Laiken

For six years, I dreamed of this day.

In my head it didn't happen like this. I pictured being swept into my parents' arms as they alternated between crying, and comforting me for being so strong. Kara would be here, so would Dean, and it would be the start of our happy ending.

I get none of that. Instead I'm walking over the same ground where I grew up - with Dominic, of all people. But I don't care. I'm too lit up from the inside of my heart to care about the reason I'm here.

Just that I am here.

I'm home.

The cabin is coated in layers of leaves. Moss has grown over some of the posts that are buried in the earth. Several old bird nests cluster under the roof's overhang. The longer I stare, the more evidence of age I see. No one has been here to take care of this place.

“Nature hasn't been kind,” Dominic mumbles.

Gathering myself, I hurry towards the front door. “It's fine. It won't take much to get it back into shape.”

He stares at me, telling me he doubts that. He's right. But I can't let despair reach me. I'm home and all the filthy windows and water damage won't rob me of this bliss.

Stepping gingerly up the mud-caked porch, I cup my hands against the front window and squint. Everything is so damn dirty.  I wipe the glass; it hardly helps. What I glimpse through the window smothers some of my hope that I'll find any clues about my dad.

“Come on,” I say, waving for Dominic to follow me. Gripping the door handle I twist, yank and then brace myself to do it again. The second time the door gives, scraping over the mud, creating a fan shape on the porch as it opens.

Dominic walks behind me, gazing over the dusty furniture, spotting the cracked window where a tree branch slammed its way inside from a storm. Mice have chewed at the fibers of the couch. “No one has been here in years,” he whispers, saying what I'm thinking.

Ignoring him, I walk with purpose to my bedroom. I feel like a ghost in my own home.  And when I think of how I'd been erased from my little brother's life, I have a frantic need to find some evidence that I ever existed in this family at all.

The bedroom walls are dimly lit from the single window. The rocks Kara and I collected sit on the sill, casting shadows onto the floor. They're untouched, and as I lift my hand to brush one, I stop myself at the last second.

Kara's bed is perfectly made. My bed to the left of the room is messy, the blue blanket folded in the middle and the pillow cocked sideways. It's exactly how I left it six years ago. No one touched my bed all this time. They left it alone like it was some ancient artifact, or like they were worried if they smoothed it flat, they'd be smoothing me out of existence.

Running my palm over the soft blankets sends up dust motes. My eyes water as I imagine my mother staring at my bed, wondering if I'll ever sleep in it again. I remember what Kara told me—that days after I was taken, they were swept off to the Complex. That means they didn't have to stare at my empty bed for long. It's a strange comfort.

Maybe erasing me was the kindest way to heal their hearts.

“Laiken, are you . . .”

I snap my head up to stare at Dominic. Hastily I wipe my eyes. “It's just dusty in here,” I lie, brushing around him towards the main room. As I pass, he reaches for me, but I dodge him. Acknowledging his pity will make me fall apart faster.

And I can't yet.

Not until I know for sure that there's nothing here for us to find.

I sense him following me through the house. It's not a big cabin. It doesn't take me more than a few minutes to peek into the bathroom, then the kitchen. I should be looking at things closer, but I'm too edgy to linger. I need to see everything as quickly as I can.

Out the backdoor, I pause on the top step. The yard is covered in debris. Layers of brown leaves, some of them rotting in wet piles, make it unrecognizable. But then I spot the woodpile.

Gripping the rail, I wince as the memory strangles me. The sky is overcast right now so it's easy to imagine the rain pouring. It enhances the images that flash through my brain: Kara, crouched behind the wood, her tears so raw and honest and scared.

Our father trying to comfort us, telling us he's sorry.

“It won't be so bad. You'll get to see new things, eat amazing food. It'll be—” he hesitates. “Life changing.”

“For how long?” Kara asks.

“I just don't know, sweetie.”

“Then why?” I snap.

His smile is pained. “To keep me from vanishing again.”

At the time I'd been flooded with empathy towards him. With the adoration only a daughter can feel when her father is suffering. But thinking back over his haunted eyes and his bitter sadness, I wonder if he wasn't as sorry about what was going to happen as he should have been.

All of his sorrow had been for him.

Not me.

Not Kara.

Not his family.

Just him.

Stepping down, I wander through the leaves. I kick a few, turning slowly, unsure what to do with myself. Dominic watches me from the doorway. “Well,” I say, my smile frail, “this is it. My home. What do you think? Is it as cozy as I made it sound? Did my fighting every single day to return here make sense, now?” My voice is too high. I'm struggling to seem happy and failing at it spectacularly.

He comes closer, moving at a snail's pace. “Laiken . . .”

“Don't say it. I know. This place is a mess, and we're going to find nothing here. It was pointless to come.”

Pointless.

Like believing in my father.

He circles me in his thick arms, crushing me against him until all my knots and barbs melt away. “Did you know,” he murmurs, “that I've never been camping?”

“What?” I ask, blinking.

He talks against my scalp, making my skin tingle. “I've been on trips to different places, and I've done my share of outdoor work, but I've never once been this far out in the middle of all these trees and this silence. It's nice. Peaceful.” Tilting my head towards him, he kisses my eyebrow. “I see exactly why you loved it here.”

My heart beats louder, as if it wants Dominic to hear it. “Thanks,” I say, leaning into him, enjoying his solid strength. “I really don't think he left any clues for me here, though.”

“We've barely searched.” Untangling from me, he eyes the pile of wood. Walking over to it, he brushes leaves away. “Some of these are under a tarp. Should be dry. Do you know if there's a lighter in the house?”

“You want to make a fire?”

Nodding, he bends down, pulling out an ax from beneath the tarp. Amazingly, the weather hasn't reached it; the head looking sharp and rust free. He claps the handle into his palm, checking the weight with a satisfied smile. “We'd be better off spending the night at this rate. If we get a fire going inside, it'll be all right. I mean, if that sounds okay with you.”

“It sounds great,” I say, laughing. “Let me go find some matches, I know where Dad kept everything for the fireplace.”

“No rush. I'll chop some of these to make them smaller, you search the house for clues while you're collecting things.”

“Deal.” Backing up, I take a second to observe him in his heavy coat with the ax in his grip. If this is really his first time in the middle of the woods, he's doing a good job looking natural in the environment.

I leave him there and go inside. After I find a box of matches and some old newspapers for kindling, I set them by the fireplace and start searching the cabin more carefully. The stale smell of mold grows stronger the longer I'm inside. Water has definitely ruined a lot of this place, and repairs will take time. I create a mental list about the things I'll need to do to make the cabin hospitable again.

I know we're not staying. But I have every intention to come back when I can.

My hope is that next time will be permanent.

Mom and Dad didn't take much with them when they left. There are boxes of dried food in the pantry, most of it moldy, the rest chewed up by mice. Water runs when I try the sinks, but I'm nervous at the color. At the very least, dirt has leeched into the pipes.

Disgruntled by discovering no secret—or obvious—messages from my father, I head out to the backyard. Grunts, heavy breathing, and solid clunks reach my ears. Cracking the door, I enjoy a helplessly sharp inhale.

Dominic is shirtless in spite of the cold. His breath is visible in the air, sweat clinging to his rippling arms as he swings the ax again and again. He's chopped multiple logs into manageable chunks. It's way more than we need for a single night.

Propping myself against the side of the cabin, I cross my arms and enjoy the view. His ink shifts as he swings, creating a beautiful, moving scene as the art comes to life. As much as I miss the sweet boy Dominic used to be, I can't deny he's improved, in a few ways.

Wiping his forehead, he sticks the ax into the ground. He stretches his hands towards the invisible sun, groaning. My attention trails down his stomach, to the perfect V that leads into his jeans. All the muscles in his torso flex, the grooves around his abs growing deeper.

Dear lord, he's magnificent. It's even better to see him like this when he's not aware I'm staring. He acts more comfortable, and I'm free of the wicked intensity of his eyes when he knows he's getting a reaction.

Gently, I rap my knuckles on the door. Dominic looks at me, his forearm pressed to his temple, one eye shut. “You planning to chop enough wood for the whole winter?” I tease.

His smile tugs high on the corner. “I got caught up in how good it felt. Besides, I'd hate for you to be cold tonight.”

I have a pretty confident idea that with him beside me, fire or not, I won't be cold at all.

“Did you find anything?” he asks.

Reality settles in and erases my smile. “Nothing.”

“Dammit.” Grabbing his shirt, he tugs it on then slips his coat over his arms without zipping it. “Let's take a break. Any chance the water is safe to drink? I'm really thirsty.”

“No. But we can get some in the town.” Blinking, I stare past his shoulder. “Actually, better idea. Ever have fresh spring water?”

****

THE BRIDGE HAS STOOD here for longer than six years, and weather and time have taken their toll. It still looks sturdy, though. “I helped build this,” I tell him, nudging the planks with the toe of my shoe. Satisfied it won't collapse, I walk to the middle.

Dominic grips one of the posts and gives it a shake. He seems less sure than me, but he still follows. His shadow mixes with mine as we stand together on the bridge. Placing my palms on the railing, I glide my hands across, exploring the wood.

“Here,” I say, tapping a spot. “Where I carved my name.” And where Kara cut in hers. I outline the letters of my sister's name. Each groove is exactly the same as I remember it. Unchanged -

the opposite of Kara herself.

He's watching me steadily. Pushing off the railing, I turn my back on him and keep walking. “Come on, let's get you that drink.”

It's not a long hike, but it's a tough one. I remember it being much easier. Maybe it was because I'd been small, and spry. My hair would catch on brambles back then, too, but now the long braid snags on every object not made from air.

“There,” I say, pointing as we crest the small hill. A brook trickles over sharp rocks. It's a little wider thanks to the time of year, but it's still only two feet across.

Bending down, I scoop it with my hands and take a deep drink. It hurts my teeth; that's how cold it is. I love it.

Dominic kneels beside me. He copies me, sipping from the brook. His eyes fly wide. “It's delicious.”

“Right?” I laugh. Possessed by something - perhaps the childlike joy in his face - I lean over and kiss him. His mouth is cool and it tastes like the spring. Like crisp life and wild experiences and a world that used to belong to me.

It doesn't anymore, a cruel voice whispers. I can't shake it off. I wanted this visit to be something entirely different. Again and again, life takes my reunions and grinds them under its heel.

Melancholy takes hold and makes my lips go numb. Dominic stops kissing me, studying me with obvious concern. “What's wrong?” he asks, tapping the underside of my chin.

Forcing a smile, I sit on the ground. Up above us the branches of leaf-barren trees reach for the gray sky. “I used to climb these,” I say, pointing. “I was very good at it. Beat my sister a few times.”

“I believe it.” Dominic settles beside me, looking where I am. “When I watched you scale the fence around the preserve, I was impressed at your speed.”

My smile becomes more real. “Thanks,” I whisper, meeting his warm gaze. His fingers are buried in the grass between us. Reaching down, I grip them, watching how he tenses. It's not a bad thing—he isn't nervous. Dominic tightens up with expectation. He's affected by every little brush of our bodies. I am, too. “Does this trip feel like a waste?” I ask.

He's already shaking his head before I finish my question. “Not in the least. It's the first time we've gotten to be alone. Nothing has ever been so precious to me.”

I radiate with pride, hoping he can feel some of my pleasure through my skin. I'm so warm inside he has to be able to sense it. “You always knew what to say to cheer me up. Even when we were kids, you knew.”

His frown is skeptical. I get ready to explain myself, but he bends down, his kiss better than a smile. A gust of icy wind scratches at my cheeks. My ears are throbbing from the cold. “We should go,” he says, his forehead resting on mine.

“Do we have to?” I ask, chuckling in the back of my throat.

“Wouldn't it be nicer to sit like this in front of your fireplace?”

“You win. A roaring fire sounds very tempting.”

Dominic stands in that effortless way of his. For a second he matches the trees arching overhead—just as tall, just as endless. His hair even looks like the thin branches waving in the wind. He reaches for me, my hand extending towards his without a second thought. I let him help me to my feet, only letting go of him when the steep climb demands I use both hands.

If I could, I'd hold onto him forever.

We're walking back towards the bridge when I see it: something small but straight jutting out of the bottom of the wood, right above the foaming river. “What?” I ask, squinting desperately.

“Laiken? Laiken!” he shouts as I sprint towards the water.

I'm too focused on my goal to hear him. Sliding on the soaked rocks, I stumble, then keep running. There's normally a stretch of damp sand beneath the bridge, nearest to the posts. The time of year has made the river overflow. It's consumed every inch of dry land in its path.

My shoe dips into the rushing water. Instantly my toes go numb. Behind me, Dominic is still shouting. I can't tear my eyes away from what I see under the bridge. I'm not crazy, that's really . . . “Ah!” I manage to shout, just before the river tugs my ankles, knocking my legs out from under me.

Frost-crisp water fills my nose. Forceful currents topple me round and round until I don't know what end is up, or down, or where I am. Nothing exists but the whoosh in my ears as the river hugs me tight.