Chapter Twenty-Three
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“I was outside during the storm,” Carson says, even before we get our boots off. “I snuck out. That’s why I didn’t say anything earlier.” He pauses. “If I had information that was definitely useful, I’d have come forward. But since it didn’t seem useful, there was no point getting in trouble.”
I lead him to the chairs, and we both sit.
He continues, “I’m still not sure it’s useful, but I feel like I need to say something, and if I catch shit, then I catch shit.”
“While I can’t guarantee your mother won’t find out,” I say, “I see no reason at this point to tell her.”
“But if it leads to an arrest, I’d need to testify.”
He speaks calmly, but his face is taut with tension. Yes, of course. He’s in Haven’s Rock because his parents were eyewitnesses to a murder. His father died because of it.
“Absolutely not,” I say. “I will never reveal anything you said to anyone here. If we believe someone committed a crime like murder, they’d be taken home. Any punishment would happen there, and that’s where they’d get the chance to defend themselves, but no one up here would be involved—or even could be involved, for privacy. Our only concern is the danger people pose to other residents. Once they’re gone, they aren’t our problem.”
“Okay, that makes sense.” He toys with the seam on his jeans. “I guess me worrying about making Mom mad seems like a very small thing, considering what happened to Lynn. I wouldn’t keep quiet just to avoid getting in trouble. But Mom… She has nightmares about Max going missing, and if I admitted I slipped out during a storm… She doesn’t need that.”
And she definitely doesn’t need to learn that her son may have been eyewitness to an abduction leading to murder. The echoes to her own past will mean—between that and memories of Max’s disappearance—she might never sleep again.
“Whatever information you have, I will do what I can to avoid telling your mother. Teens sneaking out is just…” I shrug. “Part of being a teen. But after Max’s kidnapping, it’s different for her.”
“I really would have come forward sooner if I thought what I saw was helpful.”
I want to hug him for that. In spite of what happened to his parents, he still wanted to do the right thing. That takes unbelievable courage. Of course, the last thing he wants is a hug, so I settle for an encouraging smile.
He continues, “It was during the whiteout. Max was playing on the Switch, and Mom was napping. I got bored, and I was looking at the storm and wondering what it was like to be out there. We’ve mostly lived in places that don’t have snow. Sheriff Eric gave us that talk about blizzards and whiteouts and snow blindness, but it sounded weird. The idea that you couldn’t actually see anything. It’s just snow. I wanted to see what it was like.”
He looks at me. “I was very careful because I knew if I even got a little lost, Mom would have a heart attack. I put on my winter stuff in the hall and slipped out. I just walked around the building, while keeping one hand on it.”
“Good,” I say. “Because you really can get lost out there.”
“Yeah, I saw that. The wind was whipping the snow around, and at one point, I couldn’t even see the building. If I wasn’t touching it, I’d have been screwed. But then, the wind died down for a second, and there was someone there. Like maybe fifteen feet away. Two people walking.”
“Did they see you?”
“Nah, they had their backs to me. They were heading the other way. Then the wind came up again, and I couldn’t see them. I didn’t think much of it. Just people getting home in the storm. But then I heard someone say Lynn had been spotted with a guy, and I started wondering whether that’s who I’d seen. Except, even if it was, you already had that information, and I couldn’t add anything. I just saw two figures, one a lot bigger than the other, like a man and a woman. He seemed to be holding her arm, but not restraining her or anything. Just helping her along.”
“What can you tell me about them?”
He shrugs. “Nothing, really. Just that it was two people that I automatically thought were a man and woman. Wearing the usual stuff we all do. I didn’t take a good look.”
“Lynn wears a very distinctive scarf. Did you see that?”
He shakes his head. “Whoever it was, she had her back to me.”
I hesitate. “So you didn’t see her scarf tied around her neck?”
Now he’s frowning. “She wears it inside, like most of us. Which I know because I mistook her for Mom once, which was really awkward.”
“Were you behind your residence or beside it?”
“Around back.”
“And they were heading where exactly?”
“I was coming around clockwise, and they were up ahead of me. I figured they were going to the residence next to ours.”
Which they might have been. Two people in the storm, unrelated to Lynn’s disappearance, just heading home, as he figured. Otherwise…
I need to give this more thought. For now, though, I thank Carson and send him on his way, and then it’s time for me to go.
Talking in a plane is never easy. A small plane means there’s little chance of speaking without our headsets, but even with those, it’s too much effort for a conversation. With Dalton being the pilot, I’m never keen to divert his focus at the best of times, and this isn’t the best of times.
While it’s an easy takeoff and the cloud cover is well overhead, he’s focused on distant dark clouds. Very distant and not very dark, meaning any bad weather is far enough off.
Storm is in the back, having been trained to stay there so she doesn’t interfere with the pilot. I glance back at her. She’s an experienced flier, but not necessarily a happy one. I offer her a smile, and then I let myself fall into my thoughts. While I’m technically the copilot, this small plane doesn’t need that. I was in the process of learning to fly when morning sickness derailed me. I’ll still get my license—it’d be good to have another pilot, besides Dalton and Phil. For now, Dalton will let me know if he needs my eyes.
I’m deep in my thoughts when I see his lips moving. I check my headset. It’s on. I just can’t hear him, which means—coupled with the fact that he isn’t looking my way—that he’s talking to someone on the radio.
I look out the window. Snow, trees, more snow. It’s gorgeous landscape, particularly after the storm, but there’s nothing to see except that landscape, no sign of civilization in sight. Mountains. Frozen lakes. Endless green conifers. Anything that looks like a road is just a creek or river.
I peer at the sky. It’s dark to the southwest, which is where we’re flying, but it’s clear here. I glance at Dalton. He’s still talking, but I can see his expression now. It’s grim, a little angry, his lips forming curt, clipped words. He nods, as if pushing back his annoyance. He says something more and then hits a button to end the transmission.
Then he hits another to open the communication between us.
“Got a problem,” he says. “Cloud cover’s dropping in Whitehorse. Storm’s blowing in. They’re suggesting we redirect to Dawson.” A pause, at least five seconds long. Then a quick glance my way. “What do you want to do?”
“Divert to Dawson City or push on to Whitehorse?”
He shakes his head, attention back on the cockpit window. “I wouldn’t take the risk of pushing on. I mean head to Dawson or turn back?”
I consider that. Dawson City is the second-biggest urban center in the Yukon. Except, at barely over a thousand people, “urban center” is pushing it. Yet it has a regional health facility. Even then, it’s not as if I’m in imminent danger of having this baby tonight. We’re looking at a day or two at most in Dawson, and then pushing on to Whitehorse to resume the plan.
“Dawson’s good,” I say.
He nods, and it’s a little abrupt.
I lean to see his face. “That’s not your choice.”
“No, it is. I just…”
He trails off and refocuses on flying. I let him do that and wait to see whether more is coming. When it’s not, I decide to table the conversation until he’s not at the controls of a plane. If he had concerns about landing in Dawson, he’d say so. I’m guessing he’s just annoyed about not being able to get to Whitehorse today. He’ll feel a lot better once I’m minutes from a hospital.
He switches to the outgoing radio to make plans with the Dawson City airport. We deal with them a lot, and he knows most of the people who work there. I let myself drift into my thoughts as the plane takes a slight turn west.
It’s about thirty minutes later when I’m roused from my thoughts by Dalton shifting in his seat. There’s a crackle in the air, as if I can sense his annoyance again, and I glance over to see him back on the radio. I frown. We should be getting close to Dawson. Is there a…?
I see the problem. Right outside the windshield.
We’ve started our descent, and we’re flying straight into a snowstorm.
I glance at Dalton but push down the urge to signal him. Do not pester the pilot. He’s on the radio, presumably with the Dawson City airport.
I turn my attention back to the windows, and my stomach does a little flip as the snow rushes at us.
“I’ve got this,” Dalton says, his sudden voice making me jump.
I look over. He reaches to squeeze my leg before taking the yoke again. His gaze never leaves the front window.
“It’s just a little squall,” he says. “I can fly us down. Helps that we have a better plane now.”
I force a smile at that, even though he can’t see it. The bush plane we had in Rockton was fine but old, and this is an upgrade, with the latest tech. Courtesy of émilie, of course. It’s not her fancy Cessna TTx—that would draw too much attention. But it’s a solid and modern aircraft, and a “little squall” isn’t going to stop Dalton from being able to land.
“I’m just pissed off at myself,” he says. He flips a switch and checks a screen. “We shouldn’t have left. You didn’t want to. You didn’t need to. This was on me.”
“No, Eric, it wasn’t. April agreed—”
“April agreed for my sake. Because I’m freaking out at the chance of losing you. I just never… I never really understood the risks, and I know no pregnancy is risk-free, and maybe I’d still be freaking out if we were living in Vancouver and you didn’t have any prior issues but… I let my fucking insecurities take over when we should have stayed in town.”
“You’ve got this,” I say.
He flips another switch. “The landing? Yeah. I’ve got that. What I don’t have is my damn shit together and the fucking common sense not to make things worse because I’m panicking over getting you someplace safe.”
I reach over and touch his leg. “Leaving was the right choice. Will said if something went wrong with the pregnancy and I hadn’t left, I’d never forgive myself, even if leaving wouldn’t have helped. He’s right. I wanted to stay. I needed to leave. We made the right call.”
“Now land the damn plane?”
“Please.”
The window shows nothing but driving snow, and I’m really trying not to worry about that. If I squint, I can see treetops below. Dalton’s back on the radio, and he’s switched it so I can listen in. I appreciate that. I keep quiet, and I listen as the air traffic controller helps guide us in.
Landing in a snowstorm introduces the triple threat of poor visibility, high winds, and an icy runway. It helps that this is a northern airport, where runways can be icy for most of the year. It also helps that Dalton is a northern pilot—even when the skies are clear when he takes off, he might be landing in a flurry. That doesn’t mean this is easy or that there aren’t a few times when I close my eyes and wrap my hands around my belly, as if that will help. But in the end, it’s as perfect a touchdown as we could hope for.
The plane idles on the runway. The air traffic controller gives final instructions, telling us to take our time. We’re parked, and there’s no one else coming in behind us.
Catch our breath, she means. Take a moment and just breathe.
We’re doing that when Dalton blurts, “I don’t want to do this again, Casey.”
I’m silent for a moment. Then I say, carefully, “I’m guessing you don’t mean flying in a snowstorm.”
“Fuck.” He presses his hands to his face and rocks forward. “I’m sorry. This is not the time.”
“No.” I twist to lay my hand on his arm. “Say what you need to say, Eric. You don’t want more kids.”
“I… I don’t know about that. Maybe? Maybe not? I just mean, if we did want more, I don’t want to do this again. I’d rather adopt or foster or… something else.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want to play Russian roulette with birth control again. I want to make sure. I want to have a—” He takes a deep breath. “Fuck. This really isn’t the time. I’m sorry.”
“No, I get it.”
He looks over, his gray eyes cloudy. “You get that you married a selfish asshole with serious abandonment issues who melts down over a pregnancy?”
I inch over to hug him as best I can in the cockpit. “No, I get that you don’t want me to die, which is a good thing.”
He gives a tight laugh. “Better than the alternative?”
“Much better.” I hug him again. “Seriously, though. Remember how I said, if anything went wrong and there was a choice between saving me or the baby, I want you to make that decision? That’s the way they used to do it. The husband decided. I heard stories of men who chose the baby and…”
My chest clenches. “I gave you that choice for two reasons. One, because I don’t trust myself not to choose the baby. Two, because I trust you to choose me. I cannot imagine those husbands who let their wives die to save their newborn child. If you don’t want me doing this again because you’re afraid of losing me, then we don’t do it again. We’ll have one child—which, honestly, might be more than enough—or we’ll come up with other solutions. Okay?”
He lifts me out of my seat and pulls me onto his lap and answers with a long hug.