Chapter 4: Lake Wren

The VanAlen lake house stood at the end of a gravel road, with the whole of Lake Wren spread out below it.

I hadn't seen it in six years.

Monty parked beside a gray pickup truck, and I knew whose it was before I read the plate.

"He beat us here," Monty said.

"He always leaves early."

"He always does what Mother asks." Monty said it lightly, and cut the engine. "Ready?"

I wasn't.

Inside, the house smelled of woodsmoke and lemon oil, and nothing at all of bleach.

Constance had kept her word.

She met us in the hall with both arms out and kissed my cheek.

"There she is. Dinner at seven. Kip is already on the porch, being useless with firewood."

Kip was on the porch.

He stood when I came out, and then he didn't know what to do with his hands.

He had a day of beard on his jaw.

"Selah."

"Kip."

We stood there looking at the lake.

"Thirty days is twenty-seven now," he said finally. "I'm keeping to it. Whatever you need."

"Okay."

"I'll stay on this end of the house."

"That's fine."

He nodded once, and went down the steps toward the woodpile.

I watched him go, and my chest hurt, and I didn't have a word for why.

Dinner was long.

Constance sat Monty on my right and Kip on my left, and she smiled at both of them.

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