22

Dad stowed his clipboard with the lifties at the base, and we headed out of the gondola and through Crystal Village. I shivered, still not warm. Deep-down weariness made the world syrupy. Going back into the cold night like this and leading Dad to the spruce might be the dumbest thing I’d ever done, which was saying a ton.

“Could I hold your arm?” I said.

“Sure.”

Dad glanced at me about every ten steps.

“I’m fine,” I said.

When we reached the recreation path’s spruce, I thought I could make out a porcupine-sized lump. Car lights on the interstate and frontage road a quarter mile away softened the darkness and showed him as a tense, resigned shadow. His doubt formed a cloud around us.

“Okay.” I wriggled my arm out of its sling.

“Sov!”

“I’ll put it back when we’re done.” My arm swished through my parka’s sleeve, the brace tight against fabric, and I took Dad’s calloused hand. “Whatever you do, don’t let go.”

I looked away from his pity and heard Crystal Creek’s frozen gurgle. I glanced at the stars, said a silent prayer, and pressed my palm to bark.

Green grass shoots. Daylight
making me blink. A skiff of cloud.

Dad’s grip on my hand tightened. His head swiveled around, and then he looked at me with wide eyes. “How—?”

Steps approached on the path, from the direction of school. I recognized their cadence and squeezed Dad’s hand just as Mom appeared. She was dressed in the same skirt and blouse, but a ball of tissues bulged in her hand. The way she rounded the curve, staring at the spruce, I knew this was the Mom from earlier today. No doubt she was returning from the meeting with Handler and me. Had I brought us back to her—to this universe—by thinking of her? I realized that each time I’d seen her, the vision linked up with whatever I’d been thinking about when I touched the tree.

Now she halted and her hand came to her throat. “Briggs?”

“Taylor,” Dad whispered.

“Briggs!” Mom rushed to him.

I squeezed Dad’s hand to remind him not to let go. They hugged, and Dad’s breath caught as a wave shimmered through me. Spruce needles drizzled down. Mom rested her head against his chest, her mouth open in a sob. There, so close, was that crescent scar.

Dad pressed his cheek to her hair. He breathed hard and strands of blond pulled into his lips.

“You’re alive!” Mom said.

Dad weaved his cast hand’s fingertips through her hair and pressed them against the back of her neck. Mom gasped, then smiled. Her hand rose to the back of his neck, lower down, near the base’s bump. Their most intimate gesture, which always made me look away. Dad leaned down, Mom reached up, and they kissed. This time, I couldn’t look away. I might need to remember this moment forever.

As I watched, I realized Dad’s suffering was ten times mine. Love like theirs happened rarely, and, even here across universes, was a force beyond reckoning. Dad + Mom = me. Me = their love. If their love was erased, what became of me?

The shimmering increased to sparks that robbed my breath. The spruce vibrated, so I pressed my palm harder against it. Mom stepped back, and her hand against Dad’s chest still held tissues. Soggy tissues. She smiled at me, and I tried to smile back, but I was suddenly so tired and I felt consciousness slipping away.

“Sov?” she said.

“Taylor!” Dad’s voice was a coyote howl.

Snow mashing my cheek. Stars blinking
through the spruce’s branches.
Dad’s warmth collapsing across my legs.

Our clasped hands let go.

I woke on my feet, a strong arm around my waist.

“Dad?”

“Sov.” Dad’s voice was not next to me.

“Shelley?” I said and blinked. I blinked till I recognized Súmáí, straining to keep Dad and me on our feet.

“I think I can help now.” Dad appeared on my right, his face and neck emitting a faint glow. Around my waist, his arm overlapped Súmáí’s.

They propelled me forward, my Converse skidding along the frosty recreation path. After a bit, I started moving my feet with them and got my weight over my legs again. I wanted so badly to take in Súmáí—he was real and I was not insane—but I was drunk with fatigue. We crossed the bridge and ascended Ruby Street in a hazy déjà vu. The gondola came into view, and Súmáí stopped.

Dad looked at him and then at me. “Sov, do you think you can walk?”

I let go of their arms and stood on my own. I managed three wobbly steps. “If I hold your arm.”

Dad stepped forward and held out his arm. Súmáí stayed back. Dad turned, puzzled, and I realized he thought Súmáí was just a liftie who’d happened upon us.

“Thanks,” I said.

Súmáí nodded to Dad.

I could see Dad weighing things, knew he wished this liftie would say nothing about finding us, but he couldn’t even ask because it would look bad. Poor Dad: wish granted.

I held up my hand to wave. Súmáí held up his hand, and despite everything, our gaze turned familiar. Dad saw this, and then locked onto Súmáí’s hat. I turned and clutched Dad’s arm, and we promenaded toward the gondola. I had to force every step away from Súmáí. I willed myself not to look back. Dad and I entered a car and collapsed on its bench. At the last instant, a liftie stuck in his head.

“Your clipboard, Briggs.”

I could tell it took all of Dad’s energy to sit up and take it. Across the top sheet, vandalism was scrawled in his left-handed writing.

“Thanks,” he managed.

The doors closed. Despite my grogginess, I felt torn in two, half of me wanting to pry those doors open and sprint to Súmáí, the other half wanting to be with Dad. He slouched back and dropped the clipboard onto the bench. After a minute, he drew his phone from his jacket’s pocket and dialed.

“Wash. You at the cabin? Good. We need a ride home from the gondola. Pronto.”

As we rose past Gage’s house, I looked for him through his bedroom window, but he wasn’t there. Today’s Mom had asked about him.

I pictured her and Dad’s kiss and saw the soggy tissues in her hand. I felt Súmáí’s arm around my waist and saw Dad recognize his hat. The gondola car bounced over pulleys at the top of a tower. Everything seemed to swirl on the same breath. My world reeled, and, for the third time that day, I lost consciousness.