Dinner was nice.

Especially in comparison with the many (many) times I'd been forced to take a meal in a new place, not always expecting it, and the stress it usually came with—this was basically a seamless transition.

I didn't feel that the meal was…lacking. For being an allegedly foreign setting with…I dunno. Dishes in different places, or new, unfamiliar pans.

(I mean, I can cook, but if you gave me a different stove, a different pan—even a different brand of butter could wreak havoc on the way I made fried eggs, for example.)

Magda talked about how…differently the cabin had been cleaned and prepped for our arrival—just little things, like I'd been thinking—the settings on the dishwasher, the placement of the butter dish in the refrigerator, the new smells of chemicals she didn't usually use—She mentioned a bout of "fixing" the kitchen tomorrow, sneakily guiding the conversation to what we were all going to be doing tomorrow.

Will cottoned on, though his "nonchalant" acting was awful. He talked about doing "mapping," which required him to unearth his cane. He mentioned not usually needing the cane, since he had Pilot, who, for the most part, worked much better than a cane—a cane could warn him of a curb, for example, but Pilot could tell when he made a wrong turn, and save him potential hours of backtracking and counting steps—but mapping would be easier with just his cane, since Pilot would need to be trained to figure out which rooms were important, and Will didn't know that, yet.

Adrian just said something mysterious about how he was waiting for a package to arrive that he'd ordered—so that we would be able to "do more than build snow-people." And that was all he'd say on the subject, despite us asking for hints.

I mentioned doing some exploring, and I asked how long we would be in the area.

"You hate it, don't you?" Adrian said immediately when I asked.

I rolled my eyes. "This is literally the best, Adrian, shut up and let me live out my childhood fantasies of a winter wonderland," I said bluntly, and Will choked back a laugh with a badly-disguised cough.

"No, I was, um, talking with my sisters. I wondered if I sent them a card, or a letter, or something, if they'd even have time to write back. I mean. Not that Sarah would. But. You know. Emma might," I said carefully. Adrian had been so weird about taking my every comment as, like, a dig at him, or something.

"You talk with your sisters?" Magda said, and she…sounded so happy. "They're fine, yes? They miss you?"

I smiled. "Yeah, they do. I…didn't think they would. We haven't…been close. Recently. Emma's…five years older than me? And Sarah's two years older than that. Sarah moved out when she was eighteen—I was eleven—and Emma left the year after. So. We grew up together, but. I wasn't as close to them as they were to each other. They wanted me to call them again before bed, actually."

Magda…had tears in her eyes. "That's good. That's nice. Adrian, isn't that nice?"

Adrian looked as taken aback as I did—It's not that Magda never showed emotion, or anything, but…this was a little…extreme. For her.

I remembered, then, a conversation, almost in passing, where Adrian had mentioned making his dad give Magda a bonus for Christmas, to send to her family.

Magda…was estranged from her family. And…not in the same way I had been.

Magda wanted to be with her family, but with her current situation….it wasn't possible, I guess. That…was so sad.

"You call them, Lindy. You take all the time you need. Talk with your family. We'll clean up. Will? Adrian? Yes?"

"I'll just…grab her the phone," Adrian said weakly, and I drained the last of my water before Magda basically took the dishes from my hands.

"I'll…rinse. I'm not going anywhere near your dishwasher," Will deadpanned, standing up in his deliberate way, pushing in his chair, orienting himself to his space, and taking measured steps to the kitchen, Pilot guiding him through the unfamiliar territory.

"Will you…be okay?" Adrian asked, coming back to the table, carrying the phone.

I shrugged. "I…don't know. But I'm not…scared. To call them again."

Adrian didn't seem relieved. "You…were, though. Weren't you? Before?"

I nodded.

Adrian didn't emote as well, when it wasn't…like…berserker rage. (Berserker rage maybe just…suited his animalistic face beter?) But I could tell that he was worried, because I knew him.

"Maybe…come check on me? In a few minutes?" I asked. And it wasn't just to make him feel better. It was for me, too.

Maybe now that we'd had our reunion, some uglier things would come out.

(Maybe my buried resentment would finally bubble up and I'd say something without thinking.)

(Who was I kidding, maybe Sarah would say something stupid and provocative.)

When Adrian made to leave—go to the kitchen, to help them clean up—I said, suddenly, without thinking, "Stay. With me. Please? While…while I call?"

Adrian nodded, and guided me to what seemed to be an office space, with a very expensive-looking leather chair and a nice desk.

But it also had a fireplace. And a window nook.

With the flick of a switch, the fireplace churned to life, and Adrian had pulled a blanket from somewhere and gestured to the cushioned seat in the nook, indicating I sit first.

I let myself have visions of curling up, here. Of exploring the bookshelf behind the desk for a book to read, though this was very much an 'Adrian's Dad'-coded place, and I'd likely find lots of business-y books written by Steve Jobs, or something.

Then, I sat down, waited for Adrian to sit by me, and I dialed the number I'd memorized when I was twelve—the number Emma had drilled into my head before she went away for the weekend one day in March, and never came back.

I had barely registered any kind of dial tone when the line picked up. "Lindy?"

"Hey, yeah, it's me," I said, and Adrian busied himself arranging the blanket he'd found around our laps, and then letting me lean against him like he was a pillow at my side.

Much nicer than leaning against a sturdy probablyoak bedframe.

"Okay. Can…can you put Sarah on, too, again?" Emma's voice sounded…weird.

"Okay," I said hesitantly. Then, "Oh my God, did you find him? Is he—he's d-dead?" I sat up, away from Adrian, heart beating faster.

"No, just…um. We don't want you on speaker," Emma muttered.

I nodded, though she couldn't see me. "Oh. Oh. All right. Yeah. Okay," I replied, and I repeated the same steps Emma had talked me through before, and then we were all on the line.

Adrian leaned forward, questioningly, and I slowly nodded, relaxing back into him. My head was just below his shoulder, and I felt his warmth, like a furnace.

"Lindy? You there?"

It was Sarah's voice. And…she sounded…weird, too.

"What…happened? You guys? Are…are you okay? What did…what did you find out?" I asked slowly—hesitantly, like I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

Because suddenly…I kind of…didn't.

I was scared to death of what they'd say, of what it was that had gotten them…spooked.

"We're okay," Sarah said, after a pause.

It was kind of obvious they were…together. Like. They were having a conversation about how to tell me something.

"What's going on?" I asked then, and my voice went…harder.

They wanted to talk about me when I was right here, like I didn't matter, like I was some child they were protecting with their carefully-chosen words, and it made me so mad—

"Okay, I'll do it, Jesus. Um. So, we found. Um. Not Daniel. We found H-Hob. And he. Um. He said…some really fucked-up shit. So. We're…kinda done. For tonight. Um," Sarah said, in her blustering, non-censored way—her hesitations were, I think, due to her trying to stay…calm? Rather than her choosing her words carefully.

I heard a muffled, Emma-like voice, like she was saying something to Sarah and trying to make sure I didn't hear.

I had gone suddenly cold, at the mention of Hob's name, and it was…suddenly obvious, what they'd discovered, and I…didn't think I could breathe.

Then I felt Adrian's arm around my shoulder. Like…he was bracing me. Holding me up.

I leaned into him; the way we were sitting, Adrian's back was fully to the window, and mine should have been, too, since the little window nook was rounded. But only half of my back was to the window, because I had started shifting greedily into Adrian's space because he was warm. And now he'd wrapped an arm around me, pulling me even closer, and I reached across him, wordlessly, fingers wiggling, until he obediently took my left hand—the hand not holding the phone—in his.

"No. Emma. No. Okay. Linds. Um. Did…did he ever—Hob, I mean, Jesus, not Dad—Daniel—um. Because he said something—"

"Yes," I interrupted. Because I'd already seen where this was going. And if I was going to have this conversation, I was ready. I wasn't going to dance around it.

"No, you didn't let me—Linds. No. Okay? You didn't let me finish the question, what do you mean 'Yes?'" Sarah came back immediately, and she…she sounded like she was trying not to cry.

"You were talking to Hob," I said, and my voice was still even. My heartbeat was going fast and hard. "I…I know the kinds of things he says."

"He said—he said you. And him. That. That you. Um. Had done. Like. Sex stuff," Sarah said, and she'd started loud, and gone soft. And censored herself. Were they back on the train? Were there kids around?

"I doubt he said it like that," I said flatly. "How…how did it…come up?"

"I had Gerry all up close and personal, so he thought that meant he could hit on Emma instead," Sarah said, and she sounded…pissed.

"He wasn't telling us where Dad was," Emma explained softly. Calmly. "But he wasn't just not talking. He remembered me. I guess he remembered…propositioning me. Before."

"Wait, what? Em, why didn't you let Gerry kill him?"

"Because I'm your alibi, and I don't know if I could get you off accessory to murder, I haven't gotten my license yet, and I'm also studying patents," Emma snapped.

"He said it like a zinger, Linds. Because we were leaving. We didn't wanna listen to him offering her drugs for the pleasure of riding his dick," Sarah said angrily. "'Oh, don't be like that. We'd have a great time. Ask your sister.' And Ger asked him what he meant by that. And he just went off. 'She's a redhead. I like redheads. Like them right here. Like to hold red hair in my hands, while a hot little mouth sucks me dry. Y'know?'"

My hands went nerveless. I…I dropped the phone, I think, and I felt Adrian behind me, picking it up.

He said something, maybe, and I'd thought I couldn't breathe before, when I realized they knew—when I realized Hob had been the one to tell them.

But…this was worse.

I'd prepared myself to have this conversation. I had my support, I had my distance, I had my safety.

No way in hell was I prepared for Hob's take on it. His words, talking about something…he remembered in fondness. In. God. In pleasure.

The same thing I remembered in cold terror and shame.

It. It wasn't something I'd…thought about. In that light.

It wasn't. I. I didn't think about it…at all.

The. The fact that he…he'd gotten…what he wanted. That night. And. And never given a second thought to. To what it had done to me.

(No one had asked. No one had cared. No one had noticed. Not until that night on Halloween. A few months ago. When Adrian had.)

(Sarah had left. Then Emma had left. And then…it was just me. And Dad. And Hob.)

What was it? That Emma had said?

They…hadn't known? Just how bad Dad had gotten.

Well. That might very well have been true. But…I had to strain my memory to remember a time when Dad…wasn't this bad.

All I remembered from when Sarah left, was that she and Dad had always been shouting. And…I maybe remembered them, like, actually fighting.

And. If. If you had a physical fight with Sarah, she…she fought back. It was who she was.

And Emma…she had been…consumed. With school. Like. And it made sense. We had all be so surprised and proud when she actually got into Yale. She said something about meeting someone at school, and I think she'd even taken me and Sarah out to meet him, at one point.

And she…would stay longer, at school, because she could always crash with Liam.

Then…she just came home weekends.

Then she just…stopped coming home.

How had she said that part?

It…seemed easier.

("I'll make it nice. You'll like it. You know you will. It won't even tickle. It'll be so easy, you just let me worry about where things go.")

It probably had been.

Easier for everyone.

Adrian was looking at me, worried—the phone was in his hand, but he wasn't talking on it, though I could tell from the muted sounds vaguely coming from it, that my sisters were still on the line.

"Lindy?" He said clearly, and my deep bout of forced introspection had…maybe lasted a minute.

(Because I knew Adrian, and he would have called Magda and Will and an ambulance, if I'd been non-responsive longer than that. He loved me, and if it meant the paramedics would see him, then the paramedics would see him, nothing was worth my health and safety. He had made that very clear.)

I had the support. I had the distance. I was safe, here.

I held out my hand wordlessly for the phone, and Adrian hesitated, but gave it over.

"I'm gonna go," I said simply, without preamble, not waiting for them to interject or say anything. "I…can't talk about this with you guys right now. But I'll keep in touch, okay? Bye."

And I hung up. And I gently put the phone down on the bench.

"Lindy…what's wrong?" Adrian asked. "What…did they say? Are…are you okay?"

And because I'd just had to be very strong, and because I'd just had to re-live key moments of the most awful thing that had ever happened to me, and because Adrian was safe, I was able to shake my head.

"No. I—I'm not."

Then I melted into sudden, hysterical tears, against Adrian's chest.

And Adrian wrapped me in a hug, in a baffled sort of way. And he just let me cry it out.