Page 273 of These Tears

My fingers fumble, but the rhythm eventually settles into my hands, and the needles begin moving with less argument. I discover I am not terrible at knitting. Certainly not good enough to earn silence from the experts, but good enough to be teased with affection instead of concern.

By the time the sun sinks a little and turns the room orange, my little section has grown into something that almost resembles intention. But when it drops lower and the light begins to cool, the unease returns so heavily it steals the warmth from my hands.

I’m gathering my things when the back door opens and Anders appears.

My hand shoots for my jacket, nearly taking the yarn basket with it, before the thought catches up: if he's here, Elias must be home.

The movement stops me cold.

That frantic readiness.

That humiliating relief at the thought of him returning.

It’s too much like the dependent girl I used to be with Ron.

It sits wrong on my chest and tastes worse.

Anders’ eyes move to the jacket clenched in my hand, then return to my face. The smile he walked in with fades somewhat. ‘He’s not done down south. I had to come back for the elk. One of the young bulls has been testing us.’

My hand eases on the leather.

The hope inside me that detonated earlier is now collapsing into a million bits.

‘You came back alone?’ I ask, needing to hear it said aloud to believe it.

He smiles in response. A beat passes before he looks towards Inga. His gaze holds too long. ‘Ready?’ he asks her.

‘I don’t understand how you came to the decision that your grand romantic retirement would be livestock management,’ Inga supplies as she picks up her bag and a basket of cookies.

Her father gives a soft chuckle, eyeing me as I zip up my jacket.

His truck’s bonnet then catches my eye through the window.

How is Elias bringing the goats back if the truck is here?

‘Are you going to get him tomorrow?’ I interrupt the back-and-forth with his daughter.

He simply gives me another smile like it’s an obvious matter.

A prickling feeling settles at the base of my neck.

Mee and her sisters escort us outside while her mother speaks rapidly to Anders in Sámi. I catch none of the words, only the clipped rhythm and the way the man’s smile pulls taut as he listens.

Even with the absence of the ring, I’m still rubbing at my finger as I walk towards the truck. The pale evening all but winds around my throat before I make the second step.

‘I’ll come by this week,’ Anders says as he climbs into his truck. I give a faint incline of my head as I open the door to mine.

Their kindness helps. It just doesn’t fill the space where I want Elias to be.

The sound of the seat belt clicking into place drives me over the edge.

My head snaps sideways towards Inga seated in the other vehicle next to Anders, smiling and miming the stitch we all agreed to use to join Sunna’s blanket together. Her father inclines his head once, a soft smile drawn into a mask.

The bearded man keeps his hand on the steering wheel throughout the whole thing, but his eyes seem elsewhere. His fingers clench once before he finally looks away and starts the engine.

Just as he backs out of the driveway, a strange emotion jolts me in place, and I nearly run out and wave him down to stop.

But what do I say? What questions do I ask?