In the following days and weeks, Emily withdrew further and further from me. I made allowances for her, forgiving her because I knew she was dealing with a lot, and she had been so good to me. I didn't know how she spent her time away from me, and really, I didn't want to know. I guess deep down inside I sensed that something had changed, but I wasn't ready to admit it. Instead, I convinced myself that tolerating her withdrawal was an indication of my own recovery. I was proud of myself for being able to stand on my own two feet again, without her constant presence and comfort. In her absence, I shifted my focus on other things, like Seth. My brother and I had certainly had our share of fights and squabbles growing up, but compared to most of my friends with siblings, we had a really good relationship. I loved him, and always wanted the best for him, even then.

When my mother became pregnant with Seth, I was already four years old, and would be five by the time he was born. She worried about a daughter in kindergarten and a baby in her arms- how would we get along? Would we find the age gap too extreme to bond with one another? My mother was one of four children; the largest space between any two of them was a span of only thirteen short months. They had fought and clamoured for attention, but they had been very close too because their ages forced them to be. This was my mother's theory. A mere two children so far apart, though common to some, was almost unheard of on the Rez, and she worried for our relationship.

With this fear fresh in her mind, my mother ensured that Seth and I would have an excellent bond from the start. She took me to all her prenatal appointments, let me marvel at her growing body and sing songs into her belly button that I imagined would help my baby brother grow. When it came time for him to be born, she insisted that I be in the room. I wasn't scared, and marveled at my mother's strength as she worked so hard to bring him into the world. Finally, after many hours, my father woke me from a deep sleep and I hurried to my mother's side. There, I watched Seth emerge quietly from her body, as sly as a fox. Once he was out, he let out one short, polite cry, just so we would all know he was born, before settling down for a long nap.

I was fascinated. I held him moments after his birth, and as I took in his tiny bundle of arms and legs, I felt my heart swelling. I found myself in awe of what I had witnessed, in awe of my mother and in awe of Seth himself, so small and helpless. I immediately knew that I would protect him against anything that threatened his life or his happiness, and I have carried that sentiment to this day. Once you've seen your sibling's birth, and when you're old enough to have that memory fresh in your mind whenever you look at him, it's hard to tell him that you hate him or hurt him on purpose. Though we had our moments, overall we were very close, and I loved him more than almost anyone, even when he was at his brattiest.

I still felt guilty for yelling at him early on in my grief, but we hadn't spoken about it since. Along with my parents, Seth was left out from my world through my long battle with my own heartache, and until the night that Emily was mauled by that bear, I'd barely taken the time to really look at him or hug him. I felt guilty for that too, so once Emily's absences became more and more common, I sought him out, determined to make things right again between us.

One night, I found him in his room, sprawled on the bed reading a book I'd given him for Christmas a couple of years before. It was one of his favourites and he read it every six months or so. It was called Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, and I'd known from even the title alone that it was right up Seth's alley. He liked that kind of dry humour, and when it involved our people, even better. Seth had always been interested in our folktales and culture, and when he was a small child I could entertain him for hours telling stories about Báyaḳ, the raven trickster through which Quileute children have been traditionally taught the right and wrong ways to behave. Since then, his literary tastes had expanded, but he still enjoyed a good read more than television or even video games, a trait I admired in him.

I knocked on the doorframe, since his door was open, and he smiled over at me, setting the book down. He sat up, cross-legged, on his bed and I went to him, settling down beside him.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," he answered.

"So, listen, I wanted to talk to you," I told him.

"You don't have to," he said with that sweet smile of his. "I know you've been upset."

I wasn't surprised that he knew exactly what I'd been thinking about. I smoothed my hand over his soft dark hair. "I know," I said with a sigh. "But I should still pay more attention to you."

He shrugged and smirked a little. "Yeah, maybe." He grew a little more serious. "Are you okay, Leah?" he asked softly.

I was a little surprised at my own answer as I nodded. "Yeah… I am. It's still hard. But I feel a lot better."

"I miss him," Seth said quietly, glancing away from me. It broke my heart to see him feeling guilt for his feelings.

I touched his face, pulling him back gently to look at me. "Hey," I said softly. "I know he was like a brother to you… you have every right to be sad, too. But I know he still loves you, Seth."

"Except whenever he comes over he only wants to see Emily," Seth said, glaring at his bedspread.

"I know," I said gently.

"Why?" he asked, looking at me again, his eyes full of confusion. "I don't get it, Leah. Why did he break up with you? Why does he like Emily now instead? Why is he so weird now?"

How could I explain something to him that I didn't even understand myself? "I don't know," I said honestly. "I just… I think he's confused."

"He doesn't seem confused," Seth countered. "He seems mean."

I was at a loss of what to say. So, instead of agreeing or disagreeing, I pulled Seth into my arms and held him close to me. "You know," I said, trying, for his sake, to find the silver lining in all this for the first time since our breakup. "Sometimes things change. Even when we don't want them to. But then sometimes, those changes are for the best… and we just didn't know it until they happened."

"Do you really think that's true?" he asked doubtfully, pulling back from my embrace enough to look at me curiously.

I looked at my baby brother, not a baby anymore but still so young and inexperienced. His heart remained intact, unbroken, and he had never been let down by life. Looking into those innocent eyes, I felt a sudden, gripping, primal surge of love for him, and a profound urge to protect him against all the terrible things in the world- all the things that could hurt him worse than he could even imagine now. But I didn't want to lie to him either, so I settled on a half-truth. I told him, "I hope it is."

He smiled at me and said shyly, "I made you something…when you were still feeling bad."

"You did?" I was really touched. I watched him get off the bed and go to his closet, where he took out something small wrapped in tissue paper. He handed it to me and promptly got embarrassed, suddenly finding that tidying his bedside table was the most fascinating thing he could be doing right now. I smirked at his back and turned my attention to the little package.

Inside, obviously handmade by Seth himself, was a tiny Inukshuk, a wooden replication of the much larger stone monuments built by the Inuit people to look like men standing in the snow of northern Canada. There was a small ring in the top of it, through which he'd passed a length of leather cord. I knew the symbol, but I wasn't sure why he'd made it for me. I reached out and tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to me, his face red.

"It's beautiful, Seth," I told him, fastening it around my neck.

"It's an Inukshuk," he said softly, sitting down again and reaching out to hold it lightly in his fingers. "They're supposed to help you find your way… you know, when you get lost. So… I thought it might help you, too."

Even though I knew it would embarrass him, my eyes filled with tears and I pulled him into my arms, kissing his cheek. He groaned, making me laugh. "I love it," I told him. "You are so sweet."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, giving me a playful shove, but his smile told me he was proud of his work and happy that I liked it so much. "Now leave me alone, I was reading."

I laughed but obeyed him, letting him get back to his book. I went to my own bedroom, examining myself in the mirror. It looked good on me. It was a simple design, but surprisingly intricate when I'd had no idea Seth was interested in woodcarving. He'd even stained it a rich brown colour, to protect it from the oils of my skin and make it shine at my throat. What a great kid.

Sitting on the side of my bed, I thought about what I'd told Seth. I had wanted to make things better for him, to package up a broken heart and present it to him as something he could understand, something he could recognize and not be afraid of. I wanted him to know that life didn't have to be scary or painful, that it didn't have to be that way for him. But maybe it was true, what I'd said. Maybe sometimes changes were for the best… maybe this one could be, too. For me, and for Sam. I felt resentful as I wondered this, because it was what my father had suggested… but I hadn't been ready to hear it then. I was still devastated that Sam and I were no longer together, but I had started to wonder if maybe it was for the best. With how strangely he was acting, and how easily he had switched his attentions on my cousin, was he really the type of guy I wanted to be with?

But I knew I was only thinking wishfully. I did believe that Sam and I were meant to be together, even after all this. I still couldn't understand why he'd left me, or why he was obsessed with Emily. I wanted to make things easy for Seth by trying to paint a rosy picture of my own life, but I knew it wasn't true. Other than the occasional argument about how much I hated him stalking Emily, we'd barely spoken since our breakup. So, on a whim, I decided to go over there.

Sam's mother wasn't home when I got there; her car was missing from their driveway. I wasn't surprised, since she often worked late. But I could see Sam's own truck in the driveway as I pulled in. I parked behind it and sat there for a moment, steeling myself for what lay ahead. On the drive over I had realized that coming over here unannounced with absolutely nothing rehearsed was a recipe for disaster. But I was here now, so I decided to take a couple of minutes to think about what I wanted to say.

What did I want to say? I didn't want to fight- I knew that much. I missed him, as my boyfriend and my lover, yes, but also as my friend, as someone I could talk to. It was hard to lose someone to whom I had once told everything. I knew he no longer trusted me with his secrets, but I still thought of him as someone I could trust with my life and my heart, and losing that aspect of our relationship was almost as hard as losing the rest. Now that enough time had passed that my heart didn't feel like an open wound, I wanted to reconcile at least that part of our relationship. A few weeks ago, the idea of just being friends would have felt so inadequate, but now, I felt like maybe it was possible.

Taking a deep breath, I got out of the car and walked up the sidewalk to his house, taking my time. I knocked, but there was no answer. That threw me; I could see plainly that he was home. Unless he'd run off into the woods, he was here. Was he ignoring me? Had he seen it was my car and decided to pretend he wasn't home, to avoid me? That idea hurt, but I pushed it away… I didn't think it was true, not really. Maybe he had gone for a walk. But I doubted that, partly because I wanted so badly for him to be home. If he was home, his house was small and it was doubtful that he wouldn't have heard me knock. My face flamed with disappointment and embarrassment, but I also felt a bit of desperation. How could I make up with him, or be friends with him, if he ignored me? Did he not want even that? Did he want me completely out of his life, forever?

I was aware that I might have been overreacting. It was possible that Sam had simply gone for a walk. There were a million explanations besides him purposefully ignoring me, but I was still a little too sensitive to see them all. I went back to my car, but before I started the engine I hesitated. Leaning over to the glove compartment, I took out some note paper and a pen, and I wrote him a note. It wasn't anything profound, nothing that would solve all our problems and make us best friends overnight. I wasn't an overly wordy person, so I wrote, 'Hey, I was here but you weren't home… I hope we can talk. Will you call me? I miss you, and it doesn't hurt as badly anymore... I don't want to fight. Let's be friends. Leah.'

It was hard to write that I wanted to be friends, but I did it. For us. If I couldn't have him, really have him, then having his friendship would have to do. I folded the note into four and got out of the car again. Leaning down at his front door, I started to push it under, but then I worried about his mother finding us. There was nothing really personal in the note, but still, I didn't like the idea of her reading it, and I had no kind of envelope to seal it in. Hesitating for only a moment, I pulled my keychain out and let myself into Sam's house.

It felt strange standing there after so many moments of crossing this threshold, with Sam and, while he was missing, with his mother. But now, I stood there alone, and everything that was so familiar to me about this house seemed alien at the same time.

I went down the hall towards Sam's room, resolving to drop my note on his bedside table and leave. He would forgive the intrusion; I still felt I knew him well enough to be sure of that. His room was at the end of the hall, across from his mother's, with the small bathroom they shared tucked in between. I remembered countless showers in that bathroom, alone and with Sam if his mother was out; I remembered the way he would wash my back as we stood in the warm water, making a game out of running the washcloth over my soft brown skin, kissing my neck as he did it. I closed my eyes against the memory, turning away from the little bathroom. I didn't want to think about those moments, not when my intention was friendship. It was too painful. I had memories like that in my own house, too, though less of them, and I tried very hard to avoid them. The fact that I had a busy, oftentimes noisy family helped with that, but in Sam's empty, quiet house, it was hard to forget all the wonderful moments we'd shared. Moments that would never be again… but why? I had no idea.

Opening his door quickly, I moved through the darkness of his bedroom with the knowledge of someone who had been there hundreds of times, with and without light. I knew exactly where to put the note, and in a way I was thankful that the lights were off and the blinds were drawn, because then I wouldn't have to see the ghosts of all the happy memories we made in this room. I set down the note and stood there for a moment, breathing in the familiar scents that inhabited his bedroom.

As I focused on the room, my eyes started to adjust. At about the same time, I heard the quiet, even breathing of sleep. I didn't jump or make any kind of move that betrayed how started I was, but I did put my hand over my mouth just in case. When it was clear I wasn't going to wake him, I just stood there for a moment, holding my breath. I could see his shape now; he was laying on his side, his muscular back facing me, shirtless, the curve of his shoulder rising and falling just a little as he slept. I felt my heart soften; I had thought the worst of him, that he'd been ignoring me, avoiding me, and here he was, asleep and innocent, with no idea that I'd come here at all.

It was impossible to resist the urge to approach him. I calculated what the extent of his anger might be if I woke him, trespassing in his bedroom, and decided it was worth the risk. It had been so long since I had seen something as simple and familiar as his shoulder, his back, his soft black hair, that I longed for them. It was bearable, while I was away from him, where I could forget all the tiny features that I loved. But here, faced with them in living, breathing, detail, I felt that now familiar wound opening up in my heart again.

I just wanted to look at his face. I thought that would be enough. I wouldn't touch him, or wake him, and I knew it was extremely creepy of me, but I just wanted to see his gentle slumbering face, the only time he still looked completely like my Sam. I tiptoed to the side of the bed, but his thick carpet hid my footsteps well, and I knew he had never been a light sleeper. I had this crazy idea that if I saw his face, if I examined the hard lines of his jaw and softer curves of his cheeks as he slept, I could say goodbye to him. I could look at all the patches of skin that I would never kiss again, and come to terms with my loss. After that, we could really be friends. We could have a chance to start over, and even if it wasn't what I wanted most, it was better than nothing. Better than losing him completely. I prepared myself for the heartache that would come as I saw his sleeping face for the first time in weeks, but I also prepared myself to forgive him, to let him go, because I loved him… and, more than anything, I wanted him to be happy.

But I wasn't prepared to see Emily's face, tucked in against his cheek, his arms wrapped protectively around her. My cousin was so small compared to him that he had completely hidden her body from me, and their breath came in unison so even if I had been paying attention, I probably wouldn't have known she was there. She was naked; the blanket covered her but it was obvious- I could see her bare shoulders.

I stared at them. I stared at him holding her like he used to hold me; I stared at her happiness, which was supposed to be mine. I tried to be quiet. I tried to retreat with my heart and my dignity intact. But how can you look at something like that, and then walk, quietly and with composure, from the room where you had your first kiss, where you made love for the first time? For me, it was over. But for her, it was just beginning.

Oh, it was awful. I think I sort of tripped over the corner of his bedside table- I'm still not sure. But however it happened, I made a noise; despite my best intentions, I woke them up. Sam bolted out of bed, looking for an intruder, but Emily knew the moment she opened her eyes. She screamed when she saw me. There was so much information in that nose she made, and because I knew her as well as I knew myself, I could detect heartache, sorrow, guilt, humiliation, and resignation all at once in that one, high-pitched sound. She clutched the blanket to her chest, and there was such pain in her eyes that I felt it in my soul.

"Leah," Sam breathed, and I tore my gaze away from my cousin to look at him. Even the way he said my name now was different. In his expression I saw nothing but guilt; he couldn't even look at me. I felt suddenly so exhausted that I could barely move. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes for a long moment in which we all stood there. None of us spoke. It was a surreal feeling; we all knew each other so well, and I don't think any of us knew what to say. There was so much love in that room it threatened to choke me. Never in a million years would I have thought it was possible to know such love and such betrayal from the same people, or for both of those feelings to exist simultaneously.

I stared at Sam, but I found I had nothing to say to him. He had done this thing to me; he had forced this ending upon all of us, really. Maybe he was right- maybe I would never understand why. It seemed pointless now even to wonder. Would there ever really be an answer that would satisfy me? Even if Sam told me every secret he had, here and now, and filled in all the question marks he had scattered over my life, would it really matter? He would still be here, in bed with my cousin, and I would still feel the same.

Without a word, I turned and left the room. We could have left it at that, I thought, accepted the fact that we were not meant to be anything anymore, not even friends. I had no idea then how tightly my life was bound to his, or that I could never escape him. In truth I didn't want to. Even after what I'd just seen, I still would have taken him back if he had wanted me, but I knew now that that would never happen. Whatever demons had swallowed him during his foray into darkness had spat him back up again, forever changed. He had gone to a place where I couldn't follow, or even imagine.

But Emily. She came after me, wearing nothing but her panties and his shirt, such was her haste to catch me before I drove away. I was already to my car by the time she caught up to me, and she shivered in that outfit as she looked into my eyes, saying nothing. But she didn't have to. I knew there were no words she could give me that would change this moment, and I knew her too well to hear her excuses.

Finally, she spoke to me. She whispered, "I'm sorry." I knew she meant it, with all her heart. I felt sad for her then, and I forgave her, if only because we were both caught in this strange web of pain that Sam was weaving for us. I didn't know its source, but I knew now that it was as much out of Emily's control as it was out of mine. I let her hug me, but it was hard, and I had to push her away. Sam's scent clung to her hair, the pores of her skin, and it pained me to imagine their bodies together. Sam and I had been virgins when we'd started dating. I had known no other touch, yet I couldn't say that anymore about him. More than anything, that part of it cut me deep.

Emily stood in the driveway, barefoot and freezing, as I pulled out and drove away, tears streaming down both our faces. Even when I had turned the corner onto the adjoining street and passed out of her line of sight, I knew she would still be standing there. I understood now why she had hidden guilt in her eyes whenever she'd looked at me over the past few weeks. Since her accident, as her face had healed, her heart had seemed to grow more damaged, but I had ignored it precisely because I hadn't wanted to consider this possibility.

Even now, I resisted the urge to think about how it might have happened, what he might have said or did to finally win her over, or how they had first kissed, first touched. Those were dark imaginings that had no place in my mind right now, or probably ever. But I forgave her for it all. I could see that she was as helpless as I was- maybe more so. I felt badly for her, but I couldn't bring myself to stay and comfort her. I wanted to be angry at her for what she'd done, for the betrayal, but I couldn't. I loved her… loved them both, despite it all. Unlike Sam, I hadn't found a way to turn that off.