just past my ear, and he reaches a hand out. There is an envelope tucked into the pine needles. It has a few drops of wetness on it. The front says in simple, nine-year-old scrawl: JOE.
“Look,” I tell Liam, and open it up. A handful of peanuts fall into the snow, and I stoop to collect them again.
“‘Dear Joe,’” Liam reads aloud. “‘I’m so sorry for the hunt. I hope none of your friends got hurt. Please stay close to the house so you are safe. Here are some peanuts. Thank you for the new marbles, I love them. Love, Juniper Barnes, age 9.’”
Liam reads it again, silently this time, and then holds it up like it’s a precious ancient artifact. “Are you kidding me? Juniper writes letters to Joe?”
“Yes. And he brings her presents.”
“Presents?”
“Feathers, marbles, an old button. She has a pile on her dresser.” I don’t mention the wallet, or the bracelet, or the ring. For some reason they feel beyond the reach of this conversation. Beyond cute and whimsical. More like strange and absurd. Impossible.
“That is the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Right?” I return my focus to the conversation. “My bird guy said crows have been recorded doing this kind of thing before. They are smart enough for reciprocity. So yeah, Juniper feeds them—and writes notes—and they leave gifts.”
We return the note to its safe hiding place in the tree, peanuts and all, and head inside.
As we sip hot cocoa, I nudge Liam under the kitchen table.
“This is the most normal day I’ve had in ages. Thank you for coming over.”
“Normal with bird letters and presents?”
“Normal for us,” I clarify.
“Well said,” Liam tells me. He kisses me over our cups just as my mom walks into the kitchen, but she pretends not to notice. On her way back out of the room, she winks at me.
Hello, Mom. I see you in there.
She burns so much brighter when he’s not here.
And just like that, the spell breaks. I hear a car rumbling outside. When I step to the window, I pray for a plow, which is the only vehicle I can think would find our road under inches of snow.
It’s not a plow.
He’s home early.
Mom moves past me, stepping onto the front porch to greet him with a kiss and a cup of cocoa. He accepts both with a smile. Then he gestures at Liam’s car.
“Back early?” I ask when he enters the house. His smile falters for just a moment, and then it’s back.
We have company.
On cue, Liam comes into the kitchen.
“Oh, hello . . . sir.”
Even as an afterthought, my dad seems to appreciate the show of respect. He steps forward and extends his hand. “Liam, right?”
Liam nods.
“Nice to finally meet you. Leighton’s told us so much about you.”
Liar. I’ve only told Mom, and she told you.
“You like trucks, Liam?” he asks, pointing to his pride and joy out front. “Mind giving me a hand cleaning out the snow?”
“Sure, yeah,” Liam says, and they move outside. I want to hold Liam back, but I have no good excuse for doing so, and it would just make everything more tense and awkward.
“He’s back really early,” I say to Mom.
“Didn’t want to get snowed in away from home,” she says knowingly. “Especially since it’s a holiday weekend.” She expected him.
“You could have told me,” I say.
“So you could tell Liam to leave?” she says, her words sharp.
Of course, I want to snap back at her. Of course I didn’t want them to meet.
Less than fifteen minutes later, they come back in from the cold, shaking their shoes off in the mudroom. We are starting dinner, spaghetti boiling on the stove while Campbell and Juniper set the table.
I catch the tail end of their conversation about college.
“Those are excellent schools,” my dad says. “You must have, what, a perfect GPA? And you play ball?”
“It’s pretty good,” Liam says. I can’t read his face, and I want to know everything that was said outside. “But I think Leighton’s GPA is just a little higher than mine.”
“Our girl is smart,” Dad says. “She’s gonna do great at main campus next year.”
“What, like state school? But Leighton wants—” I shake my head from behind my dad, and Liam stops short.
They start talking about the football season, and how well the Wolves are doing. I keep listening, not for the words, but the tone. Football is a hard subject in this house. This calm moment could shift with no provocation, or at