Page 90 of Thin Ice

Remy sat down next to me. Not close. Not touching. Just there. On the step. His feet in the snow, his hands in the pockets of the denim jacket that was too thin for this weather. He didn't say anything.

I don't know how long we sat there. A minute. Three. Long enough for my breathing to slow. Long enough for the sobs to stop being sobs and start being just shaking, just the aftermath of it, my body coming down from whatever it had been doing.

"I went to my parents' house this morning," I said.

Remy didn't react.

"I told Liam, and he thinks I want to go back. He thinks I went there because I want to be with them instead of him. But that's not what happened. I went there for my mom. I went there because I needed to look at her and ask her to choose me, and she didn't. She said I'm sorry, and that was it. She didn't say she loved me. She just said she was sorry."

My voice broke on the word sorry. I put my hand over my mouth. Pressed hard.

"And then I told Liam, and I said the wrong thing. I said I went to see if she'd take me back, and he heard they. He heard if they'd take me back. And I saw it happen. I saw his face change and I couldn't. I tried to explain, and he couldn't hear me. He was already somewhere else."

Remy was quiet. The snow fell on his shoulders and on the steps, and on the yard where Liam's footprints led into the trees. Noah had gone inside. I could see him through the kitchen window, standing at the counter, watching us. Priya next to him. Ethan in the hallway.

"She said I'm sorry," I said again. Quieter. "My own mother. I stood there and asked her if she loved me, and she said I'm sorry."

The words sat in the cold air between us. I could hear the cabin's heat pump running. A bird somewhere in the trees. The faint creak of ice on the lake.

"My mom works nights," Remy said.

I looked at him. His face was calm. Not performing calm. Just calm.

"She works nights at the hospital. Has since I was twelve. So when I was growing up, it was me and my sisters at the house most evenings. I made dinner. I checked homework. I got them to bed," He paused. "I used to stand in the hallway after they fell asleep and just listen. Making sure the house was quiet. Making sure everyone was okay. I did that every night for six years."

I didn't know why he was telling me this. I waited.

"There were nights when I wanted someone to come stand in my hallway," he said. "Just to check. Just to listen. Nobody did. My mom was working. My dad was at a gig. And I was fine. I handled it. But I wanted someone to show up."

He looked at the treeline where Liam had disappeared.

"He didn't leave," Remy said. "He went for a walk. Those are different things."

One sentence. It cut through everything. All the noise and the panic and the replaying and the guilt. He didn't leave. He went for a walk.

"You showed up at his house with nothing," Remy said. "And he opened the door. That's not a person who leaves."

The cold was in my jeans and in my hands, and in my face.

"Go," Remy said.

I stood up. My legs were stiff. I wiped my face with both hands, and the tears were cold on my skin.

"Thanks Remy."

The pines were thick and quiet, and the snow under the trees was thin, just a skin of white over frozen ground. His boot prints were easy to follow. Deep and spaced far apart. He'd been walking fast. Almost running.

I walked. Then I walked faster. The trail bent along the lake shore, and I could see the water through the trees, flat and gray, the surface like a dirty mirror. The air smelled like pine and cold and nothing else. My breathing was loud. My heartbeat was louder.

He didn't leave. He went for a walk.

The trail opened into a clearing. A break in the trees where the shore curved, and the lake spread out wide and the sky came down low and met the ice. A rock at the edge, big enough to sit on.

Liam was sitting on it.

His back to me. His elbows on his knees. His head down. Snow on his shoulders and in his hair. He looked smaller than he was against the horizon.

I stopped at the edge of the clearing. Ten feet behind him. My boots made a sound on the frozen ground, and his head came up, but he didn't turn around.