Page 22 of A Killing Cold

Still, it isn’t long before Paloma, Connor, and Alexis have pulled ahead. Rose hangs back. At first I take her presence for charity. Then I catch Alexis looking back, and she and the others pick up their pace a bit, putting more distance between us—enough for a private conversation.

“I haven’t really gotten a chance to talk to you alone,” Rose says, confirming my suspicions. “I was going to borrow you yesterday, but…”

“Not up for a get-to-know-you conversation with someone drenched in deer blood?” I ask, and Rose’s eyes crinkle at the edges in amusement.

“You know, I didn’t think that these trips could hold any surprises at this point.”

“That’s me. Always unexpected,” I say, trying to cover my embarrassment with good cheer. At least all the huffing and puffing I’m doing provides an easy explanation for the red in my cheeks.

“I imagine you’re pretty tired of talking about yourself,” Rose says. I make a noise of not-quite-agreement. “How about the wedding? Tired of talking about that yet?”

“I honestly haven’t started thinking about it.” Or rather, every time I think about it, I start to panic. Planning a wedding is one thing. Planning aDaltonwedding is another. There will be at least one senator on the invitation list.

“You’re not one of those girls who’s had her wedding planned since you were eight?”

“I never wanted to get married at all,” I confess. When I was growing up, marriage wasn’t about love. It was about partnership, practicality, shared goals. My husband would be someone vetted and approved by my parents, just shy of an arranged marriage; babies would naturally and swiftly follow.

“What changed your mind?” she asks.

“Connor,” I say. She looks at me like she’s trying to decide if this is a rehearsed answer. I flush. “Not like—I just mean, I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before. Not like this. Not… not real, like this. All of a sudden I understood the point.”

“And have you talked about a prenup yet?” she asks.

I choke. “No! Or, I mean, I guess I assume there will be one—”

“There will,” she confirms. Up ahead, Connor and the others swing out of view around a curve in the path. “Is that a problem for you?”

A nuthatch on the trail in front of us watches us approach with a cynical eye before taking off in a burst of feathery movement. “Of course not.” I’m grateful that I have to keep my eyes on my skis. This isn’t the conversation I was expecting. “I’ll sign whatever.”

“Don’t,” she says. I look up at her in surprise. “I mean, you’ll want to have a lawyer look over everything and negotiate for you. We’ll pay for it, of course, but it’ll be their job to protect your interests. That’s what it should do—protect both of you. It’s what I should have done, but I was too head over heels and worried I’d lose it all if I pushed back even a little, and I ended up with a prenup that would have left me with nextto nothing when…” She stops herself. Speaks carefully. “It would have been better to have some kind of protection.”

When, she said, notif. “That’s… very practical,” I say.

She makes a sound of amusement. “One thing you will find out quickly is that you have to be the practical one. Connor is like Liam—too optimistic for practicality. He always trusts that things will just work out. Never a mind for the consequences.”

“People keep saying how much Connor is like his father.” I don’t make it a question—not a demand for information. For several seconds, there is nothing but the rhythmic sound of our skis through the snow.

“Liam had his flaws,” Rose says at last, and in those words, I sense a depth of complicated grief. Whatever those flaws might be, though, she doesn’t elaborate. “When you’re a kid, you know the best version of your parents. That’s the version of Liam that Connor knew. That’s the version of him he’s tried all his life to emulate.”

I think of Beth Scott on the other side of the closet door, holding it shut with her whole body as I flung myself against it, screeching. There was never a version of Beth I wanted to be like.

Though I can’t promise I would have done better, with a daughter like me.

“It must be hard coming back here,” I say.

She makes a sound as if to say this is an understatement. “I almost didn’t, that first summer. I didn’t understand how we could all be here like it didn’t happen. But I’m glad that I did. We couldn’t let… all of that take this place away from us.” She squares her shoulders, blinking back tears.

Why do I have the sudden feeling that she had been about to saylethimtake this away from us?

I’m imagining it, I tell myself. But that old urge is rising up in me.Little thief, Beth used to call me, but I never stole things to take them. I took them to understand. I need to know the names of things. Their reasons.

You would think curiosity was one of the seven deadly sins, the way the Scotts treated it. Questions were defiance. A child should receive the truth and know it is true because it comes from authority, and authorityistruth.

“I’m so sorry,” I say.

“It was a very long time ago,” she replies. She inhales. “Cherish your loved ones, Theo. And make sure they stay off the lodge roof.” Her lips twist mirthlessly. “But that’s enough of grim subjects.”

“I’m sorry to have brought it up,” I say.

---