Ty fell silent for a long time. The air was already cooling, winter’s breath coursing in from the west. Soon the snow would begin to fall, their journeys outside of the main lodge limited to gathering firewood from the extensive pile ricked against the back wall and to the portable fish house that they would erect once the ice was thick enough to stand on.
“Do you think we’ll ever live back on the mainland again?” Ty asked, pulling Quinn away from the preparations he was going through in his head. The question caught him off guard, and he looked at the boy, growing tall now, his steps steady and sure on any of the hiking trails that snaked across the island like a child’s treasure map.
“Do you want to go back?” Quinn asked.
Ty jigged the rod, tipping his head to one side, looking so much like his mother in the sun.
“Not really, I guess,” he said finally. “Do you think about them a lot, your dad, Teresa, everyone you lost?” Ty asked after another pause.
“Yes, I do.”
“And you miss them?”
“Very much.”
“But you’d never want to go back to your home where you grew up?”
Quinn wound in his line and secured it to the pole before coming close to Ty and embracing him.
“This is my home.”
They brought the fish up to the four-wheeler that waited for them on the trail beside the lake and climbed on, Ty holding onto Quinn’s waist as they rode back to the lodge. When the low buildings came into view through the trees, Quinn guided the four-wheeler close to the first one, stopping beneath the heavy boughs of a pine.
“Can I clean them?” Ty asked, picking up the stringer.
“Absolutely; less work for me. Don’t cut yourself.”
“I won’t. Here Denver!” The great German Shepherd rose from the bed on the rear deck of the lodge and trotted to the boy, the hobble in his hind leg barely noticeable. Ty grabbed the bar of the upraised collar Quinn had designed, and the dog lead him in the direction of the fish-cleaning shack farther down the shoreline. Quinn watched them go, something tightening in his chest at the sight of them walking away.
The sun was beginning to slide behind the tall trees that lined the bank, casting fire across the water in undulating waves. He moved down to the lake’s edge, walking out onto the dock that jutted into the cold water. He stood there for a long time, looking across the lake, the land he knew was there unseen. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he was back, listening to the water rush against rock, the breeze caressing his face, the ocean before him.
He heard her approach and only opened his eyes after she’d slipped an arm around his waist.
“What are you doing out here?” Alice asked.
“Dreaming dreams.”
“Are they good ones?”
“Not as good as the one I’m living.”
The whole world was quiet save for their breathing, the lake’s eternal movement, the sun’s descent. She glanced up at him.
“You’re reliving it all again, aren’t you.” When he didn’t reply she continued. “Honey, stop. You have to quit this,” she said, guiding his head down to hers. She kissed him, held his face in her hands. “Your father loved you beyond anything.”
“And it destroyed the world,” Quinn said, swallowing. “Because of how I am.”
“It’s not your fault. After all the times we’ve discussed it, after what you’ve put yourself through, you know you couldn’t have done anything different, you know that.”
“It doesn’t change anything.”
“Listen to me. You brought us here. You made a life for us. We wouldn’t have survived without you.”
“You would have been fine. You’re the toughest person I’ve ever met.”
“No, I’m not. The boy in that little shack over there is, but he wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you.” She brought her lips to his again and then gazed into his eyes, looking from one to the other. “Remember what you told me a long time ago? About hope being stronger than anything?”
He nodded.
She brought his hands down to the slight swell of her belly.
“I haven’t forgotten.”