Chapter 2: Chasing Shadows, Missing Fathers

The old Maple Heights place.

The porch steps were still chipped, right where I’d scraped my knees a hundred times. The screen door banged in the wind, just like it always did. For a second, I was a little girl again, the world wide open and full of possibility.

I was playing at the door with a little wooden sword.

It was my favorite toy, carved by Grandpa on a lazy summer afternoon. I swung it at invisible monsters, pretending to be a hero.

Suddenly, a tall, bearded man showed up. I looked up at him. “Mister, who are you looking for?”

He stood in the sunlight, shadow falling across his face. He didn’t answer, just looked at me with sad, tired eyes. I frowned, not sure if I should be scared or curious.

He didn’t answer, so I figured he was here to see Grandpa. Grown-ups always came looking for Grandpa. He was the kind of man people turned to when things went wrong.

But Grandpa was away on deployment.

I thought for a moment and told him, “Grandpa’s not home.”

The man just stood there, not saying a word. I shifted from foot to foot, glancing back at the door. Maybe he was waiting for Dad instead?

But Dad was away on duty, too.

So I told him seriously, “Daddy’s not home either.”

He crouched down, bringing his face level with mine. His eyes shimmered, red-rimmed and wet. I’d never seen a grown man cry before—not like this.

He looked so lost, so small for all his size. I didn’t know what to do, so I just stared back.

Huh...

I thought, how could such a big man cry like a baby?

This guy was really strange. I didn’t want to bother with him, so I turned to leave, but the next second he pulled me into a tight hug. Just as I was about to squirm away, I heard him sobbing.

His arms were strong, but the way he held me was desperate, as if I was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. I froze, unsure whether to push him away or hug him back.

He looked so lost, and somehow I started to feel sad too.

There was something contagious about his sorrow, something that tugged at my own heart. I found myself blinking back tears, even though I didn’t know why.

When he’d cried enough, he let me go, took out a little wooden sword from his coat, handed it to me, then walked off to his pickup truck, looking back every few steps.

The sword was rough, splintered at the hilt, but he pressed it into my hands with such care. I watched him walk away, dust swirling up behind his old Ford as he drove off. He kept glancing in the rearview mirror, like he didn’t want to leave.

Comparing the fine little sword Grandpa had made me to the rough one from Dad, I frowned—Dad’s was so crude, so ugly.

I turned the new sword over in my hands, comparing the crooked lines to Grandpa’s neat handiwork. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was warm from his pocket.

...Dad?

Suddenly, I realized—the tall man who’d just left was my Dad.

A jolt of recognition shot through me, and my heart leapt into my throat. I stared after the truck, willing it to turn around.

“Dad... Dad!”

I gripped the wooden sword and chased after his truck, but he was too fast. I tripped and fell. Someone helped me up.

The gravel bit into my knees, but I didn’t care. I scrambled to my feet, tears stinging my eyes, until a pair of hands caught me.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

It was Ethan, anxiously checking me over before sighing in relief and then teasing me: “Lila, how can you be so clumsy, tripping over nothing?”

He grinned. “You’re a mess, you know that?” But his eyes were gentle.

I forgot why I’d fallen, just snapped back, “I’m not clumsy! You’re the clumsy one!”

I stuck out my tongue, the heat of embarrassment rising in my cheeks. For a second, everything felt normal again.

As soon as I finished, Uncle Ben suddenly appeared, holding a thin maple switch, swatting it at Ethan.

He brandished it like a sheriff’s baton, voice booming: “Ethan Song, what did I tell you about roughhousing?”

Ethan yelped and dodged, Uncle Ben chased him with a stern face, and I rushed after them, shouting, “Don’t hit him, don’t hit him! I won’t call him brother anymore...”

My feet pounded the porch boards, the switch whistling through the air. We were a tangle of arms and laughter and shouts, the world spinning in the chaos of family.

But they ran so fast, they vanished in a blink.

The yard emptied out, leaving me alone. Breathless. Confused. The world felt suddenly too quiet.

I didn’t know where I was until it started to snow. The snow fell thicker and thicker, and only then did I realize—I was on Black Pine Ridge.

The wind howled through the pines, snowflakes swirling around me. My boots crunched through the drifts, and I wrapped my arms around myself, searching for a way home.

“Lila!”

Dad’s voice came from behind me. I turned and saw him, rugged and bearded, holding out a pair of flannel pants, smiling: “Come try them on—Dad made you new pants.”

His smile was wide, the kind that made his eyes crinkle. He waved the pants like a flag. I laughed—relief flooding through me.

I was just about to run over, but as I blinked, he vanished.

The world shifted, the snow dissolving into mist. My heart lurched, panic rising.

I stood lost in the snow, not knowing where he’d gone, so I chased in the direction he’d disappeared. “...Dad?”

The trees closed in, shadows stretching long and dark. My voice echoed, swallowed by the silence.

“...Dad!”

I jerked awake, gasping for air, then slowly realized I was in the new house in Silver Hollow.

The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, the scent of fresh laundry drifting in from the hall. My heart hammered in my chest as I blinked away the dream.

So, it was just a dream after all.

The room was quiet, the only sound my own shaky breathing. I pressed a hand to my chest, grounding myself in the present.

A hand reached over, gently stroking my head. I thought it was Jamie, but when I turned, I froze.

“Dad?”

For a heartbeat, I saw him—Dad, clean-shaven, wearing his old flannel, eyes full of love. He looked just like he did before everything changed.

He smiled, that familiar, lopsided grin. My heart ached with longing.

“Dad, Dad.” Tears fell instantly as I grabbed his hand, babbling about my nightmare. “I had a bad dream, I dreamed you didn’t want me anymore, you kept disappearing, and no matter how I looked, I couldn’t find you...”

I clung to him, words spilling out in a rush. The fear and sadness tumbled together, and for a moment, I was just a little girl again, desperate for comfort.

Dad said nothing, just looked at me for a moment, then let go of my hand and walked out to the porch. I hesitated, then rushed after him, hair messy, not even stopping for shoes.

I scrambled off the bed, feet cold on the hardwood, chasing the fading outline of my father.

“Dad!”

“Daddy! Wait for me!”

My voice cracked as I raced to the door, the world blurring around me.

I hurried after him, but suddenly ran into someone at the door.

My shoulder hit something solid, and I staggered back, blinking in confusion.

Oh—

Jamie had come, dressed in black for mourning. My mind cleared all at once.

His arms steadied me, worry etched on his face. The reality of the day crashed back in—Dad was gone. Only Jamie remained.

So, it was still a dream.

Dad hadn’t come back. He’d died on Black Pine Ridge.

This time, I was really awake.

The grief hit me like a wave—so strong I almost doubled over. I stumbled back inside, only to collapse at the doorway. Pain shot through me—first my head and limbs, then deep into my chest. I screamed.

The world spun, colors blurring at the edges. I clutched at my chest, the ache so fierce it stole my breath.

Jamie rushed over and held me tight, terrified.

He wrapped his arms around me, rocking me gently. His voice was a low, desperate murmur, trying to calm me, but nothing could reach me through the pain.

“It hurts so much, Jamie.” I shook with pain, curling into his arms. It was as if all the wounds Ethan had suffered were now mine.

The pain was everywhere—sharp, unrelenting. I sobbed, my body shaking, Jamie’s hands stroking my hair.

In a daze, I heard Jamie asking where it hurt.

His voice was frantic, searching for a way to help. I couldn’t find the words to answer.

Where? I didn’t know.

Did Ethan know?

I clutched my chest and wailed, “Ethan, does it hurt? Does it hurt...?”

The words tore from me, raw and desperate. I wanted Ethan to answer, to tell me how to survive this.

“Brother, does it hurt...?”

Jamie’s tears fell on my neck, and I cried even harder. Maybe only in his arms could I finally cry like a child.

He held me close, rocking me as if I were a little girl again. For the first time since Dad died, I let myself fall apart.

Outside, the sun was shining so brightly.

The world kept turning, like it didn’t care about my grief. The light filtered through the window, warm and golden—a cruel contrast to the storm inside me.

Dad once said, when the snow stopped on Black Pine Ridge, he’d take me hunting.

I remembered those promises, the plans we’d made for someday. The ache of all the things we’d never do was almost too much to bear.

“But Dad...”

The pain kept churning. I lay trembling on Jamie’s arm, full of bitterness and despair.

I pressed my face to his shoulder, tears soaking his shirt. The grief was endless, a river with no shore.

“Dad, the snow on Black Pine Ridge—it’ll never stop..."

The snow will never stop. Not ever.

Fifty-nine