Rosalie spoke softly. “You were scared.”
I did not look up. What if I just told her how worried I was for Amir’s safety? What if I told her how Bear treated us? Rosalie was not who I’d thought she was when I first met her—I could see now that she was someone who would try to help us. My heart began to race. What a relief it would be to finally tell someone!
“Bear...” I began.
Her face was set in an encouraging expression.
I thought of the aloof way she had looked at Amir. I had made a promise to him in the shed on that night years earlier—a promise not to tell anyone how Bear treated us. Yes, we were sixteen now, but we were not adults. Amir could still be taken from Horseshoe Cliff. We could still be separated.
I forced a laugh. “I remember now. I was dreaming that a bear was chasing me. It was one of those awful dreams that felt real. It must have been the fever.”
Rosalie sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “Well,” she said slowly. “I’m glad it was just a dream.”
I could tell that she did not believe me, and I was grateful that she didn’t push me on the subject.
THAT AFTERNOON,Isat with Will on the patio, awaiting the doctor’s arrival. A lawn sloped steeply away from us, ending ina neat row of bright hedges. The woods beyond the lawn had been cleared just enough to catch glimpses of the ocean, but it seemed very far away, much farther than it actually was. It was odd to see the ocean but not smell it or hear it. The view was like a backdrop for that neat lawn; it seemed more like a drawing of the sea than the sea itself. Even so, the glimpse of blue was a comfort, a touchstone that put me more at ease. The air was cool, and I shivered within the sweater that Rosalie had given me. I wore her jeans, too, and a pair of black rubber boots that were at least a size too large for me.
Emma, in a long red sweater and leggings and sequin-covered sneakers that made my inner ten-year-old writhe with envy, turned cartwheels down the sloped lawn, gaining speed until she collided with the hedge and released a squeal of surprised laughter.
Will and I sat at a table, reading. I had borrowed Hemingway’sA Moveable Feastfrom the bookshelf in the living room. Will read a thick textbook with pages that fluttered in the breeze. I watched his eyes scan back and forth down the length of one page and then another. He was a fast reader. He did not take notes, but he paused every so often to consider something he’d read, his expression serious. He looked out toward the view in those moments, but I did not think he was aware of what his eyes saw; he seemed lost entirely in his own thoughts. I caught his eye during one of these ruminations and smiled. He blinked before offering a polite smile in return. I had the sense that he’d forgotten I was there.
“How’s the book?” he asked.
“I like the descriptions of Paris. I like books that are set in places I’ve never been.” Then I laughed. “Which is everywhere but Osha.”
His expression relaxed into a more natural smile. “That must make picking out your next read easy.”
“Yes. The world of books is my oyster.”
Will laughed. “Mine, too.”
“But I bet you’ve been to Paris. You’ve seen it in person.”
He nodded. “I went as a kid with my parents, and then again a few years ago when I was in college. Some friends and I took the train from Paris to the French Riviera.” He grew enthusiastic as he told me about the trip, his eyes brightening. He laughed telling me how his poor French had landed his group on a two-hour train ride in the wrong direction during one leg of their journey. But they were helped by an older couple who invited them to spend the night at their flat in Nice. Will was still in touch with this couple and had taken their grandson out to dinner in San Francisco when he was in town.
“It’s the people you meet when traveling,” he said, “that I love the most. Well, and the history. And the architecture. The cafés. The food! Who am I kidding? I love it all—I even love the trains themselves.”
I was leaning toward him, taking in every word. Rosalie had given me a thick wool blanket to spread across my knees, and when it slipped from its place, Will reached down and scooped it off the ground. My stomach fluttered at the possibility that he might spread the blanket over my knees, but instead he handed it to me.
“I’ve never been on a train,” I said.
Before Will could respond, Rosalie and Doctor Clark stepped onto the patio from the house. Just seeing the doctor made me think of Amir and Horseshoe Cliff. I felt ashamed of how enthralled I was of Will, when I should have spent the day worrying about Amir.
“How are you feeling?” Doctor Clark asked me. “I heard you had an exciting night.”
“Yes,” I said. “My first fireside picnic.”
Rosalie smiled. “I think he means your fever.”
“But my experience of the fever wasn’t actually very exciting. And it’s gone now.”
“Can I take a look?” Doctor Clark said, gesturing toward my leg.
I nodded. Will tucked his textbook below his arm, gave me a sympathetic smile, and then walked toward the house. Rosalie asked if I’d like her to stay and I said yes. It was only my leg, after all. Will had raced off as though I were about to undress.
After rolling up my pant leg to check the wound, Doctor Clark recommended a course of oral antibiotics to stave off an infection.
“I stopped at Horseshoe Cliff this morning,” he added. “Bear agreed that if the Langfords will have you, it would be best for you to stay here another night.”
