Page 58 of The Night We Lost Him

“It’s freezing here. I can’t handle it.”

“Not a bad view, at least,” I say.

She closes her eyes and wraps herself tightly in a blanket. “I couldn’t care less.”

It doesn’t feel like it would go any better to compliment the interior design of this cabin and by extension what will be the zeitgeist of The Acres, which Kira is at least partially responsible for. She is the interior design director for Noone Properties, and this one has her signature all over it: reclaimed furniture, antique pieces, and botanical prints, everything bright and vivid and lush, like the ridge it’s highlighting.

Kira cups her belly, sighs. “There are waters in the fridge. I have nothing else to offer you but ginger lollipops.”

“We’re just looking for Tommy,” Sam says.

“They’re trying to finish up out by the natural playground. Do you even know where that is, Sam?”

He laughs off her overt dig. Her insinuation that instead of Kira and Tommy being holed up here, it should be him. Or, at least, Sam should be there, sharing in the work. Maybe he should be. Either way, Sam is smart to let it lie. If she feels that way, it’s being filtered through the person who would be reporting it that way: Tommy. He isn’t going to convince her that she’s wrong.

“Take a map with you.”

“I’ve got a good idea where I’m going,” he says. “Thanks, though.”

“Don’t be a fucking hero, Sam. Property map is in the crate on the porch. Spoiler alert, it’s a hike.”

Then she closes her eyes, apparently done with us. So, I walk back out of the cabin, Sam following.

He closes the door behind us. “Wow,” Sam says. “That’s the nicest she’s been to me in a while. Worrying I’d get lost.”

I smile. “Is that what that was?”

“Clearly. Plus, you know, the concern she was showing for you.”

I look at him, confused.

“She’s right. You’re not getting younger.”

My smile disappears. “Very funny.”

“I’m just saying. Maybe you should patch things up with the veterinarian. You really like his kid…”

“Get the map,” I say.

Playgrounds Come in Different Shapes and Sizes

Kira isn’t wrong. The property paths haven’t been carved out yet and it isn’t an easy hike, especially in the wind and the cold, walking through woodlands and over steep hills, until we find our way to the natural playground.

Despite the cold, we are both sweaty and breathless by the time we walk over the final hill and into the clearing, where there is a team of construction workers busy at work. There is a zipline being built into the trees, a rock-climbing wall embedded into a high bolder, an in-ground trampoline secured into the valley.

The trampoline is where we find Tommy. He is bouncing on it, in his puffy vest and jeans, talking to one of the construction workers.

From a distance it could look like he is enjoying himself. But, from what I know about him, Tommy doesn’t believe in enjoying himself. He is probably trying to squeeze in a bit of exercise while he works. Because what Tommy believes in is achievement.

He looks up and sees us approaching him. And it’s jarring, as it always is. His eyes, so much like mine, staring back at me. That face, just like my face.

“Well, I’ll be damned. What are you doing here? And together?” he says. “I’d guess that Dad died, but that’s already happened.”

I shake my head, done with him already. “That’s hilarious, Tommy,” I say.

He offers a half-smile. “Just trying to break the ice,” he says. “Kira texted that you two are on the warpath about something. Or did she get that wrong? Are you just here to check in on me? Offer your condolences?”

“Cut it out, Tommy,” Sam says. “Why the fuck are you talking to Paul Turner about Cece Salinger?”

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