Time heals all wounds. Time is of the essence. Time is short. Time is on my side.

Lies. All lies.

Time is the enemy. Time was playing for the other team. Timed stretched like an endless desert. The only thing time does is stagger along like a drunk sailor and give you wrinkles. And syphilis.

Summer begot fall, fall begot winter, and winter begot seven thousand feet of snow in Chicago—give or take six thousand, nine hundred, and ninety feet. And it was only the last week of November.

Luckily for me, it was my turn to host knit night, and I had the next day off work. This meant that once I arrived home, I didn’t have to venture out into the howling wind and driving snow for thirty-six hours. I could get dressed in my thermal PJs and get drunk.

But I wouldn’t get drunk. I didn’t like how I felt when I got drunk, how I lost control when I imbibed beyond reason. I’d done it once since returning from Tennessee and had to be physically restrained from drunk-dialing Drew.

It hadn’t been pretty. While I was intoxicated, I spilled the entire story; my friends provided seven shoulders to cry upon.

Sandra, Nico, and Fiona were huge Drew advocates at first. They didn’t exactly pressure me, but they did take every opportunity to subtly hint that I should contact him and be honest about my feelings.

I couldn’t. I kept picturing his face, gently letting me down. When I played the scene in my head, I was that poor girl Jennifer I’d heard the women murmuring about at the jam session, all gussied up in my yellow dress and wielding a banana cake to a man who could probably out-bake anyone he knew. He would tell me how beautiful I was—pretty face, nice piece of ass, trashy accent—but that he didn’t need anything from me.

He’d been honest from the start about not needing me. I couldn’t fault him for that.

Once the three of them realized that the only thing accomplished by their subtle hints was my silence and a growing rift between us, they stopped pushing.

Now we—my knitting group and I—collectively called him Dr. Ruinous. Note the addition of the ‘i’. Sandra thought of the nickname. I think it was her peace offering, a way to show me that she was on my side.

Still, I rarely discussed him. Instead, I marinated quietly in my hurt feelings. When my friends brought up my unusual silence during our knit nights, I attributed it to the lingering grief caused by my mother’s sickness and death, which was true to a great extent.

I missed her every day, and I didn’t know how to mourn openly and loudly.

Therefore, I escaped in books, but I avoided reading romance novels. I didn’t need to read any happily-ever-afters. Instead, I settled into the contentment of just being with the people I liked.

When I arrived home from work Tuesday night, Kat was already there. She’d never returned the key to my apartment, and I’d never asked for it back.

“Hey!” she called from the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind, I stopped off and picked up wonton soup and eggrolls for the gang. I’m using your one pot to keep it warm.”

I couldn’t help my smirk. “I have more than one pot.”

“No, you don’t. You literally have one pot. By the way, I grabbed your mail. It’s on the coffee table. You got a package.”

“A package, eh?” I was intrigued; my momma used to send me packages with some frequency before her death. I had no second source of packages other than Amazon Prime.

I stripped off my winter gear—boots, hat, gloves, scarf, second scarf, outer jacket, inner jacket, a third scarf, sweater—and strolled over to the coffee table, leaving my wool socks on. The package was really a large, padded envelope; it had no return address and the postmark indicated that it had been sent from Franklin, North Carolina.

I didn’t know anyone in North Carolina. At least, I didn’t remember knowing anyone in Franklin, North Carolina.

I gathered a deep breath and set to opening the package, but was interrupted by the external intercom. Tucking the envelope under my arm, I jogged to the speaker and pressed the button.

“Who is it?”

“Let us in! We’re freezing our tits off.” Sandra’s voice was distorted and clouded in static.

“Okay, let me hit the buzzer,” I replied. I pressed the button and added, “I’ll leave the door unlocked so you can come on in when you get up here.”

I walked into the kitchen to check out the soup. Kat must’ve gone to General Tso’s. They put baby bok choy in their wonton soup and use both shrimp and pork.

“Mmm, that smells good.”

“I know you like General Tso’s soup.” She gave me a shy smile—most of Kat’s smiles were shy—and pulled out a bottle of plum wine. “And I picked this up.”

“Oh, nice. I’ll open it.” I placed the unopened package on the kitchen counter and searched for the bottle opener.

Kat and I had been talking recently about sharing an apartment to save on rent. After Christmas, we planned to finalize the details. Originally, I’d wanted to go to Tennessee for the holiday, but as the date approached, I was seriously considering staying in town and picking up extra shifts, which was typically very lucrative. Plus, I didn’t particularly like the idea of being in my mother’s house without her in it. As well, the Dr. Ruinous issue was an ever present dung beetle in my pie.

However, I really missed my brothers. The thought of spending Christmas without them felt unacceptable. I wondered if I could talk them into meeting me halfway between Chicago and Green Valley, or maybe just an hour or two from the homestead.

I heard the door swing open followed by Elizabeth’s shout, “It’s us: Janie, Sandra, Nico, and me.”

“Quinn and Alex might be by later,” Janie announced.

“It is colder than Satan’s balls out there!” Sandra’s voice bellowed from the hallway. Kat and I shared a smile and I rolled my eyes.

“Well, come in then, and take off your clothes,” I called back.

“I can’t. Nicoletta is with us.”

“Don’t let me stop you.” Nico’s teasing tone made me laugh.

“It’s not you, Nico.” I heard Janie’s voice respond from beyond the kitchen. “It’s Alex and Quinn. The last time they dropped by knit night unexpectedly and we were having a panty dance party, it took me twenty six days of constant physical intimacy before he started to relax again.”

Nico chuckled. “Because it was a coed party?”

“Honestly, no. I don’t think he was jealous….” Janie walked into the kitchen, pausing to give Kat then me a hug.

“What was it then?” I asked her, curious.

Janie pressed her lips together, her eyes growing wide as she stared at me for a long moment. Abruptly, she leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “I think it turned him on.”

I barked a laugh and covered my mouth. “Oh, my God. By all means, we should all keep our clothes on.”

Sandra burst into the room, still removing layers of clothing. “Yeah, it’s not a good idea. Alex couldn’t keep his hands off me for months after. It’s like I was Alex-catnip.”

I couldn’t help but smile at Sandra. Where Janie whispered intimate information, Sandra just put it all out there. It struck me that they were a perfect yin and yang. Janie was overly verbose about trivial information and made strangers uncomfortable with her random factoids, whereas Sandra was unsurpassed in social settings; she knew exactly what to say and when to say it—when she set her mind to it.

With her friends, Sandra was the queen of personal TMI, whereas Janie never spoke of personal issues unless pushed or prodded.

“What smells good?” Nico hovered in the doorway to the kitchen, eyes twinkly, eyebrow raised, boyish grin in place.

It took me months to get used to Nico, maybe even a year. I definitely had a little—and very benign—crush on him. In fact, I was pretty certain we all did. Never mind the fact that he was a celebrity, he had dangerously unnatural levels of charisma. It was like having a crush on a nebula or a painting; you just wanted to look at him.

Over time, however, the sensation and feelings became similar to the girl-crushes I had on the rest of the knitting ladies. I admired him, enjoyed his company, and wished him happiness in all things.

“Kat picked up wonton soup and egg rolls for dinner,” I explained.

“Hey, thanks, Kat!” The group echoed this grateful sentiment, and Kat ducked her head, her cheeks turning pink. Since she and I had started spending more time together, I’d noticed that she did not accept praise or compliments very well. I would have to start saturating her with comments about how awesome she was.

“It’s no big deal.” She waved away their gratitude.

“Hey, Ashley, what’s this?” Sandra strolled into the already crowded kitchen and picked up the package I’d left on the counter.

I pulled several wine glasses from the cabinet. “Oh, I don’t know. It just came.”

“Can I open it?” She asked. “You know how I love to open other people’s mail—so annoying that it’s a felony.”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

She began ripping into the package while I filled the goblets with plum wine.

“I need some advice,” Janie announced. She was leaning against the kitchen table, her arms folded, her pretty face marred by a pensive frown.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Elizabeth squeezed into the kitchen and grabbed the bowls from the counter to set the table.

“I don’t know what to get Quinn for Christmas.”

“You—in a bow.” Nico said this deadpan. “Maybe forget the bow.”

“No—I mean, I have it narrowed down to two things. I need help deciding between the two.”

“What are they?” Sandra asked as she pulled a rectangular bundle wrapped in newspaper from the envelope. “Why don’t you make him something?”

“Well, I already crocheted him that hat and scarf. So, that’s done.”

“And it’s black and very dark gray, so you know he’ll love it.” Elizabeth said this with some sarcasm. We had a running joke that Quinn was actually Batman.

Janie nodded, both because she agreed and because she got the joke. “But the other two things are a little complicated. I can either fly his parents out for Christmas, or I think I can get his sister to come.”

“But not both.” Kat stated this, her voice warm with sympathy and understanding.

Janie sighed. “His parents would be fine with seeing his sister, but I think Shelly wouldn’t come if his parents were there. She still has…issues.”

I listened to the conversation with interest because it mirrored my situation. I wanted to see my brothers for Christmas, but I didn’t want to face Drew. Whether I liked it or not, my brothers considered him a part of the family. Actually, he was a part of the family—especially after all he’d done for us, for my mother, for me.

Hearing Janie struggle with the situation made me realize how selfish I’d been about the whole thing. I didn’t want my brothers to choose between us. I wasn’t that person. My momma raised me to be better. I would just have to find a way to need nothing from Drew like he needed nothing from me.

I cleared my throat, prepared to tell Janie that she should invite both of them—Quinn’s sister Shelly and his parents—but then Sandra gasped.

I was mid pour, so I gave her a cursory glance. “What is it?”

“Oh!” Elizabeth’s startled exclamation came next.

At this, I set the bottle down and crossed to where Sandra held the contents of the envelope, but Elizabeth was blocking my view.

“What is it?” I asked again, insinuating myself between them so I could see what the fuss was about.

Then I saw it.

“Oh….” I exhaled, my eyes moving over the object in Sandra’s hands.

It was Drew’s leather notebook; the one he carried around in his pocket, always seemed to be writing in, and was never without. I immediately recognized the Norse symbols on the front. But it was singed; the cover was burnt as were several of the pages. The edges were black and brittle, but—other than the scarred cover—it was mostly intact.

Sandra held it out to me, her eyes wide. “Drew sent this to you?”

I shook my head, not taking the notebook. “I—I don’t know.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I wanted to be irritated or ambivalent, but I wasn’t.

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. “Is he okay? Why is this burnt?” Picking up the envelope and giving it a closer inspection, she added, “The postmark is from Franklin, North Carolina. Did he move there?”

I shrugged, lifting my hands palms up, my eyes glued to the notebook. “I don’t know. I have no idea. I haven’t talked to him since Momma’s funeral.”

The last words I’d said to him were I’m not your problem anymore.

I couldn’t get over Drew until I started disliking him. I wasn’t going to be able to forgive and forget. This wasn’t going to be one of those relationships where we could be friends. He’d cut too deep with his good intentions, not to mention our brief interludes of perfect physical chemistry.

Anger was essential because otherwise I was just tremendously sad. Bitterness and anger provided harvestable energy, something on which to focus, something through which to work. Sadness simply left me adrift.

But now, dread gripped my chest as I studied the book; my stomach coiled into a knot at the sight of the charred cover. This book had been in a fire.

I rubbed my fingers over my chest because my heart felt like it was going to jump out of my ribs. Without accepting the notebook, I rushed out of the kitchen and ran to my cell phone. I hesitated for a minute then decided to call Jethro just in case Drew was alive and well and I was overreacting.

His phone went straight to voicemail. I called twice more. Both times it went straight to voicemail.

Then I called Drew. His went straight to voicemail.

Then I called Billy. He picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, Ash. What’s up?” I knew he was still at work because I could hear the telltale sounds of saws in the background.

“Billy! I tried calling Jethro and Drew. Neither of them picked up. Are they…is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah, as far as I know. They’re in North Carolina on that Appalachian trek for two weeks. Jethro will be back Friday. They turn off their phones because there’s no service where they are, but they have the satellite phone with them for emergencies. It’s probably off to save battery life.”

North Carolina.

“They’re together?”

“Yep. Why?”

“When is the last time you spoke to either of them?’

“Uh, this morning. Hey, are you still coming for Christmas? Jethro said not to count you in this year.”

I breathed a huge sigh of relief, the tension in my chest easing.

“Yes.” I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Yes, of course I’m coming for Christmas. I said I’d be there. I’ll be there.”

For Billy, his response sounded almost chipper. “Oh. Good. Cletus is making moonshine eggnog.”

“Ugh, that sounds gross.” I laughed, my head hitting the wall as I closed my eyes. My brain was still coming down from its skyscraper of worry.

“Listen, I’ll talk to you later. I have to get back to work. Did you want me to tell Jethro something?”

“No. It’s nothing. They get back Friday?”

“Jethro gets back Friday, yes.”

We said our goodbyes, and I glanced at the phone screen after hanging up, absorbing the information Billy had just related. I became aware of a presence at my elbow and glanced to my right. Everyone was hovering around me. Their expressions tense.

“So? Everything okay?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes. Jethro and Dr. Ruin…Drew…are doing some trek in North Carolina. Their phones are off. Billy just talked to Jethro this morning.”

“The envelope was sent before yesterday.” Elizabeth held it up like it was evidence. “Whatever fire burned the book happened before yesterday, so Jethro and Drew must be fine.”

“If either were injured, Billy would know.”

Sandra held the notebook out to me. “Ashley, I think he must’ve sent this to you for a reason.”

I glanced at the burnt book then met her green eyes, wide with earnest concern. I gathered a deep breath before responding.

“I don’t….” I shook my head. “I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“Why don’t you start by looking at it?” She held it out to me.

I didn’t take it. The deep breath I’d taken felt insufficient, so I crossed to the couch and sat down.

Field notes. That’s what Drew said was in the book.

Sandra followed and sat on the coffee table facing me. She took my right hand in one of hers and placed the book in it.

“He sent this to you. You don’t have to read it, but it belongs to you now. You have to take it.”

I nodded, holding but not looking at the book. I wasn’t ready to speak, not yet; I didn’t know my own thoughts. Sandra seemed to sense this because she stood abruptly and walked back to the kitchen.

“Where are Marie and Fiona?” I heard Elizabeth ask, and the subject was officially changed. My friends left me alone with Drew’s burnt notebook.

I listened to their discussion from the other room, the sounds they made gathering around my table to eat. I loved their noises, their laughter. It felt like home, comfort, contentment, safety.

My emotions were a stampede of conflict as I looked at the notebook in my hands. I brushed my fingers over the brittle, charred leather.

It was covered in ash.