Page 123 of Heart So Hollow

“You’d be closer to your sister.”

“Nice try,” I scoff, “Toronto is on the other side of the country from Alaska and Yukon.”

Colson shrugs and leans back in his chair again, “Guess I’m staying here, then.”

Since he wants to keep talking about Alaska, I take the opportunity to ask him about the only thing I’m really curious about. But as soon as I open my mouth, I hesitate, the awkward end to my conversation with Hildy still fresh in my mind.

“Dallas told me what happened in Alaska,” I swallow hard, “with your girlfriend.”

Colson blinks, not saying anything at first. For a moment, I wonder if it’s a mistake that I brought it up. But this is what I want to know, isn’t it? After what happened, I shouldn’t care about making him uncomfortable. He’s done enough of that to me.

“My girlfriend,” he draws out the word, “that would’ve made for a better story, wouldn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Paige was my friend,” he explains, “she wanted to go up to Katmai Pass to take core samples from trees for her dissertation. I said I’d go with her because I didn’t want her getting lost or running into a bear or a moose. But I didn’t account for an 80-foot pine falling in the middle of the night.”

“Dallas said you tried to carry her out, but everything went wrong.”

Colson shakes his head, “I couldn’t save her,” he glances out the window, a defeated look in his eyes, “I couldn’t do anything except watch her die. Trees were her life, but she probably never thought she’d get taken out by one.”

“That’s awful. Is that why you left?”

Colson smiles bitterly, “When an indigenous woman goes into the woods with a white man and doesn’t come back alive, people start talking.” He shakes his head, “But she didn’t deserve to be the subject of rumors like that.”

I stare at him in silence, trying to read the expression behind his eyes.

“But I did lie to you about something,” Colson continues, “I didn’t come back from Alaska because I couldn’t handle the stress. I liked being out in the middle of nowhere, staring into the snow and waiting for something terrifying to appear. I loved the tension and the adrenaline, like I was living somewhere between life and death. But when you spend enough time staring at a blank canvas, eventually other things start appearing, whether you want them to or not.”

“It would be difficult to be alone with your thoughts after something like that happened,” I admit.

“When things get quiet and time slows down, it’s easy to start fixating on things you’ve tried to forget.”

“What do you fixate on?” I ask flatly.

Then I realize I probably don’t want to know the answer.

“I can’t do anything about Paige and I can’t do anything about my sister. But you’re not dead,” the way he says it is both endearing and ominous, “so, what good does it do me to stay up there when you’re down here?”

I look down at some random spot on the carpet, wishing he hadn’t said what he just said.

It seems it would do me a lot of good for you to stay up there…

“I’m sorry all of that happened to you, but—”

“Nothing happened to me,” Colson cuts me off, “those things happened to them. I just have to live with the aftermath.”

“Fine,” I purse my lips, “but what’s any of that got to do with me?”

Colson chews his nail for a moment and then lets his arm fall back into the armrest, “Because you did happen to me. And you were the first good thing to happen to me in a long time. Before that, there was just this void with nothing but anger and resentment and alcohol. And after, I didn’t want to do anything except be where you were.”

In a twisted way, part of me feels guilty for blaming him for what he did and how everything ended.

But the other part of me still wants him to pay for it. I had to deal with the aftermath of him and mourn the person I might’ve been.

“Are you going to say I led you out of the darkness—that I brought you happiness?” I taunt, flashing a sardonic smile. “Are you going to tell me that I lit up the room when I walked in, because I’m so pure and wonderful?” My smile disappears, “Because I don’t light up rooms. And it’s because of you.”

“Pure as saltwater,” Colson smiles, totally unfazed, “and you sting just as bad. You don’t light up anything. You wanted to stay with me in the dark, not make me leave. I’m still full of anger and resentment, I’m just sober now.”

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