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“But why?” Bishop asks. I want to tell him to stop. I already know I don’t want to hear the reason, can tell from the way the jam man—whose name I’ve learned is Tom—watches me, his gaze a mix of pity and fear.
“Things have gotten bad in Westfall,” Tom’s son-in-law says. “It’s…it’s all falling apart.”
Bishop finds my eyes and we stare at each other, remembering all the people we left behind. I think of my father’s need for vengeance, Callie’s thirst for power, and wonder what havoc they’re wreaking now. Or maybe it’s President Lattimer this time. Maybe he’s making sure no one has any ideas about hurting his family ever again.
“Ivy,” Tom says, and my body jerks, my eyes skipping to his. “Your sister.”
Everything inside me freezes, like I left my body out in the cold and the ice is settling in my bones. “What about her?” I manage.
“She got caught, trying to break into the gun safe in the courthouse.”
Caught because of me, because I gave her the wrong code. I can actually picture the moment in my mind, Callie’s face furious and desperate, the thud of guards’ footsteps rounding the corner. Callie left with nowhere to run. I don’t realize I’m digging my fingers into my skin until I feel the stinging press of pain and force myself to loosen my grip. “What did they do to her? Are they putting her out?”
Tom looks down into his empty mug. A log slides forward in the fire, a hiss of smoldering bark, an explosion of sparks. “No. They’re going to execute her.”
I see the air leave Bishop’s lungs, his head dropping down, but it’s all very far away, like a bad dream, something that’s not really happening. Something that maybe I can wake up from if I concentrate hard enough. “When?” I ask. Visions of Callie swinging from a rope, body riddled with bullets, blood staining the street, streak across my vision.
“The end of the month,” Tom says. “They’re waiting until things calm down. If they ever do. And I think President Lattimer would like to find your father first.”
“My father?” I ask, my voice high and thin.
Tom nods. “He’s missing. But I’m pretty sure he’s still in Westfall. Hiding out in the woods, probably. There have been riots. Someone set fire to President Lattimer’s house.” Bishop’s head whips up at that, but Tom’s daughter jumps into the conversation before he can ask the question. “They got out in time,” she tells him. “They’re all right,” and Bishop’s body relaxes.
“But everyone’s turning on everyone else,” Tom’s son-in-law says. “Selling out their neighbor in hopes of getting in the good graces of one side or the other. The police are all carrying guns now, arresting people right and left, sometimes just based on rumors.”
“Sooner or later someone was going to find out what I did for you,” Tom says. “For you and your family. We couldn’t take the risk. We had to leave.”
“Wait, what?” Bishop says. “What did you do for her?”
I would do anything to not have to answer his question, to not bring a reminder of all the ways I betrayed him back into our lives. But I’ve made a promise to myself that I won’t lie anymore, especially not to Bishop. “He gave me messages from Callie. While we were married,” I say, forcing myself to hold his eyes, to accept the quick flash of anger and pain as my due. It is a burden I’ve earned, so I will have to learn how to carry it.
But Bishop’s voice is gentle when he speaks. “It’s all right, Ivy.”
I try to smile at him because I don’t want to cry in front of all these people. But I can feel the weight of sadness pressing down on me. My secret interactions with Tom, the way I came so close to risking Bishop’s life, the fact that this man and his family were forced to flee because of me, they all feel like bricks being stacked on my shoulders one by one, burying me under the weight of my own bad decisions.
Behind me the crowd shifts and Caleb moves closer to the fire. “We’ve found a place for you to stay. At least for now.”
“Thank you,” Tom says. He looks at me. “Thank you, Ivy.”
“Don’t thank me,” I say, voice harsh. “I’m the reason you’re out here at all.”
The four of us eat a quick dinner after we return from the town square, and then Caleb and Ash decide to head back to the restaurant. Caleb wants to talk in more detail to the rest of the group about what’s happening in Westfall. He is worried that if Westfall completely collapses, then these three strangers will be the first of many who will find their way here this winter. There needs to be some kind of plan to deal with a possible influx of new faces, especially during the lean months. After Caleb and Ash are gone, I leave Bishop to clean the dishes and climb the stairs to our bedroom.
My mind is spinning, random thoughts bouncing off the edges of my brain, making it hard for me to concentrate. It takes twice as long as it normally would for me to start a fire in our bedroom fireplace, my fingers numb and clumsy. When I finally have it going, heat beginning to radiate out into the icy corners of the room, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing. Unlike Caleb, whose only concern is how Westfall’s potential collapse might affect those of us outside the fence, I can’t help but worry about the people still inside.
“Hey,” Bishop says from the doorway. “Can I come in?”
I glance at him over my shoulder. “Of course.”
He squats in front of me, balancing easily on the balls of his feet. He must have taken lessons from Caleb. My hands are hanging limp between my knees, and he takes them in both of his, presses a soft kiss to the back of my knuckles, first one hand and then the other.
“What are you thinking?” he asks. “What do you want to do?”
That’s the question I’ve been asking myself in a nonstop loop for the last few hours. Balancing all the various options in my mind, thinking about my father and Callie. How they betrayed me. How I can’t stop caring about what happens to them even though I wish I could. What leaving them to their fates will do to me. And I think about President and Mrs. Lattimer, too. I love Bishop, which means I owe something to his family; I have an obligation to the people he loves, even if I don’t love them myself.
I look at Bishop, his clear green eyes, his beautiful face, his good heart that shines out of him like a beacon. Am I willing to risk hurting him again? Losing him? “I want to stay here,” I tell him. “I don’t want anything to change.” I tighten my fingers on his. “But I need to go back.”
“Why?” As always, not demanding, just asking, wanting to know exactly what I’m thinking.
