Page 32 of Tangled Past
“I’m guessing you and your mother must have been staying at the old house near the barn. Do you remember walking from the house to the barn?”
Maya shook her head. “My memory cuts off after the boat ride. Like someone hung up the phone inside my head.”
“We’ll ask Margaret,” Asa said just above a whisper. “When we find her, we’ll ask why she sent my father to the barn.”
“If she’s still alive,” Maya said quietly.
“If she’s not . . .” Asa forced the words through the tightness in his throat. “Then we find anyone she might have told. Family. Friends. A supervisor. Somebody knows why she ran.”
Maya stared into the curl of steam above her mug. “What if I never remember my mother’s name? What if all I ever know about her is how afraid she was?”
“Then we find out who she was some other way,” Asa said. “Through people who knew her, records she left. Through thechoices she made to protect you. She was more than her fear, Maya. You are, too.”
She let out a shaky sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. “You always say things like you actually believe them.”
“I do,” he said simply.
Silence settled for a moment, companionable and tense all at once. The heater hummed. Something in the kitchen ticked. Outside, the wind rattled a bare branch against the siding.
Maya shifted under the blanket. “Do you ever wish you had just . . . forgotten? Like he told you to?”
He didn’t have to ask who “he” was.
“Sometimes,” Asa admitted. “When I was younger. When I’d wake up in the middle of the night, hearing his voice instead of my father’s. It felt . . . easier for a while not to dig.”
“And now?”
“Now I’ve met you,” he said. “And I’m watching him try to finish what he started. Forgetting’s not an option anymore.”
Her eyes softened. “Thank you for coming back. Even if it took you twenty-five years.”
He almost smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Rachel cleared her throat near the counter. “For the record, if you thank him again, his head won’t fit through the door when we evacuate.”
“Evacuate?” Maya repeated, her voice strained.
“Kidding,” Rachel said. “Mostly.” Then she glanced at Asa. “I’m going to check in with JT. Give you two a minute. Don’t let her drown in the bad stuff.”
“On it,” Asa said.
Rachel moved to the door, pulled on her jacket, and stepped out into the snow, leaving them in the low glow of the lamps and fire.
Asa shifted slightly closer, careful not to jar her. “You’re doing well. Better than anyone has a right to expect after what you relived today.”
“Really? Define well,” she laughed.
“You’re breathing,” he said. “You’re talking. You’re not hiding in a closet pretending none of this is real.”
“That’s tempting.”
He nudged her knee through the blanket. “You’re not that person. You might wish you were, but you’re not. You’re the one who walked back into that barn. You’re the one who keeps talking even when it hurts.”
She met his gaze, something like heat flickering under the fear. “You’re the one who keeps promising I’m not alone.”
“It’s the easiest promise I’ve ever made,” he said.
Her lips parted just slightly.
