20. 20
20
Bo
T ema insists on delivering the sandwich back to Dad’s office but Hettie is already gone.
“Turkey and salami with cucumbers and spinach,” Tema tells Dad as I set the tray onto his desk. She let me carry the tray, only because she thought the king needed a glass of milk and wasn’t sure she could manage.
“Sounds delicious,” Dad says with a grin. “Now, get out of here so I can get some work done. Family dinner tonight?” he asks me. “Everyone is invited.”
I nod, already sensing Tema’s excitement. I escort Tema back up to their rooms, wanting to talk to Hettie. Needing to talk to Hettie.
But she’s not there.
“How did it go?” Abigail asks.
I’m still processing. “We’re having dinner tonight,” I manage. “Family dinner. But that includes you,” I add.
“I’m already terrified,” Abigail says with a grin as Tema dances into the room. “Back to your math sheets. We can play after lunch.”
“It’s just dinner with the family,” I tell her .
“The royal family,” she reminds me. “You forget that not everyone is used to that.”
“I guess.”
Abigail glances through the fireplace into the bedroom. “My bet is Hettie is wandering around, trying to get back here, so maybe you should go track her down.” She gives me a knowing glance. “It might be a good idea to talk a little as well.”
“That was my plan.”
“Good boy. I’ll keep the child occupied for as long as you need.”
I head for the door, pausing before I leave. “Abigail?”
“Bo?”
“Is she happy there? In Canada?”
Abigail opens her mouth as if to speak, then shuts it, pressing her lips tight together. “As much as I want to interfere, I really can’t,” she admits. “I have to leave it up to the two of you to figure it out.”
“I was hoping you’d… maybe you’d let me know…” It sounds so childish to finish the thought. “Never mind.”
“I can’t tell you if you have a shot because I don’t know if you’re ready for that shot,” Abigail says, reading my mind like our friendship hasn’t been stretched by time and distance. “And if you’re not ready, there’s no point, because it’s not just the two of you that would get hurt.” She takes a step toward me, close enough to poke her finger into my chest. “I will destroy anyone who hurts that little girl,” she hisses.
Abigail is pretty short, so I have to smile to see her threaten me.
“Do not smile, Bowden Erickson. I know where all the bodies are hidden. I remember you are afraid of zombies—”
“Zombies?” Tema calls out. “Like the Walking Dead?”
“It was a mistake to let you watch that and you promised never to mention it,” Abigail throws over her shoulder. “One time,” she says to me. “Ten minutes.”
“I have lost all respect for your parenting abilities,” I tell her with mock sadness. “How could you let her near that show?”
“Just because you can’t handle it, big boy,” she teases.
I snort and then reach out to pull Abigail into a hug. “I missed having you around,” I tell her in a gruff voice.
“Of course you did.” But the way her arms tighten around me suggests she might have missed me too. “Now go find your girl.”
My girl.
I find Hettie wandering the hall with the family pictures, from the most recent family shots of Odin’s wedding to a painting of my great-grandfather, the first king of Laandia.
From the look on her face, I can tell she has no idea how to get back to her room.
“You lost?” Her face lights up when she sees me, but then the light dies right away, like she doesn’t want to let herself be happy to see me. I’m not sure what to think about that. She asked for a divorce. There’s someone else, someone important enough to try and make a clean break with me. It will never be a clean break. Even without Tema in the picture—and she is the whole picture now—my heart has always told me that Hettie belongs to me. She has my entire heart and that won’t change regardless of our marital status.
“You’ll figure out your way around soon enough,” I tell her.
“I might not be here long enough for that.”
The thought of her leaving again makes my stomach clench, but I do my best to hide any reaction. Instead, I point to the painting of Leif Erickson. “It’s all his fault, you know.”
“What is?” She moves down the hall toward me, like we’re a set of magnets drawn to each other.
At least that’s how it is with me. Even with Hettie all the way on the west coast of Canada, I’ve always felt the pull. There’s always been a tug with a little voice constantly in my head: “ Go get her .”
I’ve managed to ignore it because I’ve been more afraid of what I’d find if I went to get her.
“He’s the one who wanted to be king,” I tell her, staring at my great-grandfather. There’s some resemblance to Dad, with the shaggy red-gold hair streaked with white, and Odin, with the serious expression. “I’ve always wondered if it would have been better if he’d left it alone.”
“Better not to have helped save Canada from Germany invading?” Hettie asks with a frown.
“Better not to have asked for a country in return.”
“I’m not sure if anyone else would think that. You look like him, you know. Different hair, but the eyes are the same.”
“He was a soldier. A warrior.”
“And you’re not?”
“I’ve never fought for anything in my life,” I admit with a sinking of my shoulders. “Including you. ”
“No. You didn’t.” Her voice is flat but not accusing.
I hate that she thinks that, but I deserve it. “How do you think it went with Dad?” I change the subject.
“He loves her.” Hettie’s expression softens like it does whenever she mentions Tema.
“I don’t think it’s that hard.”
“No. She’s amazing,” Hettie says with a mother’s pride.
“Yeah. Will you go for a walk with me?” I ask. “Outside?”
She nods, the softness changing to wariness. “I need to get my coat.”
“The one you have isn’t warm enough. You can use some of Lyra’s things.”
She follows me down to the closet on the main floor where we keep our ski and snowmobile gear, and I find her a jacket and boots. They’re a little big but much warmer than what she brought with her.
We leave through the side door. Even in March, the snow is piled in drifts but at least the paths are clear. “Odin told me a funny story of when Camille first came here,” I say as we walk around to the back of the castle.” Apparently, he found her outside whipping snowballs at this group at the gate. You remember the Odinites? The group that wanted Kalle to abdicate so Odin could be king?”
Hettie nods. “They must have been devastated when it was Odin who stepped down.”
“I don’t think anyone from the castle really cares what they think,” I say drily.
“That’s not very royal of you,” Hettie teases.
“Maybe not, but they riled up the people, and Kalle couldn’t have appreciated it. Although he wasn’t really into the king stuff until a few months ago,” I muse, leading Hettie to the back garden. It’s still covered in snow and no one has bothered to shovel the paths out here since it snowed last night, but I know the layout.
This is one of my favourite areas—how the gardens and lush green lawns disappear into the forest on one side and up to the cliff edge on the other.
I feel like I’m on top of the world out here. The only place better is on the battlements, looking out to the ocean. It’s quiet and cold up there, but it’s a great place to think when I can’t chop something.
“Did it bother Kalle?” Hettie wants to know.
“I never asked him. Probably should have. Camille was upset enough for everyone. They insulted her—and her dog, which is the very worst thing you can do to Camille. Odin said she’s got a wicked throw.”
Hettie laughs. “I think I’d like Camille.”
“I think you would, too. It’s too bad she didn’t come with Odin.”
“I can’t believe he’s married. And Kalle will be this summer. Any news about Gunnar?”
“Haven’t heard anything. Stella will make him wait, make him grow up a bit.” Talking about my brothers being married is strange like—
It shouldn’t feel so strange, since I’m married too.
For now.
Outside, it’s fresh and crisp and very cold. I breathe deep, my lungs filling with Arctic air, and Hettie hunches her shoulders. “How is Lyra?” she asks politely, burrowing hands into pockets .
“Good. I guess.” I keep in touch with my sister through infrequent texts and Instagram reels that she keeps sending me. “She’s in Chicago.”
“I’d ask what she’s been doing, but I’d rather talk about you. Tell me what you’ve been doing,” she invites.
I tamp down the feeling of awkwardness. This is Hettie.
This is Hettie . Spencer was right: it was easier when it was the four of us. It was easier to push down what I was feeling.
Or maybe I didn’t have to push it down as much when we were pretending to be friends. In all the years I’ve known her, I’ve never felt simple friendship for Hettie. It was always so much more.
“I live in Wabush,” I tell her. “I set up nature reserves in the north part of the country. But you know all that.” All that is information that can be found on the family’s Wikipedia page.
“Are you there alone?” she asks.
“The Marsdens still live next door.”
“I meant, alone? ”
I stare ahead into the trees that are fast approaching. I want nothing more than to grab my ax and make short work of the first dead maple I can find.
But no; here I am making small talk with my wife who I haven’t seen in years.
What do I tell her? What am I allowed to say? “Yeah.”
“Just…’yeah’?” There’s a note of frustration in her tone and I can’t blame her. There are things—years of things and people and places—we need to find out about, so I might as well put on my big boy pants and ge t going.
“Yeah,” I repeat. “I’m not going to tell you I’ve lived like a monk, but there’s nobody in my life. Never anyone serious since you left.”
There’s so much history between us, and now so much uncertainty, so there’s no point beating around the bush with Hettie. If I know something, I might as well tell her. And if I don’t, I’ll tell her that too.
“That sounds lonely,” she offers.
I shrug, unwilling to get into just how lonely I’ve been. I like being alone, enjoy my own company, but loneliness is a whole other beast. “Tell me about this guy.”
“You’re not wasting any time.”
“Too much time has been wasted,” I counter. “You’re here for a reason, so let’s hear about it.”
Hettie’s exhale comes out as a cloud of steam. “Timothy. He’s a real estate agent.”
I snort. I can’t help it. Hettie loved the beach, the forests like me. She was happy with animals, with books. I can’t see her with someone who spends his time pushing houses onto other people.
“He’s nice,” she protests. “He’s a good man. Decent.”
“And he wants to raise Tema?” Because as a father, I need to know that. My feelings for Hettie aside, the main issue here is Tema. What’s best for her.
It’s a shock how quickly my way of thinking has veered off to focus on her.
She’s my daughter. I should be thinking of her.
My question hangs between us. “He cares about her,” she says carefully.
That doesn’t say much. “Does he love her? ”
“Everyone loves Tema.” Hettie’s smile is full of pride, full of love, and I get that. I’ve only known about Tema for less than a day, and already it feels like my heart has expanded so that Tema could crawl inside of it.
How is that possible? I’ve never given much consideration to being a father but now it’s all I can think about. And I have a feeling that this isn’t going to change when the shock wears off. “Yeah, I—she looks like Lyra.”
“I know.” Hettie gives a rueful laugh. “We have to make sure we don’t have any magazines or anything with her picture in the house.”
“Might be tough,” I mutter, thinking how often Lyra seems to find the spotlight. She’s like Gunnar in that way—loves the attention—only Lyra’s questionable choices often land her on the tabloid covers.
Hettie glances behind us at the castle growing a little smaller with every step. “The world does love the Laandian royal family.”
“Has Abigail been with you the whole time?” I ask, as usual wanting to get off the topic of my family.
“She wouldn’t let me go on my own, and when I found out about Tema, she wouldn’t leave me. I couldn’t have done it without her.”
“I wish you didn’t have to. I wish you told me.” The sudden pain has me catching my breath.
“I’m sorry,” she says, and she sounds sincere. “I wanted to, so many times, but…”
“Why didn’t you? You find out you’re pregnant and—” A horrible thought occurs and my gut twists.
“There was no doubt that she was yours,” Hettie says firmly .
“But you still didn’t want to tell me.”
Hettie sighs. The only sounds are the crunch of snow beneath our boots, the caw of a crow in a nearby tree. “The day I found out I was pregnant, my grandfather came home with a magazine. We lived with him for the first two years, and he was a huge help, but he couldn’t understand—he thought I should have forgotten about you the moment we flew out of Laandian airspace. Clearly, he didn’t understand the concept of love much.”
“Probably hated seeing you hurting. If you were,” I add, clearly fishing for information.
And Hettie knows it. “I was,” she says softly. “And you’re defending the man who told me to get over you.” I shrug and Hettie watches me for a long moment before continuing. “He brought home the magazine because it had a picture of you. You were with a group of girls from high school. Crystal. Amy.”
“Ah.” I’m beginning to see where this is going. “You never liked them.”
“They never liked me much either. You were holding hands with Sophie Laz.”
Spencer’s youngest sister. I have a vague memory of when it was that Hettie might be talking about. “When was this?”
“About three months after I left. I told myself that the missed periods were because my body was adjusting, but when I started throwing up every day, Abigail made me take a test. It was positive. Obviously. We talked about it all night, and I was going to call you. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I planned on telling you. And then I saw the picture and you had moved on—”
“Hettie, no. That night—” I blow out my own cloud of steam. “I barely remember that night. It was Sophie Laz’s eighteenth birthday and she was at Kalle’s celebrating with some friends. Neither Kalle or Edie were there, and I was drunk. Stupid drunk. So drunk that I let Crystal and those girls do shots with me. So many shots. The rest is blurry, but I remember one of your brothers was there, and said something to me about you. I got in his face, demanded to know where you went.”
“Which brother?” she asks.
“I think it was Reggie, before he—” I cut myself off.
“Went back to jail,” she finishes coolly. “You can say it. Reggie is the second of my brothers who went to jail. My lovely, rule-abiding family.”
I’m not about to get into that with her. “Yeah, well, the girls were being stupid, and Sophie left her own party and dragged me out of there by the hand before I got into a fight. There must have been someone outside with a camera. After Mom died, there were always reporters in town taking pictures of how we were doing. Obviously, that one showed that I wasn’t doing well.”
“No.”
“I went back to Wabush after that. Nothing happened with anyone from here.” Which may imply that something happened with someone not from here. “I mean—”
“I thought…” She heaves a sigh. “I thought a lot of things.”
“Yeah. Like what?”
We walk for long minutes and I let Hattie take her time to find the right words. The castle grows smaller in the distance, and I start to breathe again.
There’s something about being here that makes everything tight. Everything harder, even breathing. I love my family, but I don’t love who we are .
I never have.
“I thought about telling you every day,” Hettie finally admits. “I’d plan out conversations with you—ones where you were mad, and others when you were happy. But it was the little voice in my head that kept telling me that you’d want Tema but not me.” Her voice catches, and if her hands weren’t stuffed in her pockets, I would take one of them in mine. “I thought if I told you about her, you’d want her to come back here, live in the castle, but you wouldn’t want me.” I stop walking, fixated by the raw vulnerability in her voice, her face. “I thought when I left, you stopped loving me. And I couldn’t take the chance of you taking away my baby.”
“I would never do that,” I vow.
“Yeah, well, you tell yourself lots of stupid things when you’re missing someone.”
“Hettie.” I fight the urge to pull her into my arms, to show her how wrong she was. “I told you before, there has never been a day go by where I didn’t want you.”
“Then why didn’t you come and get me?”