“Liar,” he says softly. But he’s smiling.
We drive. Ben plays games. Frederick makes questionable animal guesses. The citygives way to suburbs. Suburbs give way to trees. We take a side road. The pines surround us.
I count breaths. One, two, three. Smell the cocoa. Blow the steam.
Marco’s hand finds mine in the space between our seats. Squeezes once.
I squeeze back.
And for just a moment, I let myself believe that maybe I can get through this. Maybe I can be brave enough for what’s coming. The woods. The feelings. The future that’s taking shape whether I’m ready or not.
Ben giggles at something Frederick said. The sound fills the Range Rover like light.
I can do this.
I can be brave.
For them.
Even if I’m absolutely, completely, lying.
35
Marco
The second we’re beneath the trees, I’m running protocol.
Not because I’m worried. Not because I think anything will actually happen. But because now themise en placeis survival.
You prep right or you fail.
And I don’t fucking fail. Not with my kid.
“Ben,” I crouch so we’re eye level. “Two whistle blows, you look at me. Three blows, we freeze. Got it?”
She nods. Frederick is tucked under one arm, but her face is serious. Good. This isn’t a game.
“Show me,” I instruct. I lift my own whistle and blow twice. Clean, sharp sounds that cut through the pine smell and afternoon quiet.
Ben’s head snaps toward me immediately. Eyes locked on mine.
“Perfect.” I ruffle her hair. “Now start walking. And show me what you do when you hear this.”
She obeys.
This time I blow three blasts. She freezes mid-step. Doesn’t move a muscle. Just stares at me waiting for the next instruction.
“Excellent.” I lower my whistle.
“What about mine?” she touches the whistle hanging from her lanyard.
“Your whistle is only for emergencies, remember? If you get separated or you’re scared and need help. Three blows means ‘come find me.’ Understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Show me you know how to use yours.” I wait.
She lifts the orange whistle on its lanyard. Blows three times. The sound carries through the trees.
