Cherry
Alaska, 2024
felt her breath freezing in her lungs, her blood stalling in her veins.
Her hands were, somehow, in the air.
It seemed as though she’d put them there without even being asked.
“Get off my property,”
the woman said.
Her voice was low and angry and instantly familiar, recognizable in a way felt in her bones.
“Right now.”
was simultaneously terrified and unsurprised.
Maybe because Fran had put the idea of guns in her head, she’d almost been expecting this.
In that moment, she found that terror gave her thoughts an unexpected clarity.
All the chatter that normally rattled around in her brain, the to-do lists and lyrics and random daydreams and recurring grudges, all of that had gone quiet.
Her heart must have started beating again, because she could hear it thrumming loudly in her ears.
She licked her lips.
“Are you going to shoot me?”
Instead of answering, the woman did something to the gun that made a loud and ominous click.
“Sixty seconds.”
“Please,”
said.
“I just want to talk.”
“That’s fifty seconds.”
The gun barrel was steady.
“Look, if I could just—”
“Forty-five.”
made herself breathe.
She moved backward, one hand on the railing, trying to descend the stairs and look harmless, all without taking her eyes off the woman’s shadowed face.
“Turn around,”
the woman said, sounding—was imagining it?—the tiniest bit amused.
“The last thing I need is you breaking your neck.”
For a brief, wild moment, thought about falling, accidentally on purpose.
She imagined letting go of the railing, allowing herself to drop backward onto the snow, and the frozen ground beneath it.
She could twist an ankle, break a leg.
Then Cassie would have to put up with her, at least until an ambulance arrived.
She didn’t fall.
Instead, she stopped filming and put her phone in her pocket, holding still, trying not to shake.
At least, not visibly.
“Thirty seconds,”
said Cassie Griffin.
The small dog, the source of the yipping had heard, had come out of the house to stand at Cassie’s knee.
It had white fur with reddish spots, pointed ears and big, dark eyes, and it was looking at her, wagging its tail, like it wanted nothing more than to run down the stairs and be petted by this exciting new person.
Its appearance served to somewhat diminish ’s terror.
At least there’ll be a witness if she shoots me, thought, a little wildly.
“I’m your niece,” she said.
Cassie frowned.
She was still holding the gun, but could feel her scrutiny as she studied ’s face.
tried to stand up straight, core tight, shoulders back.
“My name is Rohrbach.
Grossberg Rohrbach.
I’m Zoe’s daughter.”
Cassie didn’t move.
She didn’t speak.
But saw the information register.
The gun barrel wavered the tiniest bit, like her hands had gone briefly slack.
“You’re lying.”
Cassie’s voice sounded breathy.
“I’m not.”
“You need to go.”
Cassie’s voice was stronger, steadier, only marginally less angry, but lived in the world of sound.
She could hear the difference, as small as it was, and she could see the hungry way the woman was looking at her, like she was trying to commit each of ’s features to memory.
“It’s true.”
With one sweaty, shaky hand, reached into her back pocket, where she’d shoved her phone.
“I’ve got pictures.”
Slowly, Cassie lowered the gun to her side, beckoning with her free hand.
’s fingers were trembly, and it took her a few tries to open the correct app, but once she had, it didn’t take long to find the picture she wanted.
It was a shot from the apartment in Bella Vista, at ’s fifth birthday party.
Zoe had baked a cake, and had made a construction-paper crown at school, each spike tipped with gold glitter, and they were posing together, smiling in the sun.
She realized she probably should have shown Cassie a photograph of a more recent mother-daughter moment, except there weren’t a lot where she and Zoe were both in the frame, looking happy.
handed the phone over.
Cassie studied it for a long moment.
“How old are you?”
she asked, in a low, gruff voice.
“Eighteen.”
“When were you born?”
Weird question, but whatever.
Maybe Cassie was into astrology. “May.”
“No,”
Cassie said shortly.
“What year?”
“2005,”
said, a little impatiently.
Did Cassie not know any of this? Was that possible?
It seemed as though it was.
Cassie was still staring down at the picture.
Eventually, she looked up and went back to scrutinizing , staring at her eyes, her mouth, her face, possibly comparing what she saw to some checklist in her brain.
found that she was doing the same, looking at her aunt’s face, her hands, her posture, checking them for similarities to her mother, to herself.
“Where do you live?”
Cassie asked.
“New Jersey,”
said, even though she’d been trying to stop thinking of her mother and stepfather’s house as home.
“With my mom.”
“New Jersey,”
Cassie repeated.
Her voice had gotten faint again, and was getting cold.
It was still dark, at almost noon, which was ridiculous, but this weather was like nothing she’d ever felt or even imagined.
It was a hopeless kind of cold; a cold without the possibility of warmth; a cold that told you spring was never coming and summer was a lie you’d told yourself.
“Yeah.
My mom’s remarried.
She has two other kids.
Noah and Schuyler.
My half brothers.
Your nephews.
I’ve got pictures, if you want to see them.”
“Remarried.”
Cassie sounded gobsmacked, which was one of ’s absolute favorite words.
She’d been trying, for years, to put it in a song.
“And she lives in New Jersey?”
wasn’t sure why her aunt had seized on that detail as being especially relevant, but she could work with it.
“Haddonfield, New Jersey.
Right over the Ben Franklin.
She’s on the PTA.”
Cassie made a brief, startled noise—huh! , meanwhile, had started to shiver.
“Can I come in?”
she asked.
It was rude, but she was past caring.
“It’s, like, fucking freezing out here.”
“Well.”
Cassie’s voice was very dry.
“It is Alaska.”
She fiddled with the gun, holding it loosely by her side, continuing to examine .
After what felt like forever, Cassie turned sideways, and opened the door, waiting as walked inside.