“Sorry?” Jun asked uncertainly, but Cass had already stepped away, setting a course for the far side of the long room. With his austere expression and skeletal features, Hanratty always stood out, but he was even easier to spot now, as his was the only unsmiling face in the crowd. Maybe a staff party wasn’t the best time to corner the base manager about some unfortunate and uncomfortable events, but he could hardly claim he was too busy to talk. No one was doing any work now, nor would they for the next twenty-four hours.
Cass waded through two dozen people, many of whom smiled and said hello for the first time, showing that the champagne or euphoria of the last day of summer—or both—had gone to work. When she was halfway across the galley, Hanratty seemed to sense her approach and his head rotated in her direction like a gun turret. Without acknowledging her gaze, he turned in place and headed for the exit.
Asshole . Cass got ready to chase the man down, when a hand reached out and gently grabbed her arm. She spun around.
It was Gerald Keene, standing close. He held a cup topped off with champagne. “Leaving so soon, Cass? The party just started.”
“Sorry, Dr. Keene, I really have to go—”
“Nonsense, Cass. They haven’t even fired up the movies yet.” Keene clucked his disapproval. “It’s important to take part in the on-base events, you know. Social interaction is key to long-term psychological health. There won’t be another party like this one until midwinter.”
“Yes, I know,” Cass said, trying to pull her arm away, but his grip tightened.
He leaned in, his breath yeasty and his eyes shining. Cake crumbs decorated his beard. “Be my Valentine?”
She stared at him. “What?”
“A joke, Cass, merely a joke. Tomorrow isn’t just the start of a new season, it’s Valentine’s Day, remember?” He tsked. “You have to learn to loosen up a little. It’s been a trying last couple of days, I know, but winter at the South Pole is a long time to be friendless and alone.”
A knot of disgust formed in her gut, a mélange of anger at Hanratty, her distaste for the circus atmosphere, and Keene’s repulsive demand for levity. Cass backpedaled away from the psychologist and the rest of the party, shoving and pushing her way out of the galley. Plans for confronting Hanratty were forgotten. All she wanted was to get to her room or the garage, lock the door, and forget about Keene, Hanratty, and everything else.
As she reached the door, she heard Biddi shout her name and she turned. Her friend waved at her to wait or not to go, she wasn’t sure which. Behind her, watching, smiling, then lifting his cup in a mock toast, was Keene.
PART II
MARCH
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I haven’t seen you lately. Have you been spending more time down here in the tunnels?”
He nodded.
“It’s quiet down here.”
Another nod.
“Tell me more about your sister.”
“Why?”
“She sounds like an important part of your life.”
He scowled. “Everyone asks about her.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
He was silent. “What do you want to know?”
“What did she look like?”
Leroy’s breath puffed into tiny clouds. “She was pretty, I suppose. Long hair. Brown eyes. Tall.”
“Brown eyes? Not blue, like yours?”
“Brown,” he said firmly.
“Was she older or younger?”
“Older.”
“And your mother was . . . not present?”
Leroy shook his head and tugged the flaps on his trooper’s hat down. His balaclava covered most of his face. “She left my dad when I was a kid.”
“Was your mother also your sister’s mother?”
A long pause. “No.”
“Your father had a girlfriend.”
“Yes.”
“Is that why your mother left?”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
“And your father didn’t remarry?”
“No.”
“So, neither you nor your sister grew up with a mother?”
He shook his head. A shudder rippled through his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Leroy. That must have been very hard to understand as a young boy.”
Leroy nodded.
“You only found peace when you ran into the fields. And listened to the wind.”
He started to speak, coughed, tried again. “Yes.”
“When you listened to the wind, did it say things to you?”
Leroy made a sound, then said, “Yes.”
“Did you understand what it said?”
“Yes.”
“The wind blamed you, didn’t it? It told you that you were the reason your mother left. That you were the reason your father was all alone.”
He said nothing.
“What else did it tell you, Leroy? That maybe your sister was as much to blame as you were? That she reminded your mother of your father’s infidelity? That maybe she deserved punishing for hurting your mother, your father, you?”
Leroy leaned against the icy wall.
“Do you sometimes see other women, other girls, who remind you of your sister?”
Leroy shook his head again, but made no answer. His upper body quivered as though pulled by a million tiny strings.
“Ah, well, we’ll leave that for now.” A pause. “It must be difficult. Lying in your bunk at night, the wind constantly talking to you. Is it hard, Leroy?”
“Yes.” He twitched.
“Is that why you come down here, Leroy? To get away from the wind? To stop it from talking to you?”