I inched closer.
She leaned closer too.
I didn’t know what I was doing. I’d never kissed anyone or been kissed before, and I always glanced away when other people made out. But seeing her there made me want to be closer to her than the love and friendship we already shared. I pressed my lips against hers and waited.
She paused, then smiled against my lips. When she opened her mouth and leaned in farther, she was hesitant and careful. Tender. Curious. Exploring.
The kiss tasted of hay and earth and salt and the tangy end of summer. It wasn’t fireworks, like one of the girls at school claimed. Maybe it was spectacularly right.
But not for me.
I pulled away. And she crumpled.
Letter Fragment from Kyra to Corey sent, unanswered Does St. James have legends and myths? Secret societies that meet once a month in the chapel? Ghosts that haunt the dorms?
Lost has created new legends since you left.
It’s such a human thing to do. We tell stories about what we don’t understand. I just never considered what it would be like to be at the heart of one of those stories. I want to study myths, not star in one.
In the Company of Others
I wander back to the Hendersons’ when twilight gives way to dusk. Mrs. H is preparing dinner, while Mr. H and Sheriff Flynn meet in Mr. H’s study. Mr. Sarin has gone back to the apartment he’s renting on the other side of town to have dinner with his son. Another stranger.
I curl up on the sofa in the living room and cling to a sports book I brought with me. I can’t focus on the words. I try to ignore the framed photos and Kyra’s painting, but I can’t stop stealing glances.
When Mr. H and Sheriff Flynn return to the living room, still talking business, I lose focus entirely and give my curiosity free rein. Mr. H would never talk business in front of Kyra. He wanted to be home when he was home—not to spend those rare days when he wasn’t traveling focused on what was happening across the state. But that’s hardly relevant anymore.
And his talk is not merely of business, but of a future for Lost.
“—a financial injection into the mineral mining industry will create more jobs in the surrounding area and boost the local economy,” Mr. H says.
Sheriff Flynn nods. “With a focus on the right projects, Sarin’s money may help revitalize Lost.”
The more Mr. H and Sheriff Flynn talk, the more I forget my book.
Apparently this area is still rich—not with gold, but with metals. Wolfram. Bismuth. Both rare and valuable, and no one has ever tried to exploit those resources here. Mr. H’s mining company doesn’t have the researchers or the experience, but apparently Mr. Sarin’s arrival brings both to town. Renewed mining would mean a new and steady source of income. It would create an influx of workers and services. It would strengthen the local economy. Life isn’t impossible in Lost by any means, but it isn’t easy. If the mine reopened, the resulting financial boom would mean everything for the town.
Still. Kyra always said that there was more to mining than the riches, and there was a world to consider beyond the borders of Lost. Mining damaged the land. It would affect Native life and culture around us. Did Mr. H think about that too? “What about the environmental risks?”
But with those five words, they both turn to me, and the conversation extinguishes itself.
“The plans are still in early stages,” is all Mr. H says before he abruptly excuses himself to the kitchen.
I place my book on the couch. “Sheriff?”
“As Joe says, planning is under way. We’ll consider what we must for our community.” Sheriff Flynn’s voice is flat. He perches on one of the armchairs and rolls his shoulders back. His hands are balled into fists. “In any case, it’s good to see you visiting Lost, Corey. How’s your mom?”
I’m momentarily thrown by the change of subject. “Good. She likes her job at the hospital.”
The lines in his forehead ease a bit. Once upon a time, he and my mom grew up together, and they’ve always remained good friends. “Is she still working too hard?”
“I don’t think Mom knows what rest means.” The corner of my mouth tugs up. “But at least she isn’t traveling so much anymore.”
He shakes his head. “She never could stay within these borders. It surprised me when she came back after college. I never expected her to stay.”
I wondered about that sometimes, what Kyra and I would do after college. Before Mom got her job offer in Winnipeg, I might have daydreamed about life in Fairbanks or even Chile, but I’d never really considered leaving Lost forever. And as far as I knew, Mom had always planned to stay in Lost too. Even after Dad left. But Kyra… “I always thought Kyra would escape too.”
And with that, Sheriff Flynn’s face hardens again. “Kyra belonged here.”
Except she didn’t. I glance at the painting. I can’t talk to the Hendersons about Kyra’s death, and part of me still can’t believe that she’s really gone. More than that, I don’t want to believe that she chose to end her own life. “Sheriff, I wanted to ask you—”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” he interrupts me curtly.
“But I want to understand what happened.”
He lowers his voice so the Hendersons won’t overhear him. “She drowned, Corey. When she was missing from her room, her father went looking for her and found her body under the ice. That’s all there is to it, and you should know better than to pry into other people’s business. Your mother raised you better than that.”
I mutter something about what my mother would think if she were here. “But the lake is frozen. The ice is inches thick. You know as well as I do—”
“It’s always possible to find weak spots.” Sheriff Flynn’s mouth thins. “Lost has changed since you left. But you have too. If you want to continue calling yourself her friend, then you’d better respect this community. Kyra would’ve wanted that. We respected her. We found meaning together. We were here for her.”
What he doesn’t say is clear. We were here for her. And you weren’t.
Sheriff Flynn gets to his feet, momentarily towering over me. But it’s not his physical presence that makes me feel small. It’s the anger that radiates from him. After Dad left, he would check up on Mom, Luke, and me, to make sure that we were provided for. He would play ball with my brother and me. Now he turns his back to me.
All I can think to whisper is, “I miss my best friend, Sheriff.”
But instead of acknowledging my words, he shrugs them off and walks back toward Mr. H’s study.
? ? ?
My attempts at conversation during dinner don’t fare any better. Before we eat, Mrs. H asks for a moment of silence in remembrance of Kyra, but the last thing I need is more time alone with my thoughts.
Despite planning not to discuss business in front of me, that’s exactly what Mr. H and the sheriff do, though in hushed tones so soft their words are nearly indiscernible.
I hardly have an appetite, so I keep pushing vegetables around on my plate. And though I try to make conversation with Mrs. H, her welcome has fizzled out. She won’t allow any questions. Instead, she twists all of my questions into ones of her own.
“How did Kyra find her place here?” I ask.
“She realized that she needed to stop fighting. It’s hard finding one’s place when you’re so young. I imagine you must’ve had quite a transition these past few months. You don’t belong here anymore, but you don’t belong in your new town yet either. Your mother told me about your boarding school. St. James, is it? She said you were playing soccer. Tell me about that.”
Once more, I try, “What happened?”
“Oh, Corey. It was her time. Every story must end, because the ending gives the story meaning. Kyra knew that. She foresaw it. She foresaw a great many things.” She folds her hands and slowly exhales, stealing a glance of her own at the painting in the living room. “I know it’s hard to understand, but we learned to accept it.”