Page 46 of Snowbound with the Santas

Archer’s face twists slightly, and I can tell he’s having an internal argument to try and counter me. But he won’t vocalize it because we both know I’m right. Rayne is a beautiful breath of fresh air that I can tell each one of us has quickly come to adore. She’s a break from the pain in our regular lives, but while this cabin can feel like a time capsule, reality always catches up.

Whatever she’s running from will find her. Eventually.

But that doesn’t mean she has to face it alone.

“Maybe when she goes back, we can help her,” Frankie says with a smile as he untangles the last strand of snowflake lights. “I mean, we’re sending her back, but she’s not going to be alone.”

“True.” Archer finally seems to notice that he’s slowly becoming swamped under piles of lights and shoots out a foot to Frankie, who swiftly dodges. “I ain’t a fucking tree.”

“You sure?” Frankie snorts. “You’re fucking prickly like one.”

“Fuck you.” Archer doesn’t make any attempts to remove the lights from his arms.

We settle into an amicable silence, following Frankie’s lead. His plan was to sort through all of the lights and set them up as a nice surprise for Rayne tomorrow morning, but as we sift through the box, I wonder if he underestimated his task.

Three reels of lights later and the tips of my fingers throb slightly.

“Oh, shit.” Frankie looks at me. “I forgot to ask, did you manage to talk to Freida?”

Frieda, my daughter, is the one singular light in my life who is kept so far away that even hearing her name makes my heart squeeze.

“No.” My stomach drops slightly. “I tried when we got back, but the Fixed Wireless only gave us a twenty-minute window before the interference from this next storm cut us off.” My cheeks puff out on my next breath. “I was able to send her some messages, though, so hopefully, they got through okay.”

“And Amanda?” Archer’s lips twist around the name of my ex-wife. “She hasn’t worked out what you’re doing yet?”

“No, thank God. I know she won’t give a shit that it was Freida who reached out to me, and I don’t plan on telling anyone until Freida wants me to.” My attention drops back to the next tangled set of lights in my hands.

These decorations were for her. I purchased them years ago, back when I thought Amanda would believe that I'd turned my life around. Losing custody of my daughter was the most painful thing in my life, and for the last eleven years, I have poured my soul into bettering myself and proving that I can be a good father.

But Amanda doesn’t care. Countless letters were returned unopened, presents were rejected, and even the few times I attempted to visit, she called the police on me. My daughter grewup without me, and Amanda strung me along with occasional hints thatnext yearI could maybe see my kid. So I would buy decorations and live in hope.

Next year never came.

Until eighteen months ago when Freida tracked me down herself and got in touch. Her letter seemed like a dream, and since then, I have been doing everything I can to show her that I love her, that I miss her, and that most of her mother’s stories about me are untrue.

Being up in the mountain makes that connection difficult, but this is my safe place, and we’re all running from something.

“I’m sorry,” Frankie says eventually. “I know you’ve been working really hard. I just wish Amanda would see it.”

“She looks at me and sees the alcoholic she had a kid with,” I reply quietly.

“Don’t defend her,” Archer snaps. “You fucked up. You’ve spent the past decade making up for that fuck up, and instead of letting your daughter know her father, she continues to spew the lie that you’re a deadbeat.”

“I hope Freida knows that isn’t true.” I’ve worked hard to include her in every aspect of my life while helping her keep this a secret from her mom. But in the back of my mind I know that, eventually, the truth will come out. And the consequences will be worth the time I’ve had to get to know my child.

“If she’s anything like you,” Frankie murmurs behind a wall of blue crystal lights, “she’ll judge you on what you present and not what other people tell her.”

“Maybe,” I sigh.

“She had enough insight to find you,” Archer reminds me. “She’s a good kid.”

“Yeah…” The conversation falls into a comfortable lull, and my mind darts back and forth between my daughter and Rayne. Archer is right about one thing. Rayne was definitely runningfrom something, and she doesn’t trust us enough to ask for help. But just like with my daughter, I will show her that she can trust us.

Frankie finally succeeds in untangling the last lights, and Archer quickly calculates how many we can plug in without straining the generator. Luckily, with a combination of the hydro-generator and solar panels on the roof, we’ve never been short on power.

Frankie lays the lights out across the floor in strings and then points to me. “You take the red, white, and green. I’ll take the other three, and Archer, you take the snowflakes.”

“For what, exactly?” Archer asks, his voice muffled from where he’s crouched near the socket.

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