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It turns out all the snares we checked were full, and we returned with six plump rabbits swinging between us and a wild turkey Bishop shot on the walk back. We cooked one of the rabbits for dinner for the four of us to share. Not really enough meat to fill us up, but all we were willing to spare.
“You know what I miss?” I ask Bishop as we lie in bed after dinner, the small lantern still glowing on the bedside table. We’ve all been going to bed earlier and earlier as the days get shorter, running out of things to keep us occupied. It’s going to be a long winter.
Bishop is sitting back against the headboard, and he tilts his head down and looks at me where I’m sprawled across him. “What?” He seems surprised, maybe because I don’t mention Westfall very often, and this makes twice in one day.
“Those oatmeal cookies from the market.” I can practically taste one, the mix of butter and oats melting on my tongue. I haven’t gone hungry since Ash and Caleb found me, but the food is even more basic than what we had in Westfall. Nothing rich or decadent, nothing that lights up your mouth when you bite into it.
Bishop laughs and I elbow him in the side. “Your turn,” I prompt. “Something you miss.”
“Showers,” Bishop says without skipping a beat.
“Ah, good one.” The river isn’t a bad place to wash in warmer weather, but now having to haul water to the house and heat it up whenever we want a bath is exhausting and time-consuming. “Strawberries.”
“You can’t miss something that’s not in season. You couldn’t get strawberries in Westfall now, either.”
“Hey,” I say, “my game, my rules. And I miss strawberries.”
Bishop shakes his head with a smile. “I think you’re ch
eating.”
“I’m not cheating! But fine, how about electricity? I miss electricity. Even though it didn’t work half the time.”
“Better,” Bishops says. “I miss ice.”
“They’ll be plenty of that soon enough. Books.”
“My grandfather’s photo album.”
Something in Bishop’s voice makes me stop our game. I push myself up and straddle his lap so I can see him better. “You had to leave it behind.” Of course he did. It’s not like he could drag it along with him when he ventured beyond the fence. Practicality trumps sentimentality out here.
“Kind of hard to carry,” he says with a small smile.
I rake my fingers through his hair, let my hand linger. “I miss my dad and Callie,” I say. “Or the idea of them, at least.” I miss being someone’s daughter. Someone’s sister. “Even though I probably shouldn’t. I doubt they miss me.”
“You might be surprised.” Bishop runs his fingers over the scar on my forearm, tracing the silvery lines. “You leave a pretty big hole when you disappear.” His hand on my waist tightens, pulling me closer. “And I miss my parents, too. But I had to make a choice, and I chose you. They knew what they were doing, Ivy. They knew you were taking the fall for your family, but they had you put out anyway.”
“Your father?” I always figured Erin didn’t really care about the facts. She just wanted a Westfall punished, and I fit the bill as well as anyone. But I was never sure about President Lattimer, what he really believed.
“I think he felt guilty about it,” Bishop says. “Afterward. Putting you out.” Bishop’s hand moves upward to fiddle with the strap of my tank top, his fingers feathering against my skin, outlining my collarbone. “I think he did it as some sort of twisted gift to my mother.”
Bishop’s hands on me make it hard for me to concentrate, hard for me to breathe. “What do you mean?”
“Like putting you out could make up for the fact that he always loved your mother more. Maybe by hurting you he was showing allegiance to my mother instead of yours. But it ate at him. He didn’t fight very hard when he found out I was leaving.”
“He knew?”
Bishop nods. “I finally told my dad either the guard would have to shoot me or I was going. He didn’t try to stop me after that. Told the guard to let me leave.” Bishop runs his hand down my arm, entwines our fingers. “He said he remembered what it was like to be in love.”
“He said that?” I ask, surprised. It’s hard for me to imagine President Lattimer being so open with his feelings.
“He was drunk.” Bishop shakes his head slightly. “I’d never seen him like that before. I think he was finally admitting to himself that maybe he made a mistake all those years ago, not marrying your mother. That’s how he’s lived with it all this time. Telling himself he did the right thing.”
“We wouldn’t be here if he’d married her,” I say. It’s funny, when Bishop’s father told me the story of my mother I’d thought he’d been a fool to let her go. But Callie and I would never have been born if he had. Bishop wouldn’t exist. My mother would probably still be alive, but she wouldn’t be my mother.
“No,” Bishop says. “We wouldn’t.” He lifts my hair with one hand, uses the other to trace patterns on the back of my neck. It’s like he’s painting me with his hands, outlining every part of me. We have both gotten so much better at touching.
“I’ve been angry with her,” I admit. “With my mother. Ever since I learned the truth about her suicide. Angry that she left me. That she didn’t love me enough to stay.” Bishop doesn’t say anything, just skims his hands down my back, fingers bumping over my spine. “But I’m trying to forgive her.”
