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PROLOGUE
Morgan
Eight years old
“Rhett, Morgan, I’d like to speak to you for a moment,” Dad says, then heads toward his home office, the room he spends the most time in when he’s not working at one of his other offices—here in Birchbark, or in Detroit, or in Washington, DC.
It feels like he’s always busy, always working, and never wants to spend time with us. Not like my best friend Dusty’s dad. He takes us fishing and hunting. We go camping, hiking, and exploring waterfalls. Sometimes when I sleep over at his house, his dad will help us set up a tent in their yard so we can stay outside all by ourselves.
Most of the things we do here as a family are all with Mom. She makes excuses for Dad, and I pretend I believe her because I don’t want her to be sad. I think she gets sad more than she wants us to know. I don’t want her to realize I know it’s her he loves the most, that he gave her us to make her happy. If there’s one thing I see, it’s that he’d do almost anything to see her smile…except staying home more and not caring about his career more than anything else.
“Yes, sir,” Rhett says, shoving to his feet, eager to get there first, eager to be Dad’s shadow. There’s nothing he won’t do for Dad’s attention. Rhett’s a year older than me but doesn’t see our dad the way I do. Rhett looks at him like he’s a king or something, and he plans to be just like Dad. That’s one thing our father does like—he wants both his boys to be mini-Gregory Swifts, and for whatever reason, he puts more pressure on me about it. Maybe because while Rhett would do anything to impress Dad, I’d rather be with Mom.
Knowing I don’t have a choice except to get up and follow, I do it, but with a whole lot less excitement than Rhett.
Rhett is already sitting in one of the chairs in front of Dad’s desk, my father in his behind it.
“Sit down, Morgan.” There’s no patience in his voice as he watches me.
I move closer and plop down beside Rhett, who is sitting with his back straight, eager gaze on our dad. He’s such an annoying suck-up. He always tells me I have to do more to make Dad happy, but why doesn’t Dad ever have to make us happy?
“Your mother is taking a nap, but we decided it’s time to tell you both she’s pregnant. She’s twelve weeks along, but we wanted to wait before we said anything.”
That makes me sit up straighter. Something else they might not realize I’ve caught on to is how much my mom wants another baby…how much she wants her girl. It doesn’t make me sad that she feels that way because she shows us how much she loves us. She’s proud of her boys. I love baking cookies with her and reading books with her. She helped me put up the tire swing, and she goes swimming in the lake with me. When we spend time together, I never feel like she’s doing it because she has to, but because she wants to.
And she wants to share that love with a little girl too—wants dresses and pink and hair she can put in pigtails.
“She’s going to have a baby?” I ask, as if he didn’t just tell us that.
“Two, actually. Your mother is having twins. I’m going to be honest with you because you’re the men of the house while I’m working. This is a high-risk pregnancy for her. I’ll be depending on you both to take care of her.”
My heart leaps into my throat, trying to burst its way out of my body. “Is she okay?” I blurt out at the same time as Rhett’s, “I’ll take care of her! Whatever you need, Dad!”
I swear, all he cares about is making Dad proud. Is he even worried about Mom?
“Yes, she’s okay, and she’s going to be okay,” he says like that’s something he can guarantee. That’s the thing with him—he thinks he can control everything.
Dad finishes talking to us while Rhett kisses his butt the way he always does. My feet are itching to get out of this chair and go see my mom to make sure she’s okay.
Dad looks at me. “Morgan, I’d like you to stay a moment. Rhett, you can go.”
My brother’s whole body sinks in on itself, wearing his disappointment like his skin, before he straightens up, burying it and trying to show Dad how well he can follow orders and that he doesn’t feel emotions, because our dad definitely doesn’t.
“Yes, sir.” Slowly, he leaves the room, lingering like he’s hoping to hear some of what Dad says to me.
“I know you and your mom are extra close, Morgan. I want you to help her rest as much as possible. The two of you enjoy all your little adventures, but you need to keep those to a minimum. There’s a good chance she’ll be on bed rest soon.”
I nod, words trapped in my throat.
“I will.” Why is he saying this again to me when he just said it to both me and Rhett? “It’ll be my most important thing.”
He gives me a smile, something he rarely directs at us. “I know it will. Your brother can get distracted by school and those sorts of responsibilities, but those things aren’t your strengths. You’re a little…softer, like your mother, so there are certain situations where you’re more suited to help.”
Now it’s me sinking in on myself. For Dad, being the kind of boy Rhett is, caring so much about being the best at everything, is better than being like me. Right now, he tries to pretend being softer is a good thing, but he doesn’t believe that, not really.
“Can I go see her now?” I’d much rather be cuddled in bed with her than in this room with him.
“Let her rest, Morgan. You can see her later.”
