I fill the hole back in, restack the cairn, and pick up the deer.
The smoke is still rising behind me. I can smell it now, faint, carried up the slope on the wind. My whole life down there, burning, and the stench of it follows me all the way back to the hut.
Caroline is at the window when I come out of the trees. I can see her face through the rippled glass, and I can see the moment she registers that I'm carrying a hundred-plus pounds of dead animal, because her mouth opens and stays that way.
I push through the door. Wolf is on me immediately, nose working, tail going hard.
"Down," I tell him. He sits, but his eyes never leave the bag.
"You shot something," Caroline accuses.
I hang the game bag from the hook by the door, where the cold will keep it. "Deer."
"That's it?!"
"Would you have preferred I shot a McDouble with fries?" I ask sarcastically.
She reddens as she bites back a laugh. "This isn't about my hunger, asshole. I was worried someone found us! You just went all John Wayne, blasting away, then sprinted off into the woods!"
"Apologies," I say, still sarcastic and biting, if only because I can't help but love the fire it draws out of her. "Next time, I'll leave a note."
"Yeah! You should! That's the least you can do!" she snaps.
I sweep a hand around this desolate hut. "With what pen? On what paper?"
She doesn't have an answer for that, so she switches targets. She does that. I've noticed. When one line of attack fails, she pivots without losing speed.
"You were gone a long time for one deer."
"Field dressing takes time."
"You also smell like a campfire."
I stop with my jacket half off.
She's sitting on the edge of the bed with the wool blanket around her shoulders, and she's watching me with those pale green eyes. Susan's eyes. They miss nothing, exactly the same as Susan's never did.
"Afon. Why do you smell like smoke?"
I told myself yesterday that I've lied to better interrogators than her, and that's true. But I'm tired. Worn down in a place that sleep doesn't reach.
So I tell her the truth. "They burned my cabin."
She goes still. "What?"
"I saw the smoke while I was dressing the deer. Men in trucks torched it." I hang the jacket on the second hook.
"Why didn't you do something?" she demands, aghast.
I shrug. "It'll burn to the foundation. There's nothing to stop it and nobody to call."
"But… But, Afon…" She stands up. The blanket falls off her shoulders. "It's yourhouse."
"No," I correct. "It's just a building."
"How can you not be the least bit sad?"
I turn to glare at her. She really doesn't understand—I don't deserve anything good in this life. Not the cabin, not Wolf, and sure as fuck not her. "Should I go cry in the snow?" I spit. "Would that make you happy?"
