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“Okay, yes, you goddamn baby, I'll come and get it out,” he teased.

“Not a word, you hear?” Wilder threatened, pointing a finger at Matthew's nose.

“Give me a sec, will ya?”

Wilder disappeared and Matthew clicked the door closed carefully, then let his shoulders collapse. He knelt and drew back the covers, smiled widely at Bryce, who was laughing against her cupped palm, still half-naked beneath his dusty bed.

“I love you,” he whispered, tenderly brushing a strand of dark hair from her sweating forehead. “Stay put until we leave, okay? Sorry about this.”

“It's okay,” she whispered back, then caught his hand when he was about to move away. “I love you too,” she told him, and he flushed with happiness and bent to kiss her lips.

***

The first
thing Matthew saw when he loped into the clearing by the main lodge at a jog was Randy Strickland's cop car, parked askew, blue toplight still silently revolving. Anyone who didn't know better would assume that there was a real emergency going on;
shit
, he thought,
the entire campground must be buzzing with rumors by now.

“Dammit,” he muttered, slowing his pace. He wasn't sure if he was upset by that or the fact that Randy, who was Angie's grim-faced older brother, a man with buzzed hair, a dark-blond mustache and about 50 pounds on Matthew, was now clearly unavoidable. Randy believed, like many people in Rose Lake, that Matthew should have properly married Angie years ago, and was certain to have heard from his little sister by now that Matthew had called it quits for good. Matthew wiped one big hand across his lean belly, which was collecting the sweat from his drenched chest, gritted his teeth and slowed his pace, taking the path which led back to the small stone structure that enclosed the womens' bathroom and shower area.

A crowd had gathered in the woods, talking in hushed voices and straining to see into the depths of the building. Matthew edged close, caught sight of his aunt and made a beeline.

“Really?” he asked her, coming up behind her left shoulder. Erica did not turn away from the goings-on, her hands planted on her hips, her bandana a brilliant turquoise today.

“Hey, don't blame me,” she replied curtly. “I didn't call Randy. One of the campers did, said there was a
lynx
in the bathroom.” Here she laughed once, tersely. “Idiot. Can you believe it? Dammit, I knew I should have just gone in there with a broom. Now Randy and Carl are creating this spectacle.”

Minutes later Randy himself emerged, triumphant, carrying a large wire cage containing one very aggravated badger, hissing madly, stretched to the width of a pancake within its confines. Carl Miller, Randy's deputy, came out a step behind, a beanpole of a man with wispy hair and huge ears. The crowd cheered as though the two men were bearing a rescued child. Erica turned and stomped after Randy demanding, “Where will you take the animal?”

Matthew followed her, slightly relieved that Randy had all but ignored him. Carl, who was carrying his night stick like he still meant to use it, fell in beside him and asked, “Hey, Sterno, how's it going?”

“Great, thanks, man. How ‘bout you?” They had gone to high school together.

“Not bad. Hey, word of advice.” Carl lowered his voice dramatically, though no one was paying any attention to them. Everyone was following Randy and the badger like it was the best thing they'd seen all day. Carl continued, conspiratorially, “Strickland has a bone to pick with you, Sterno. Angie is telling him a bunch of shit, says you've been cheating on her with someone, that you won't even speak to her these days. You know how Randy is about her, so damn protective.”

Matthew felt the shock of Carl's words like a splash of icy water on his chest.
Christ, why did Angie have to pick now to become somewhat perceptive?
Keeping his tone light he replied, “Hey, that's between me and her, not her brother.”

Carl threw up both hands, still clutching his weapon. “I know, I know. I'm just the messenger here. And you didn't hear this from me, but I wouldn't so much as drive over the speed limit in town, Sterno.”

***

Rae was
at the beach when Bryce found her way there an hour later, her hair neatly twisted on her head, her bikini top securely back in place. She heard from her aunt that the badger situation had been resolved and hurried to the beach in hopes of seeing Matthew, but he was nowhere to be found. Rae, on the other hand, was sipping from a bottle of lemonade, dressed in a white tank suit, her own hair wound up high, huge sunglasses perched on her delicate nose. She caught sight of Bryce and called, “Honey, over here!”

Bryce changed directions and gracefully sat where Rae indicated, on an orange towel abandoned by one of her nieces. Bryce leaned back on her hands and stretched her toes into the softness of the sand, smiling politely at Rae.

“I'm babysitting today,” Rae explained to the younger woman. “That's Amber and Jessie out there in the water, with the alligator raft. Les and Bar are doing inventory today.” Rae shuddered lightly. “Ug, I remember when our parents used to make us help them. God, and they would always be fighting about something or other, Mom would always leave in such a huff!” She giggled then, and Bryce wondered for a moment if perhaps her lemonade contained something stronger, and if so, if she'd be willing to share.

“Do your parents still live here, too?” Bryce asked, trying to keep the converstional ball rolling, forcing her eyes to concentrate on Rae and not desperately rove the beach for a sight of Matthew.
God, Bryce, quit being so pathetic!

“Mom does,” Rae went on, sipping again, then slipping the sunglasses from her nose and perching them on the top of her head. Her eyes were a lovely golden-green, long-lashed and shadowed with shimmery bronze. “She's remarried and lives with her new husband in his condo in Fairfield, actually. Daddy died a while back, when I was still living in Chicago.” The grief in her voice was obvious.

“I'm sorry,” Bryce replied automatically, smoothing loose strands of hair behind her ears with both hands. The gesture chimed within Rae's subconscious, bumping lightly against the mental picture of someone else making the same casual movement with his head at the same angle…but the moment passed over in a breath, and Bryce looked back to see Rae's gaze fixed on her with a look of intense concentration. She seemed to catch herself and said, “Sorry, Bryce, it's just so strange for me. It's disconcerting. You look so much like your mother. I didn't realize until I got home just how much I've really missed her after all these years.”

“How long did you two know each other?” Bryce asked, suddenly truly curious, curling her bare toes into the warmth of the white sand, easing back onto her elbows. The sun was lower in the sky now, a little more mellow, and it felt good on her belly and bare limbs.

“Oh, forever,” Rae laughed, tipping her gaze up into the sky and back through time. The laugh died, though, and turned into a soft sigh. “We were inseparable.”

What about your brother?
Bryce was dying to ask, but she bit back the question. Instead she heard herself say, “Did you know that she was planning to run away?”

Rae shook her head, and tears sparked in her eyes, surprising her. “No,” she whispered. “No, I didn't. I have blamed myself for not trying harder years ago. Bryce,” and suddenly a new determination came into the older woman's voice. “Would Michelle see me, do you think?”

“I don't know,” Bryce answered honestly, unable to picture this.

Rae pressed on, leaning forward now. “Where does she live?”

Bryce squirmed with discomfort, certain Michelle would be unwelcoming under the best of circumstances, downright hostile at worst. Feeling as though she was betraying a confidence, Bryce said, “Middleton, Oklahoma. We live…” and Rae could almost feel the ancient sadness emanating from Bryce as it pushed into the air between their bodies. “In a place called the Wagon Box trailer court. Do you…would you want our phone number?”

“Yes, I think I would,” Rae told her.

Rose Lake, Minnesota – Monday, December 31, 1973

“W
here do you think you're
going tonight?”

Michelle started at the sound of Lydia's voice in a house she believed was empty. She was sitting like a child on the wooden floor beside their Christmas tree, studying the small white ornament decorated with the words
Our First Christmas
,
1955
. The Christmas before her birth, in fact; she was born just a few weeks later, in early 1956. It was her mother's ornament, one of the few things that had belonged to Margaret which still adorned their tree. Michelle could remember her mother vaguely, but all of her best memories of Margaret came from this season of love and hope, a season from which all of the promise and joy had now been leeched, down a seemingly depthless drain in her heart.

Michelle's shoulders hunched, and she hugged her knees even harder. Her throat was still raw from her early-morning bout of vomiting, which had begun on Christmas Eve, confirming her worst fear. Her insides felt like melted rubber, and she chose not to respond to her step-mother.

“Michelle, I asked you a question,” Lydia went on, entering the room fully. She was clad in her bathrobe, her long hair hanging in a single braid over one shoulder; she must have been napping again. Michelle at last spared her a glance, no longer even attempting to conceal the hatred. What did it matter anymore? After tonight she would no longer be a part of this family.

“I'm sleeping over at Rae's,” she lied, her voice gravelly. Aching sobs were waiting to ambush her, but Michelle kept them firmly in check. She had to make it through tonight and then she could collapse.
Oh God, oh God…It's all the acting skills you have right now, Sternhagen
, she told herself for the countless time since Christmas Eve, when her period was officially a week late.
Oh God…

Lydia perched on the couch, caught her braid in one hand and twisted it. Seldom were she and Michelle alone in the house; both of them were hideously uncomfortable with each other, and Michelle's combination of defiance and depression since Thanksgiving did nothing to soften Lydia's opinion of the girl. Michelle turned away from her stepmother without another word, and behind her, Lydia opened her mouth to speak. Before a word could escape, the front door banged open on the other side of the house and Daniel came in, the boys bounding ahead of him with flushed cheeks and messy hair; they had been sledding. Lydia pressed her lips firmly together but then the ghost of an actual smile touched her lips as Matty came flying and pressed against his mother for a quick hug; it was impossible not to smile around the little boy. He was wearing a pair of Wilder's old snowpants and thick red mittens, his beautiful brown eyes snapping with excitement.

“Hi Mama, hi Shelly!” he said.

“Hi Matty,” Michelle said, reaching one arm for her littlest brother. He came over to her immediately and rubbed his head against her side. She drew a breath and hugged him, one-armed, as her dad and Wilder came into the room.

Wilder said, “Shelly, you shoulda come with us!”

Lydia broke in then, addressing her husband. “Did you okay Shelly to leave? She's baby-sitting her brothers tonight.”

Daniel pulled his own stocking cap from his head and regarded his wife smilelessly. Michelle began to panic; her father asked, “Is that true, Shelly?”

Michelle straightened her shoulders minutely. “I can't baby-sit, Dad, I told you
–
”

But Lydia broke in with, “Are we supposed to bring them along to the Lodge then?” Her voice crackled with sarcasm. Beside Michelle, Matty's shoulders sagged a little at the sound of conflict he knew only too well.

Wilder scrubbed his face with one hand and left the room, casting an apologetic glance at his sister; he thought he was old enough to be in charge, but Lydia disagreed.

“No, Dad,” Michelle insisted. “Wilder can watch Matty!” Her voice was beginning to sound unhinged, and she fought desperately to reign herself in. She glared with unmasked loathing at Lydia, considering all the ways she could damage this woman.
Don't think I couldn't annihilate you with a few words, right here, you bitch,
she thought viciously.
But Matty. I won't do that to Matty
. Daniel cringed internally at the prospect of yet another fight, but Lydia was the one to back down, uncharacteristically, flinging her hands into the air, saying, “Give in then, Daniel, like you always do,” before sweeping from the room.

Michelle, Matty and their father were left behind. Michelle felt tears threatening her eyes, but forced them down. She whispered, “Thanks, Dad,” as Daniel heaved a sigh and followed in his wife's footsteps. Matty squirmed against Michelle and, still sitting, she hugged him hard for a moment. She wanted to tell him she loved him, but the words were stuck in her throat, and he ran off after a moment, leaving her alone. Michelle lingered for another moment; finally, with infinite care, she lifted the white Christmas bulb from the tree and curled it against her palm.

***

Dusk had
fallen. The air was crackling with cold and stars sparked in a clear sky. Daniel and Lydia had left hours ago. A half moon was waxing toward full, peeking into the silent kitchen as Michelle lugged her duffle bag down the steps and situated it by the front door. Her internal organs were aching with the pain of what she was doing. She had walked through her house one last time, absorbing all of the details, but the time had come to go. She just wanted to say good-bye to her brothers. That was all, and then she could start for the bus station. It was miles to Fairfield, with only her willpower to warm her, but she would walk it, dammit, and she would see how far a portion of her stash of 300 dollars would get her.
Oh God, oh God
…

It was late; Wilder and Matty were dozing in the living room to the low drone of the television. Michelle lingered there for a long moment, watching her brothers. It cut her to leave them, Wilder especially. Maybe someday she could come back here, make it right…

No, not after what happened. Especially not now. I can never face them again. Never
. She dug her fingernails into her palms, recalling the last time she'd seen Rae, after school just before Christmas break.

“Shelly, I don't understand what's wrong,” Rae had told her, breathless from chasing after her, determined to finally confront Shelly and demand to know why she hadn't been returning any phone calls, nor hitching a ride to school with her and Bar, Jr. as was the usual routine.

Michelle, aching at her own action, pulled away from Rae's hand and kept walking. She hated herself for saying, “Just leave me alone, Rae, seriously.” But she could hardly bear to look into her best friend's eyes, eyes that looked so much like Bar, Jr.'s.

“Shelly, please,” Rae said quietly, from behind, and Michelle's feet stilled for a moment, a moment in which her heart, with all its considerable fault lines, seemed at once unable to bear so much pressure and split for good. Michelle looked back at her, braving those eyes, the Taylor eyes, and then turned and resumed her walk from Rae's life.