T i m e

It’s January now—going on three months without Chatham—and I’m shoveling snow, while my sisters watch with their hands pressed against the picture window in the living room. They stick their tongues out at me. I stick mine out at them.

I’d often tried to imagine this town without Damien in it.

Life without the threat of him.

A mother and sisters without the fear of him.

And this is it. He’s behind bars, and he’ll be there for a long time.

“Need some help out here, Josh?”

I turn to face my mother’s latest flame, who just pulled up a few minutes ago. “Sure.”

Hinkley hasn’t even been into the house to greet my mother, but he’s already armed with a shovel, and he’s already clearing the sidewalk of snow. “Some of the guys on the force are taking their families sledding this afternoon. Thinking of taking the girls.”

“They’ll love it.”

“You want to come along?”

I glance up at my sisters, who are giggling and happy, like normal almost-five-year-olds. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“If you have other things to do, if you wouldn’t mind just driving the sled out there, or loaning me your Explorer—”

“No, I’ll go. I’ll load up the toboggan, take the girls. You and Rosie can have a few minutes of peace to yourselves on the drive out.”

“If this works out between your mom and me, we’ll have to think about buying a car we can all fit into.”

“Yeah.” I laugh. After tossing a few more shovels full of snow, I admit, “It’s something I wanted to do with Chatham. Take them all sledding.” I know I’ve said it before in his company—I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the things Chatham and I never got around to doing—but Hinkley’s gracious about my repetition.

He shrugs a shoulder. “Well, you never know. It could happen someday.”

Hinkley’s like that. Optimistic. Believes in positive reinforcement. He’s a pillar of the community, makes his own money, has his own place, and has a daughter from a previous marriage for whom he pays child support.

And this is the guy Rosie decides to take things slow with. Drunk and abusive she falls for within minutes. Upstanding guy? Let’s give it some time. Ironic. But actually smart, too.

“Why don’t you go in,” Hinkley says. “I’ll finish up out here. You’ve done most of it.”

“No, I can—”

“Josh, go ahead. I have a feeling your mom’s going to need help wrangling those little monkeys into snowsuits.”

He has a point.

When I walk in, Rosie’s stirring the contents of the crockpot so we’ll have a warm dinner when we get home.

“Hinkley’s finishing up.” I put on a pot of coffee, because he’s gonna need it. He has no idea the energy required to repeatedly climb the toboggan hill with my sisters in tow.

“You know, you can call him Steve.”

“No I can’t.” After a second, I add, “Mom.”

“We’re good, right? Steve, you, the girls . . .”

“Yeah.” And I actually believe it.

“Stay close,” Rosie calls to the twins, who are falling into the snow on purpose, amazed it doesn’t hurt. She and Hinkley each have a hand on the toboggan tow, and I smile to see their fingers playing with each other when they think no one’s looking. “We have to walk up the hill,” she tells my sisters.

“Joshy!” Margaret squeals.

“Joshy!” Caroline parrots. She jumps at me and I lift her in my arms. “It’s so fun!”

“Yeah, you’re about to have the best fun in the world,” I assure her.

“Best fun,” she says.

“Best fun,” I say.

Once we’re waiting in line at the top of the hill, I gaze out at the horizon. I see the Northgate Lighthouse to the right. I see the abandoned caboose to the left.

Rachel Bachton was here.

My phone buzzes with a text.

It’s from a number I don’t recognize, but I open it anyway:

It’s a picture of a snow castle, which could only be a creation by the best artist I know: Chatham.

I smile, and laugh, and wipe tears from my eyes.

Another message comes through: Hi.

I reply: Hi.

She returns: Tiny Elvis sometime?

A sense of relief and excitement flows through me. She wants to see me.

I type: Chocolate cake’s on me this time.