Chapter 9: Snowed In

Callum rented a bay in the back of a closed lumber yard on the river road.

I found it at four that afternoon by following the smell of cut pine.

He had a barrel stove going, and a half-built oak door on two sawhorses, and a pencil behind his ear.

"I thought you'd call," he said.

"I don't have your number."

"Bev does."

"Bev has everybody's number. It's her gift."

I stood inside the door and shook snow out of my hair.

"I want that forged paper out of her cabinet before she burns it," I said. "Tell me how to get into the shop."

He put down the plane he was holding.

He did it very slowly.

"When did she have it signed?" he said.

"March. Nine months ago. She wanted the right to decide where I live, if I ever went crazy."

"Or was made to look it."

"Is that what the paper in your father's desk is?"

"No." He wiped his hands on his jeans. "That one's older. I'll have it by Friday. But Maggie, she's been planning your ending since the spring."

I walked to the stove and held my hands out to it.

They would not stop shaking, and I was angry at them.

"I let her bring me soup," I said. "I let her teach me her pie crust. In March she was practicing my signature, and I was washing her coat."

"That's not on you."

"Then whose is it?"

"Hers. Neil's." He swallowed. "Mine, a little."

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