She nodded. “It was quiet, but exciting. I caught a really small fish, and Dad showed me how to unhook it and put it back in the water.”
“I miss Uncle,” Fernando whispered. “Well, the man we thought he was.”
Mateo’s eyes watered. “I do too.”
“He taught me how to ride a bike,” Valentina said softly. “Mom and Dad were busy, but he always made time for me.”
“Those memories don’t change even if we know his true nature.” Fernando sighed. “The pain he’s caused everyone is on him, though. We did nothing wrong.”
She was silent for a long moment. “Maybe some memories are enough to balance out the pain. Like with Mom and Dad. And maybe it’s okay that we loved Uncle. You’re right. His actions are on him.”
Mateo leaned over and hugged her, rubbing his face against her hair. “What has you thinking so much about love?”
“There’s this boy –”
“You’re too young,” Mateo interrupted. “No.”
Fernando laughed and punched Mateo’s arm. “Shut up. Tell us about him, Val.”
“He’s really smart and brave. He’s trans, and some of the kids pick on him, but he doesn’t let it get to him. I wish I could be brave like that. Oh, and he’s really kind. He doesn’t let anyone mess with his friends either.”
“Have you spoken to him?” Mateo asked, sighing in resignation.
She shook her head. “No, he hangs with the theater crowd, and they intimidate me. They talk so much.”
Fernando chuckled. “You should try to talk to him. I speak from experience when I say that the talkative ones need the quiet ones too.” He kicked his feet in the air. “Become his friend and get to know him. If something comes from it, then wonderful. If not, then you have another friend.”
“What if he thinks I’m stupid?” she winced. “I always say the wrong thing when I’m nervous.”
“Then he’s clearly not the person you think he is.” Mateo frowned. “You said he was kind. If he really is, would he make someone feel bad about themselves?”
“For no reason,” Fernando added, “because you are very much not stupid.”
“Maybe.” Valentina looked thoughtful as she lay back down with her book.
The rest of the afternoon went quickly. Gabriela and Eddie joined them, and they talked about their dad’s old jokes and their parents' half-remembered stories. Eddie played his guitar, a soft Spanish lullaby that Gabriela must have taught him. Fernando’s sisters danced slowly as the sun climbed higher, warming their faces. Time flew by too quickly for Fernando’s heart.
As the afternoon leaned toward evening, the lake darkened, reflecting gold and pink. They all took one last dip in the water, then wrapped themselves in towels, shared the last of the snacks, and sat close, enjoying the sounds of nature echoing off the lake.
Fernando missed Walker, but it had been really nice to spend time with his siblings. Moments like this didn’t happen too often anymore. He wondered what kind of moments Walker and he would have. He closed his eyes and thought about his alpha. The way he laughed without warning, head tipped back. The warmth of his body holding Fernando close at night. The face Walker made when he wasn’t sure what to say. His soft quietness that somehow held so much emotion.
His chest tightened, a quiet ache blooming in him. As he had told Valentina, loving someone meant taking a chance, and he would always take that chance with Walker. Love, he had learned, wasn’t always a loud thing. Sometimes it was in those sweet moments of quiet, and those moments were worth any amount of pain the future might hold.
The sun set, and the moment of contemplation passed. Valentina rested her head on his shoulder as they drove the boatback to the marina. “I miss you, Ferdie,” she said, rubbing her face against his shirt.
“I miss you too, Val.” He looked around. Gabriela and Eddie were curled together, giggling at something on their phones, and Mateo steered the boat, a content look on his face. He wanted more moments like this to hold close to his heart.
Chapter 13
Walker stood still on the wooden dock and surveyed the odd sight in front of him. He’d never seen a cranberry bog before. Grammy Wilson’s bog was situated between forest, lake, and hayfield and was currently dry. The cranberry vines spread out on either side of the path in glossy, low tangles, their leaves deep green and waxy. Here and there amongst the foliage, the berries were a pale pink.
“They’re not red,” he said, disappointed.
“Not yet.” Grammy tapped one gently with the tip of her finger. “We’ll start harvesting in September.” She shaded her eyes and looked toward the forest of dark spruce. “When I was a little girl, my dad and I would go out to our bog before breakfast. The mist was so thick you could pretend you were the only people left in the world.”
“Sounds peaceful.”
“It was.” She gestured around them. “Still is, even without Dad.”
