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An hour later they were ready.
Night turned the living room into a huge, rectangular cave. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, casting a dancing, golden glow across the room. They’d thrown green and brown afghans over all the furniture, a disguise as fine as any. A navy blue king-sized sheet draped the piano, turning it into the mysterious Piano Lake, where swimmers were often lost even in the dog days of summer.
Jacey’s voice was quiet as she spun out the legend their family had created long ago: “And the townspeople swear that on a night like this—in the snowiest, blackest winter, when a full moon rises into the cloudless sky—that they hear the screams of souls drowned long ago. ”
Bret made a face. “She’s not saying it right—”
Jacey gave a spooky laugh and turned on a flashlight, holding it beneath her chin. “Ah, but there’s more … about the little boy who wandered away from his campsite and ended up on the banks of Piano Lake …”
Bret leaned forward. This was a new and interesting detail. “What happened to him?”
Liam closed his eyes. The room smelled of popcorn and wood smoke, of melting chocolate and oozing marshmallows. He imagined Mike beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, her arm looped around his waist.
The sadness was like that. Sometimes he went whole minutes in blissful ignorance—a dad enjoying the sound of his children’s voices—then he’d remember Who are you? and the pain would hit so hard he couldn’t breathe. In those moments, he’d see his whole life stretching before him, an endless, lonely highway. At the end of it was the fear, however irrational, that he would lose her to Julian.
It was a buoyant fear; there was no way to drown it.
“Daddy. Daddy!” Bret was yelling now.
Liam pushed the thoughts aside and looked up—right into Rosa’s frowning, watchful brown eyes.
“Daddy, do the shooting of Dan McGrew. That’s my favorite. ”
Liam scooted back and leaned against the sofa (now the dormant volcano, Mt. Mikaela), then opened his arms. Bret crawled through the broken graham cracker crumbs, spilled popcorn, and bunched-up goose-down sleeping bags, and cuddled beside Liam. Jacey and Rosa moved in closer, sitting side by side in front of the warm fire.
The poem, though he hadn’t recited it in years, came back to him with a surprising ease. It was the tale of men in the Yukon gold fields who’d—
Fought over a woman.
Liam bit back a curse. “Hey, Bretster, how about I do Sam McGee instead?”
“No way. Dan McGrew. ”
Liam sighed. He closed his eyes and began quietly, “A bunch of the boys were whooping it up at the Malamute Saloon …”
It took concentration to keep going. When he finished the last sentence, he managed a smile.
“This is not a good story,” Rosa said, frowning.
Liam ignored her. “Come on, kids, go brush your teeth. It’s midnight. ”
“On a camp-out? No way I’m brushing my teeth,” Bret whined.
“Come on, foot-breath,” Jacey said, taking her brother’s hand.
Within minutes, the kids were back, crawling into their sleeping bags. Liam gave them each a kiss good night, then he got to his feet.
Bret jackknifed upright. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to walk Grandma back to the cottage. I’ll be right back. ”
“You’re gonna sleep down here, right?”
“Of course. ”
Bret grinned. “’Night, Grandma. ”
“’Night, Grandma,” Jacey added.
