Chapter Forty-Two

IT SNOWS OVERNIGHT. I WAKE UP to a room glowing with sunlight bouncing off the snow outside. I am still snuggled in bed with Campbell and Juniper, all of us tucked under the dragonfly quilt. I carefully extract myself, not ready to wake the girls and disturb the strange and welcome quiet in the house. It’s freezing, so I pull a throw blanket off my chair and wrap it around my body. My breath comes in puffs of air.

My window is foggy, and I use the blanket to wipe away the condensation. The snow outside is crisp and clean. It’s almost as though the crows recognize its perfection, because they haven’t touched the yard.

But then I look around and realize that the crows aren’t filling the yard or the tree like I’ve gotten used to. I tilt my head and look up at the roof. Empty.

Across the street, crows cover the snowy outlines of Mrs. Stieg’s rosebushes. They line her gutters and have demolished her yard with feathers and droppings.

Then again, the clock is ticking on our pristine yard. A force of nature known as Juniper Mae will see to it shortly.

I sneak out of the room, squeezing my body through the narrow opening of the door so that I don’t make it creak and wake the girls. This stupid door causes me more trouble than a door ever should. I’ve tried putting grease on the hinges, but nothing stops that creak.

Mom is in the kitchen holding a cup of tea, standing at the sink. Steam rises off the mug and forms a little cloud around and above her. She looks calm and collected, and the moment I see her, I know it’s going to be a good day. Mom is here. Really here.

I steal some of the hot water from the kettle on the stove and join her at the counter. She smiles in greeting, but we stand together quietly. An unspoken agreement to savor the moment. It doesn’t last long. Creak. Footsteps on the staircase. Two sleepy faces come around the banister.

“Morning,” Mom says. “Did you see the snow?” Juniper’s eyes are wide with delight as she nods. Campbell yawns.

“Still tired?” I ask her.

“Junie woke me up,” she says. Campbell has never been a morning person.

“She’s good like that,” Mom says, sitting at the kitchen table and pulling Juniper onto her lap.

“Breakfast?” I ask them. Juniper shakes her head.

“Snow?” She nods emphatically, and I laugh. “Okay. I’ll go find snow pants.”

There is a pull-down ladder to get into our attic, and I climb into the coldest part of the house. I’m just glad our winter things aren’t stored in the basement.

It takes a little while to find the right box. The attic flooring is patchy, and some parts are just soft insulation, so I step carefully. Finally, I see the word winter and reach, tugging a cardboard box down.

But when I open it, it’s not snow stuff. It’s Mom’s stuff from high school.

I sit down on the dusty attic floor, letting the dingy lightbulb swing overhead. Yearbooks and letters, mostly. I dig a little deeper.

The next book has a soft cover and is decorated in a collage of art and drawings. Amethyst. It’s Auburn High School’s literary magazine, but from twenty years ago. I open it to the credits page. Editor in Chief: Erin Davis. Mom.

There’s a note from her in the beginning, and when I flip through the pages, I find so many of her poems. I knew she loved poetry because she still reads it sometimes, but I didn’t know she used to write it.

I put the rest of the box back the way I found it, but I keep the magazine. I finally find the winter clothes and tug the box downstairs with me. From my room, I grab an extra notebook I have and a sticky note off my desk.

These are amazing. You should write more. —L

I stick the note to the magazine and tuck it into the notebook.

I walk into a kitchen filled with laughter. I set the winter box on the floor, and Juniper springs from her chair, digging for extra hats and matching mittens.

I set the notebook and magazine next to Mom’s tea mug, so she’s sure to see it.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yeah, Leighton?”

“Do you mind if Liam comes over today?”

She looks up from the table. “Yeah, sure. Tell him to drive safe. Roads aren’t all plowed.”

She turns back to Campbell, just like that. Like everything is normal. And it kind of is, without him here. No eggshells in sight.

Liam answers his cell after half a ring.

“Meeting your family?” Liam says. “Big step, Barnes.”

“It’s time.”

“Past time,” he tells me. “I’ll be over in a bit.”

“Drive safe,” I tell him, and Mom nods. “Bring gloves.”

“Gloves?”

“It is officially snowball fight season, McNamara. Be prepared.”

“Me versus the Barnes sisters? Give a guy a chance.”

His automatic inclusion of my little sisters makes me smile, and I can’t think of a good response that acknowledges how sweet it is without sounding smitten.

“You’re smiling, aren’t you, Barnes? I can hear it.”

“No, you can’t.” I frown in response to his correct guess.

“Totally can. I have special powers. Someday I’ll reveal them to you. Maybe. No promises. Aaaand, you’re smiling again, aren’t you?”

“Like I’d give you the satisfaction of saying yes. Maybe I’ll tell you later. No promises.” I use his own words against him. But he was right: I was smiling again. And I still am when I hang up the phone.

The truth is that I like that he can hear it in my voice: my happiness. I like that he’s the kind of person that cares to listen for it.