I watched them interact, mesmerized at the easy way they got along, like they had known each other for years. Cosette, usually shy with strangers, babbled nonstop, needing constant reminders to eat. She had made a friend. Her trust in Kobe was absolute. Why was mine having trouble catching up all of a sudden?
Cosette performed songs from daycare when Kobe asked her about music, showing him the actions and ordering him to copy. While I might usually tell her not to sing and play at the table, I stayed quiet, admiring the rosy glow of her cheeks and soaking up the ever-present reminders of Angelique. It was a blessing and a curse how alike they were, even when they’d never really known each other.
At one point, Kobe nudged my knee under the table. “Are you okay?”
Stuck in the past, my vision had misted over. I blinked the threat of tears from my eyes and smiled. “Yes.”
I wasn’t sure Kobe believed me, but he let it go and squeezed my leg under the table. It was a silent gesture of support, and I rested my hand over his to say thank you.
After lunch, I bundled Cosette into her outdoor gear and sent her into the backyard to play. The winter wonderland made her squeal. Plump flakes floated and swirled so thickly in the air that they obscured the neighboring yards beyond the fence.
“Should we go out with her?” Kobe asked.
“If you want to. I’m staying where it’s warm.”
He lingered by the patio doors for a while, watching her stomp through the snow and throw herself into the growing piles along the back fence.
“She’s okay, Kobe. She loves playing outside. We can see her.”
“I remember tobogganing with the kid who lived down the street from me. I must have been seven or eight. I didn’t own a sled, but he had two GT Snow Racers and let me borrow one. I should take Émeric tobogganing. He would love that.”
I suspected Kobe was talking more to himself than to me.
While I made special drinks, Kobe remained at the window, gazing at Cosette. I wasn’t sure he saw her anymore. The worry lines marring his brow suggested he was transfixed on a memory.
Eventually, I coaxed him to join me at the table. Since the patio doors overlooked the yard, we enjoyed hot toddies where we could keep an eye on Cosette while she played. Kobe seemed to have one foot in the past. I suspected there weren’t many positive moments from his childhood worth remembering. Tobogganing with his friend was likely one of only a handful.
For a while, I let him muse in peace, but after a time, I thought it wise to redirect his attention to the present. I knew intimately how slippery the slope of recollection could be. How pleasure could turn to pain in a heartbeat.
“Your case,” I said, wrapping my hands around the warm mug, waiting for him to turn away from the window before continuing. “It must not be going well if your boss is sending you home for the holidays. I thought it was a high-profile serial murder investigation.”
“It is, but the university shut its doors, most of the students have gone home, and our evidence is insubstantial at best. We have theories and speculation, but not enough to make a formal arrest. It’s dying a slow death.”
“No suspects?”
“Too many and not enough. Does that make sense?”
“It does. I’m sorry. That must be frustrating.”
Kobe shrugged, glancing out the patio door once again at Cosette, who struggled to push a pink doll carriage through the snow. “It is, but it’s also not surprising. Cases like this are rarely tied up with a pretty red bow. They can take months and years to deconstruct.”
I wanted to ask if it bothered him not having proper leads or if he was secretly relieved and hoped they never found the killer, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.
My phone vibrated on the counter, shattering the moment, and I rose to check it.
“Work?” Kobe asked as I scrutinized the message. “Who’s covering the Christmas shifts? Aren’t you the new guy?”
“I am, but it’s my lab, and the boss gets the shifts he wants. Dr. Braison volunteered to be on call. She has three students who have hours to make up, so they can assist her if necessary.”
I typed out a response, hit send, and tucked the phone into my pocket in case it buzzed again. “The downfall to being in charge is that I expect to be harassed no less than a dozen or so times in the next few days. Hopefully, I won’t have to go in.”
“Fingers crossed.”
Work talk veered to other topics of conversation. Kobe told me about his trip to the arcade with Émeric and proudly relayed all he’d bought his little brother for Christmas.
“A ski jacket, a snowboard, tickets to a Knicks game—they play the Raptors in Toronto in January, and he’s a huge Knicks fan—and a used N64 with about a dozen cartridges. It’s old school, but the kid has never owned a gaming system. I grabbed it at a yard sale over the summer. It’s in pristine condition, too. Almost wanted to keep it for myself.”
“You spoil him.”
