though I finally know him, and he knows me, and yet we both know absolutely nothing about each other.
After tonight, will everything return to how it was? Or have we become friends?
His eyes surprise me—Remorse? Confusion? What is going on inside that impenetrable head of his?
It feels as though we are at a precipice. Tonight will either matter, or it won’t. So why does it feel like the decision is up to neither of us?
Unsure what to say, I lower my lashes and bite my lip, trying to assemble my scrambled thoughts.
“You should know, Sophia …” Aksel’s voice is earnest and imploring, and when he says my name I flush from my face to my chest.
He looks frustrated—like he wants to say something he shouldn’t. His deep voice clings to my skin. “If things were different; if we’d met a year ago, or even six months ago, and I—”
The door opens. A bright light floods down on us.
I am swarmed. My mother reaches me first. “Sophia!” Hugging me, she ushers me into the house. “We’ve been so worried about—”
“Who are you?” my father demands, staring directly at Aksel like a hound.
Aksel doesn’t flinch. In fact, he doesn’t seem scared or intimidated. His calm, controlled demeanor reappears instantly.
“Aksel Fredricksen,” he answers, shaking my father’s hand.
“Dad,” I say, attempting to defuse any escalation, and watching Aksel out of the corner of my eye. “I went for a run up Eagle Pass near Charlotte’s house, but it started to blizzard …”
While I talk, Aksel ducks out. I am surprised how disappointed his departure makes me feel; it’s like I fell asleep in the Seychelles and woke up in Yakutsk.
My mother brushes damp hair off my face. “We’re relieved you’re home safely.”
I point at the officers. Police? We never call police. But the officers seem unconcerned—as if this happens often.
“We assumed you were with your friends, waiting out the blizzard on Main Street,” my mother explains—speaking the way we do in front of strangers. “Then an hour ago, Charlotte’s mother called, saying you hadn’t been seen since school, so she called the police.”
As my father walks the officers out, my mother asks, “You must be hungry, sweetheart. Can I make you soupe à l’oignon? Chocolat chaud?”
I shake my head. I need to be alone, to unclog my head. “No, thanks.”
My mother wraps her cardigan around my shoulders and touches a hand to my cheek. “Do you need help getting out of your wet things? Or I could draw you a hot bath?”
Her gentleness unnerves me. The point of choosing Waterford was so they wouldn’t have to worry. So I would be safe.
“Mom,” I begin, “I’m so sorry—”
“Sophia, stop.” Her voice is haunted, as if she’s known what I planned to say and has been dreading it. “Please, don’t apologize,” she whispers.
“But I should have at least left a note and—”
“I don’t care. You’re home. You’re safe. That’s what matters.”
I know what she isn’t saying, won’t say. We don’t talk about it.
I wiggle my aching toes. “Actually, a bath sounds perfect.”
After undressing and tossing my chilled clothes into the hamper, I duck into the bathroom and turn on the faucet in the porcelain claw-foot tub. I place Aksel’s sweater on top of the heat vent to dry.
Naked, I stand in front of my floor-length bathroom mirror and stare at my body. I look the same as I did this morning. My blond hair is long, sun-streaked, and tangled; my clear eyes are wide-set and blue; my face pink and flushed, with a spattering of freckles across the bridge of my nose; my limbs lean and toned.
But tonight, I feel different. Better. Stronger. Alive.
Shivering, I sit on the edge of the tub and wait for it to fill.
My father says functioning in bitter cold is an essential survival skill.
I’ve always been good at it. Aksel is better.
Aksel. His name sends little tingles across my clavicle and down my body.
Folding my arms over my chest, I slip into the porcelain tub, gasping at the heat, which burns my cold skin.
Looking across the bathroom at Aksel’s sweater, I can’t stop hearing his words in my head. What did he mean “if things were different”? Did he mean if I were different? If I weren’t so afraid? If I didn’t have so many things to hide?
I don’t know why Aksel was in Berlin, or what it means for me in Waterford.
I only know I am conflicted in a way I have never experienced. After everything that happened tonight, after