She contemplated that for a while. “I guess not.”
“But you’re an optimist.”
“Why on earth would you think that, after everything you just cataloged?”
“Austen. All those happy ever afters.”
She grunted. “That was pretty much the only thing I couldn’t throw away—my Jane Austen collection. My gran gave me thewhole set when I was thirteen. After I cut myself with the scissors, I looked at my bookshelf, pissed at myself, and there was myPride and Prejudice. I grabbed it before I went to the doctor, without even thinking about it, and started reading it while I waited to get stitched up. I stayed up all night and finished it. I couldn’t sleep, anyway, at that point. It honestly saved me. That copy now has bloodstains all over the early chapters.” She wriggled a little, adjusting her coat so it covered more of her legs. “So yeah, Iwasan optimist. But now I’m in this holding pattern, and I don’t know how to get out of it.”
“I’m not a pilot, but I imagine that when you’re in a holding pattern, your only choice is to land, eventually, somewhere.”
“Or keep circling until you run out of fuel and plunge to your death.”
“Well, yes, that’s a choice too.”
“I don’t know. Is failing to make a choice, a choice? If there’s no moment of decision?”
“Are you waiting for permission to land?”
“What do you mean? From who?”
He shrugged.
“You mean from me. You’re saying I’ve put myself into this holding pattern, and I’m the only one who canchooseto get myself out.”
“I didn’t say a word,” He reached for her palm, gently closed her cold fingers, and then wrapped his hand around hers. “I get it. It’s hard to land when you can’t trust the ground will be there to catch you.”
“Right? You have to trustsomany things—the air traffic controller, the pilots of the other planes, the landing gear, the lights on the runway, the ground crew, your own piloting skills.” She kept her tone light, but in a joking-not-joking way. “Plus, you need to trust that every single person on the flight has been screened, and no one has brought on nail scissors and a deathwish. And that’s before you get into the terminal, and then you jump in your car and it’s a whole lot more strangers who could kill you at any second with a single turn of the steering wheel.”
“It’s a lot. Every single day.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can see what you’re trying to do, Tom. Like my therapist—trying to make me see the light without actually turning on the switch.”
“Far be it from me to tell you how to land your plane. I don’t even have a flight path.”
“You could land anywhere you want.”
“There’s nowhere but here I can picture myself. And hey, so could you—land anywhere, I mean.”
“In theory.”
“Life is great in theory, isn’t it?”
“So great.”
A twig snapped, below them. Amelia’s eyes widened. Shit, he should have been more careful. He’d got lost in her eyes. They were talking quietly, but the sound could still carry. Tom shuffled to the open flap and peered down. He smiled, relieved. A finger to his lips, he beckoned her over. A stag was picking at a clump of leaves on a young holly, its shape just visible through the canopy.
“What a beauty,” Amelia whispered. “I can’t believe you shoot them.”
“Not me personally, not anymore. I’m a live-and-let-live guy.”
A dog barked, close now. The deer froze, jerking its head up.
“Run, Bambi, run,” Tom whispered.
After half a minute, it went back to nosing through the bush. Tom looked around for something to throw, then remembered the paperweight in his coat pocket. He drew it out and took aim.
“What are you doing?”
