Page 11 of Smoke Signals

“So,” I say, aiming for normal and landing somewhere adjacent. “Brielle said you’re good with kids.”

He keeps coloring while he answers, his focus still mostly on Alaska. “I’m good at listening,” he says. “The rest tends to follow.”

Alaska hums softly, not a tune, just sound, and Stellan doesn’t comment on it. He doesn’t look startled or curious.

“She doesn’t like to be rushed,” I say, unsure why I feel the need to explain.

“Neither do I,” he replies easily.

He hands the crayon back to her when she taps the page twice, waits while she reorders them, then resumes when she nudges it toward him again.

I realize then that he’s not trying to impress me or win her over. He’s just being here.

“How long have you been tutoring?” I ask.

“On and off for years,” he says. “More steadily since the injury.”

Alaska finishes her dinosaur, pushes the book away, then signs something small and quick.

“She’s done,” I translate.

Stellan nods like he understands exactly what that means. He stands slowly. “Thank you for letting me visit,” he says to her, then looks at me. “I can come back, if you want. Or not. Whatever works.”

There’s no pressure or assumption in it.

I glance at Alaska. She looks at him for a long moment, then signs thank you.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles at her.

I look at the doorframe instead of at either of them.

“Friday,” I say. “Same time.”

His smile is quiet, satisfied.

“Friday,” he agrees.

When he leaves, the apartment feels different. Alaska goes back to her crayons like nothing monumental just happened. I stand there longer than I should, staring at the closed door.

4

STELLAN

I pull the door shut quietly behind me, the click soft, final. I don’t linger. I don’t give myself a reason to second-guess what just happened in there.

The stairs creak under my boots as I head down, hand sliding along the railing out of habit. My shoulder twinges when I reach the turn, nothing sharp, just a reminder that my body still keeps a tally.

The packet is on the passenger seat where it's been since Tuesday, corner curled from the heat vent. Department letterhead, eleven pages, one signature line on page nine. I move it to the dash at the first red light so it stops sliding into the door.

Hartley didn't rush her. I noticed that right away, he let her decide, didn't fill the silence or soften it for his own comfort. He trusted her to know herself, which is harder than it sounds and most people can't do it.

Alaska I expected. Quiet kid, careful, watching everything. I've met kids like her before, and the trick with them is always the same, don't reach first.

I didn't expect her uncle.

He stood half a step in front of her the whole time and I don't think he knew he was doing it. Kept checking my face for something and never said what.

He looked tired. Not worn down, just stretched thin. There was a tension in the way he held himself that didn't switch off even in his own home, and I know that one. I've worked with guys who carry it. It doesn't come from nothing.