Page 56 of Left-Hand Larceny

She taps the table thoughtfully. “Would you ever move your family here? To Quarry Creek?”

I shake my head without hesitation.

“N-no. Their h-home is in Iceland. A-always will b-b-be.”

Sadie lets out a wistful sigh. “I wish I knew where my home was. My history, I mean.” She plays with the edge of her napkin, voice softening. “Adoption kind of erases all of that. Some kids know at least something. But with baby boxes.” An elaborate shrug. “I have nothing.”

My heart tightens.

We talk quietly about the difficulty of those anonymous systems—how they save lives but leave gaps you can’t fill. Sadie tells me the hard part is that more information would only help. Mother, baby, everyone. It would be a chance to make sure the person dropping the child off is safe. Healthy. To offer aid if needed. It would provide some basic answers for the kid, too. Maybe even an avenue for reconciliation later in life. But they only work because they’re anonymous.

“You can safe-drop a kid at any hospital, fire department, police station, already,” she toys with a fry in her hand, tearing it into tiny pieces. “But they aren’t anonymous—not without a box—so…”

So what would have happened to a kid like her? Would her person have gone to a safe location? Would they have kept her? What would that kind of life have looked like?

Would I have ever met her?

I can’t even imagine the disconnect she must feel. Iceland uses a patronymic naming system. It means my last name differs from Amma’s. From my parents’. From Kat. I’m Ragnar Ólaffson because I’m the son of Olaff. Kat is Katrín Olaffsdóttir. Amma’s full name is Gúðrun Maria Jónsdóttir. Or names might notmatch, but they connect us. Always. Even after the accident that took their lives when Kat was so little, she still has that piece of Dad. And we both look like mom.

I ask, gently, if she’s ever thought about genetic testing. I know little about them, but there was that documentary about all those half-siblings learning they were conceived using the same donor. It was an enormous scandal in some small town, and it was a 23andme that started it all.

“I’ve thought about it,” she admits, eyes flicking down. “But honestly? It scares me. Not knowing sucks, sure, but rejection? That’s worse. I don’t know if it would be worse to have nothing to report, or if it would hurt more to know I have this big, beautiful family that I could’ve known.”

I frown. Who in their right mind would ever reject her?

“I’m s-sure they think of y-y-you every d-day.”

“It’s fairly common, especially among siblings.” Sadie tells me, “There’s a lot of shame, stigma around adoption. Even if I’m constantly in their thoughts, it doesn’t mean they want to be reminded about letting me go.”

I nod slowly, thinking about the parallel. I know that feeling. Wanting to reach out, wanting connection, but fearing you’ll find you were never wanted to begin with.

“I c-can take y-you home,” I say before I can think better of it. “To Iceland. Kat won’t s-stop talking a-a-about you. Amma would l-love you.”

Sadie’s eyes go round. “You’d really take me?” When I nod, so does she. “Yes.”

“M-maybe d-d-during the all-star b-break,” I offer. “I know they aren’t y-yours, b-but they’d l-l-love to meet you in person, n-not just v-video.”

“Ragnar.” She laughs, a real, bright sound that rolls through me like sunlight. “You’ll probably be playing during the all-star break.”

My heart stutters. Only the best players get invited to the weeklong, all-star tournament. I’ve never not gone before, but this time… this time feels different. I’m afraid to assume anything about my recovery, my game play. I wonder when that’ll change. After the first game? The first ten? Three seasons from now? I already think it counts as a win that I’m not assuming success overnight, but I am hoping for it at some point.

“You might not believe it yet, but I do. And not just because I helped rehab you.” She grins. “You’re one of the best, Rags.”

I swallow, the words trying to reach down my throat and choke me. She thinks I’m the best. Me.

Sadie clears her throat, changing the subject. “Anyway, you’ve helped me so much with the goddamn math. It’s time I repay the favor.”

I protest instinctively. She’s actually not bad at it, just misses small steps and barely needs my help, but she waves me off.

“I know you’re working on being more social, and you’ve already made so much progress. The Howl post, for example? Adorable. But it’s time to up the ante.”

I raise a brow. “Oh?”

“Not that you couldn’t get a date if you wanted to, you totally could, but I mean for Bill’s birthday gala. Maybe. Or not. You don’t have to, but I know a lot of the guys are binging dates and my mom is trying to convince me to bring…someone. And I remember you said that you don’t have issues with… women, but…”

“B-but a casual fuck isn’t the s-same as d-d-dating?”

Warmth curls low in my belly as her cheeks tinge red. She’s adorable. I also don’t think I’ve ever heard her babble. Sadie always knows exactly what to say.She groans, dragging her hands down her face.

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