I lost him.
I let go of his hand to retie my laces and I lost him.
My foot was loose in my shoe, I wasn’t about to waste time taking it off, and I couldn’t be falling over now. Damn laces. I could have sworn I’d tied a double knot before leaving.
If Benedict were here, he’d have said I wasn’t paying attention, he’d have been clear I wasn’t doing things right, meaning his way. The only way, in his eyes. Oh, sure. He can think that all he likes, but there’ll always be as many ways to do things as there’s people on earth.
Never mind that: How long has it been since I let go of his hand? One minute? Two? When I stood up, he wasn’t there anymore.
I swung my arms all around to try to grab him, I called his name, I yelled as loud as I could, but all I got back was the whistling wind. I already had a mouth full of snow and my head was spinning.
I lost him and I can’t ever go back home. He wouldn’t understand, he doesn’t have all the facts. If he’d asked the right questions, if I’d answered him truthfully, he’d never have trusted me with the boy. He decided not to say a thing, keep up the charade, believe that I could do what he was asking me to do. And here all I’m doing is making things worse, adding to this hell.
As if I could help it.