisgazeasIfinish,“Andthenwe’llgetSam.”

Buy ebook The last stars in the sky kate hewitt cheap price

Cutting Teeth: A Novel Chandler Baker

THE LAST STARS IN THE SKY

KATE HEWITT

CONTENTS

November