biggest packages. Trixie got a colored pencil set with Hello Kitty on the plastic cover. She took them out, one by one, and drew on her fingernails. If she were at home now, they'd have turned off all the lights in the house except for the ones on the Christmas tree. They'd open one present - that was the tradition - and then Trixie would go to bed and fake being asleep while her parents traipsed up and down the attic stairs with her gifts, the semblance of Santa for a girl who'd grown up years before they wanted her to. She wondered what the fake Santa at the amusement park in New Hampshire was doing tonight. Probably it was the only day of the year he got off.
After lights out, someone in the dorm started to sing “Silent Night.” It was thready at first, a reed on the wind, but then another girl joined in, and another. Trixie heard her own voice, disembodied, floating away from her like a balloon. All is calm. All is bright.
She thought she would cry her first night in juvenile jail, but it turned out she didn't have any tears left. Instead, when everyone forgot the extra verses, she listened to the eight-year-old who sobbed herself to sleep. She wondered how trees became petrified, if the same process worked with a human heart.
* * *
In the small holding cell where Laura had been for the past four hours, there was nothing soft, only cement and steel, and right angles. She'd found herself dozing off, dreaming of rain and cirrus clouds, of angel food cake and snowflakes - things that gave way the moment you touched them.
She wondered how Trixie was, where they'd sent her. She wondered if Daniel was on the other side of this thick wall, if they had come to question him as they had questioned her. When Daniel came into the room, on the heels of a policeman, Laura stood up. She pressed herself against the bars and reached out to him. He waited until the policeman left, then walked up to the bars and reached inside to Laura. “Are you okay?”
“They let you go,” she breathed.
He nodded and rested his forehead against hers.
“What about Trixie?”
“They've got her at a juvenile center down the road.” Laura let go of him. “You didn't need to cover for Trixie,” she said.
“I don't think either one of us was about to let her get sent to jail.”
“She won't be,” Laura said. “Because I'm the one who killed Jason.”
* * *
Daniel stared at her, all the breath leaving his body. “What?” She sank onto the metal bench in the cell and wiped her eyes.
“The night of the Winterfest, when Trixie disappeared, we said that I'd go home and wait there, in case she turned up. But when I headed back to my car, I saw someone on the bridge. I called out her name, and Jason turned around.”
She was crying in earnest now. “He was drunk. He said... he said that my bitch of a daughter was ruining his life. Ruining his life. He stood up and started coming toward me, and I... I got scared and pushed him away. But he lost his balance, and he went over the railing.”
Laura unconsciously brought her hand up to her ear as she spoke, and Daniel noticed that the small gold hoop earring she usually wore was gone. The blood. The red hair on the watchband. The boot prints in the snow. “It caught on his sweater. He ripped it out when he fell,” she said, following Daniel's gaze. “He was hanging on to the railing with one hand and reaching up with the other. Looking downI was so dizzy. He kept yelling for me to help. I started to reach for his hand . .. and then ...” Laura closed her eyes. “Then I let him go.”
It was no coincidence that fear could move a person to extremes, just as seamlessly as love. They were the conjoined twins of emotion: If you didn't know what was at stake to lose, you had nothing to fight for.
“I went home, and I waited for you and Trixie. I was sure the police were going to find me before you got there. I was going to tell you . . .”
“But you didn't,” Daniel said.
“I tried.”
Daniel remembered bringing Trixie home from the Winterfest, how Laura had been so shaken. Oh, Daniel, she had said. Something happened. He'd thought at the time that his wife was just as frantic about Trixie's disappearance as he had been. He thought Laura had been asking him a question when, in fact, she'd been trying to give him an answer.
She hugged her arms across her middle. “At first, they said it was a suicide, and I thought maybe I'd only dreamed it, that it hadn't happened the way I thought at all. But then Trixie ran away.”
And made herself look guilty, Daniel thought. Even to me.
“You should have told me, Laura. I could have . . .”
“Hated me.” She shook her head. “You used to stare at me like I'd hung the stars in the sky, Daniel. But after you found out about. . . you know, that I'd been with someone else ... it was different. You couldn't even look me in the eye.” When a Yup'ik Eskimo met another person, he averted his glance. It wasn't out of disrespect, but rather, the opposite. Sight was something to be conserved for the moments when you really needed it - when you were hunting, when you needed strength. It was only when you looked away from a person that you had the truest vision.
“I just wanted you to look at me like you used to,” Laura said, her voice breaking. “I just wanted it to be the way it used to be. That's why I couldn't tell you, no matter how many times I tried. I'd already been unfaithful to you. What would you have done if I'd told you I'd killed someone?”
“You didn't kill him,” Daniel said. “You didn't mean for that to happen.”
Laura shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together, as if she was afraid to speak out loud. And he understood, because he'd felt this himself: Sometimes what we wish for actually comes true. And sometimes that's the very worst thing that can happen. She buried her face in her hands. “I don't know what I meant and what I didn't. It's all mixed up. I don't even recognize myself anymore.”
Life could take on any number of shapes while you were busy fighting your own demons. But if you were
