Page 188 of Every Silent Lie
Her lips press together. It’s such a romantic notion, I know that. Idealistic in the most unideal circumstances. And I’m clinging to it with everything I have.
“Do you know where Dec keeps the alcohol?” I ask.
“Yes!” She goes to a tall cabinet and pulls the doors open, revealing a well-equipped bar. “What’s his tipple?”
“Brandy.”
She hums and scans the bottles, finding it and pouring. “To the top?”
“Why not.” I take the glass and deliver it to Mr. Percival. Not that he or Albi notice me.
Mr. Percival looks like he’s in his element, and Albi’s thoroughly enchanted.
It’s the most beautiful sight. A man nearly a century old. And a little boy who’s looking at him like he’s a hero.
Because he is.
* * *
I only need to remove myself from the festivities a couple of times. Once before dinner, which was insanely good. I don’t know where Mr. Percival learned to cook, but he does it well. And generously.
And now.
Mr. Percival has Albi on his frail knee, giving him a detailed guided tour of a Spitfire Dec’s got up on Google, and all I can see is Noah on my father’s lap as Dad taught him how to play dominoes. And Mum sat at the other end of the table sewing a costume for world book day. I smile sadly at Mr. Percival and Albi, and slip my feet into Dec’s slippers, stepping outside with my wine. It’s stopped snowing, but it’ll start again soon if the forecasters are right.
My eyes naturally fall to the red Japanese Maple tree as I step through the snow, but the icicle isn’t there anymore. Odd. And neither are the other feathers that were sitting on the branch above. Not so odd, as they could have blown away. I search the snow for any holes where the icicle could have fallen but find nothing. It couldn’t have melted; it’s still below zero.
I hear the door slide open behind me and turn to find Dec stepping out. I smile when I take in his new slippers. A new pair every Christmas from April and Blaine since Albi arrived. “What are you looking for?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I point to my feet. “Does this mean I can keep these ones?”
“Oh yes. I honestly don’t know how we’re keeping our hands to ourselves while we’re both parading around each other in these things. They’re not passion killers at all.”
I laugh and go to him as he opens his arms, letting me walk straight into them. I nuzzle into his shoulder, holding him with one arm, my wine in the other, and I close my eyes, settling into his body.
“Camryn?” he says softly.
I keep still and quiet.
“You’ve never asked me what my name is.”
My eyes ping open, and I stare forward for a beat before pulling away. His face. I bank it, the look shy and a little awkward, and everything that isn’t Dec.
Dec.
“Declan?”
He shakes his head, and I think for a moment.
“That’s all I have.”
“I’ll give you a clue.”
“Okay,” I say, drawing the word out, my mind going a mile a minute.
“My sister’s name is April because she was born in April.”
I’m staring again. What? No, it can’t be. “Your name is December?”
