“Picking a movie for Esther.” Izzy tucked a loose strand of raven-dark hair behind her ear. “We’ll be in soon too. Light’s fading.”
She was right. Dusk was stealing away the last golden dregs of daylight.
Eva hadn’t been to the farmhouse in a long, long time. The kitchen was the picture of clean lines and minimalist decor, granite countertops accented by stained, reclaimed wooden cupboards. It was comforting in an empty, unburdened way. It was manicured, clean, and, to Eva’s relief, didn’t feel like Lenny at all.
“You want to shower?” Arthur asked.
She did, desperately, but her growling stomach took priority. “Let’s eat first.”
Eva wasn’t a fan of hot, limp lettuce, which she pulled off her burger before sticking the rest in the microwave, watching the turntable rotate. The sheriff’s massive leather couch proved a formidable temptation. Maybe she’d forgo the shower altogether and curl up on one of those vast leather cushions. The doctor she’d spoken with before she was discharged had told her that it would take a while for her energy to be restored, after all the blood she’d lost.
Arthur filled a few glasses with water from the tap, looking as out of place as she felt. “This is weird.”
Eva nodded. “Really weird.”
The microwave dinged.
The tomato in her burger hadn’t been picked off the vine at peak ripeness. Eva could tell the moment she sank her teeth into her food, but for once she didn’t care, stuffing the whole meal into her mouth in just a few bites. Arthur ate just as ravenously.
“Ice cream is in the freezer.”
Eva whipped around. The floorboards in the Walker house didn’t creak the way they did at the cottage, and despite his size, she’d somehow missed her father’s approach entirely.
“Dad.” Eva slipped from her place at the table and went to him, wrapping her arms around his middle as much as the trunk of his aspen allowed. She held on to him, breathing in his forest scent and sagging with relief at the slow, steady beat of his heart under her ear.
“What is it, honeybee?”
Eva took a breath. “I’m sorry.”
She’d tried to say it on their drive home from the hospital, but the apology had felt like such a weight on her chest, unable to take shape while the car was still moving, her world upended and unsure. Now she felt rooted again. She cut a look to Arthur as he stood and gathered their plates off the table. Now she felt safe.
“I shouldn’t have left the way I did. I know I made you worry, and I just…” Eva had to stop herself and take a breath, a lump forming in her throat. “I’m so sorry.”
“My tenacious girl.” The bellows of his lungs were a comfort as he sighed and gently cupped the back of her head.
“We lost the honey,” she said raggedly.
They’d dropped it in the rush to the helicopter, returning empty-handed in the end.
Her father drew back. “I wouldn’t have eaten it.”
Arthur dropped the dishes into the sink with a loud clatter. “What?”
“Why not?” Eva’s jaw hung. But the resolute acceptance of his fate that she had begun to fear was nowhere in her father’s soft expression.
“The wilderness took root in me long before my tree began to sprout. At times, I saw it as a gift. Other times, a curse.” His eyes moved from her face to Arthur’s. “But it took you killing the tree for me to understand what it really was.”
He led Eva around the counter, where she took Arthur’s hand in her own. “What it really was?” Arthur echoed.
Arthur had eaten the honey, after all. He’d chosen this same fate.
“An ending,” Dad said. When Arthur’s shoulders slumped, he offered an encouraging smile. “A beginning, too. Just as winter melts for spring. After so many years with the forest pressing on my lungs, I almost forgot how it felt to breathe without it. But now?” Dad’s smile sparkled with the promise of tears. “I can breathe again, Arthur. Because of you.”
Later that night, when their bellies were stretched full, Arthur leaned down and whispered in Eva’s ear. “Will you take a walk with me?”
He held the wooden box of ashes in one hand. Eva followed him down the rows of Walker pear trees, deeper and deeper into the cradle of cricket song, past the fence, the greenhouse, then down the trail to the pond.
Her eyes dropped to the ground at his feet. Even in the dark, she could see the earth respond to him. Long-forgotten bulbs pushed through the dark, wet soil. His wilderness stunned her. It—he—was breathtaking. Leaves clung to Arthur’s skin without dying. Smudged in soil, raw as rain, he looked to her like a god of the woods.
