A Pack of Their Own novel · Chapter 17 of 32

Chapter 17: Dad Hangs Up

I called my father at one in the morning from the porch steps.

Roark sat three feet away on the rail, not talking, with his boots on the boards and his eyes on the dark yard.

He had not said a word since the fire.

Callie had found a place in the doorway behind us with a blanket around her shoulders. Nana Bess stood inside the screen, pretending to wipe a cup.

I put the phone on speaker and set it on the step between my feet.

It rang four times. Then there was a click.

"Winona."

He sounded awake, as if he had been sitting by the phone.

"Hi, Dad."

"Where are you?"

"On a porch with a sign on the gate. All family welcome. All others knock."

Silence.

"You were told to stay where you were put."

"I was told Grandpa was dead," I said. "I was told a lot of things."

He didn't answer.

"I met him. He has a white beard and he says your name."

"That name isn't to be said."

"He said it at the fire tonight, in front of everybody. Nana has a book with your handprint in clay. I put my hand over it, and it fit."

I heard him breathe in.

"Listen to me," he said. His voice had dropped, low and tight. "You don't understand what you're holding."

"I know about the river."

Nothing.

"I know a boy got shot on the north slope, and the town ran, and Ironwood killed eleven of its own. I know you were sixteen and in the tree line."

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