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“You’re doing much better,” I point out. “Reflexes are a little slow, but that comes with more training.”
Willow grins at me. “You’ve been watching?”
“Consider it professional curiosity.”
“Mm-hmm,” she says dryly. “Or is it because you’re worried I might get hurt?”
“That’s a given, darling.”
She rolls her eyes at me as she toes off her shoes, dipping her feet into the water. She doesn’t wade out too far, and the current is nowhere near strong enough to sweep her away, but I follow her regardless. Willow bends down to sift through the rocks, picking one up to inspect before chucking it away. She continues her search with a small reminiscent smile.
“You know,” she begins, “my mother taught me to skip rocks when I was a little girl. It’s one of the only memories I have of her.”
“Tell me about her,” I say.
Willow skips the rock across the water. It skids three times before sinking to the bottom. “My memory of her is fuzzy. I think it might have been when I was five? I think it was in the middle of summer somewhere. I remember she bought me ice cream and we spent some time by the water.” She takes a deep breath and tries skipping another stone. “I wish I had a picture of her,” she mumbles. “Arturo removed all of them after her death. I wasn’t even allowed to talk about her. It’s like she didn’t even exist.”
I frown; this new revelation is just as disturbing as it is unsurprising. I’d already made up my mind that Arturo Allegra was at the top of my list. Before I knew the full extent of Willow’s situation, before I saw her mistreatment firsthand, I knew I was going to ruin whoever was responsible.
“Maybe you can ask your grandmother if she has photos,” I suggest.
“I just might. It’d be cool, seeing pictures of her from when she was younger.” She smiles to herself, skips another stone. This one sinks to the bottom after only one bounce. “I wonder if I look like her.”
I join her, skipping a rock all the way across the width of the river. “I bet you do. I sincerely doubt you got your good looks from Arturo.”
She giggles. “God forbid.”
I send my next stone flying. It bounces five times before breaking the water’s surface.
“How are you so good at this?” Willow asks.
“My brothers and I used to go to this summer camp many years ago. We’d dip out of group activities to play by the water.”
She glances at me out of the corner of your eye. “Summer camp? Talk about fancy.”
“Not really. Our father would sign us up so he had an excuse not to look after us. Fatherhood didn’t really agree with the man. While he distracted himself with the bottom of a beer bottle, I was looking after my brothers.”
“I guess we have shitty fathers in common, huh?”
“Maybe that’s why we get along so well.”
“Do you miss them?” she asks softly. “Heath and Knox.”
“Of course.”
“Do you want to go home?”
I pause to look at her directly, sensing something lingering just below in subtext. “Do you want me to go home?”
Willow nibbles on her bottom lip. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Right back at you.”
“This war has nothing to do with you. It’s not fair of me to make you stay.”
“You’re involved,” I argue. “Therefore, it has everything to do with me.”
“Zane—”
