Chapter 17: The Weather Gave You Those Eyes

The King's scouts lost the gray wolf at the river by noon.

He had crossed the water at the narrows, where the ice was thin.

The tracks ended on the far bank, in a patch of bare rock.

Dad sent six of the pack's best trackers after him and put a double guard on every gate.

By evening there was nothing more to do but wait, and I couldn't stand waiting.

I found Dad on the back porch, with the notebooks on his knee and a mug going cold beside him.

He didn't look up when I sat down on the step.

"The drawer was locked," I said. "You never told me why."

"I don't know why I'm reading these," he said, and turned a page. "They're my handwriting."

He rubbed his jaw.

"I remember the fence, and the cold. I remember picking something up, and knowing I wasn't going to put it down again."

"That was me," I said.

"That was somebody," he said. "I'm trying to be fair to you."

"Dad." I took a breath. "I want to ask you something, and I want the answer, even if you've forgotten the rest."

He closed the notebook.

"Why didn't you tell me I was found?"

His shoulders moved, once.

For a while there was only the sound of the creek and one of the twins laughing inside the house at something on his phone.

"I'm going to guess," Dad said at last. "Because I know myself. Is that fair?"

"Guess."

"I was afraid," he said. "Every year there was a night I'd stand at that fence and think, this is the one."

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