Page 136

The lawn stretches out behind the house, vast and white with melting snow. The sun is out, turning everything wet and bright. I’m bundled in my winter coat, scarf wrapped tight, hands shoved in my pockets.

The three golden retrievers bound ahead of us, their energy manic and joyful. Angus circles back to check on me, his tail wagging so hard his whole body moves with it.

Dad walks beside me, hands in his coat pockets. He seems…nervous. Which is strange. My father is never nervous.

“Beautiful day,” he says. There’s still some snow on the ground, but it’s melting under the glare of winter sunlight.

“Yeah.”

We walk in silence for a bit. The dogs run in wide circles, sniffing everything, their breath visible in the cold air.

“Your mother and I,” Dad starts, then stops. Clears his throat. “We’ve been working through some stuff.”

I look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well.” He keeps his eyes on the dogs. “I think you know what I mean. It happened before you went away for school.”

Oh.

I nod slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”

“We’ve been working on our honesty. Our communication. Things are better now.” He glances at me. “Better than they’ve been in a long time.”

“Okay. That’s…that’s good.”

“It’s great to have you home, son.” His voice is softer now. “I want you to know I’m proud of you. For doing so well at school. For not wasting what we’ve given you.”

I look away, focusing on Ruby as she digs at something in the snow. I don’t recognize my father in these words. This kindness feels foreign.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

We keep walking. The path curves toward the trees at the edge of the property, where the wooden stairs lead down to the beach.

“I’m sorry, son.”

I stop. Turn to look at him.

“I sent you to school so far away,” he continues. “I know it was hard. I know—” He stops. Puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Looking at the ground, I kick at the slush on the dead grass with my shoe because if I look at him, I’ll cry. I sniff and try to compose myself, but tears well up anyway. I look away. Toward the trees. Anywhere but at him. If I try to talk, he’ll hear it. The cry in my voice. The breaking. I want to stay strong.

Dad’s hand stays on my shoulder, solid and warm.

“I love you, Cameron.”

I nod. That’s all I can do.

He starts walking again, slowly, toward the path that leads to the beach. I follow, my vision blurred, my chest so tight I can barely breathe. We’re almost to the tree line when he speaks again.

“Who is Lucien to you, son?”

My heart stops for several beats, then starts again, racing so fast I might faint.

I fix my eyes on the trees ahead, at the bare branches against the pale sky. I can’t speak.

“It’s okay,” Dad says gently. “You can tell me.”

My throat is so tight the words barely come out. “My—my boyfriend.”