“It’s late,” I said.
“Jackie will still be there,” he said. “He’ll let us in.”
“No, thanks,” I said. “Not tonight.”
“Suit yourself,” he said. He dropped me off at my cabin.
“It was good to see her,” I said.
“I’m glad you got the chance,” he said. And then he left.
I stood outside my cabin for a while, breathing in the cold air, looking up at the ice moon.
So now what? Before any of this happened, I had made a vow to myself, of all the things I was going to do when the springtime came. The debts I was going to repay.
I pulled my coat tight around my neck.
Where is all my anger now? Where is the fire? I just feel tired and sore and cold.
Everything hurts. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move.
It hurts to live.
The hell with it. Vinnie’s right. I think too much.
Whatever happens will happen. I’ll make things right again someday, no matter what I have to do, or where I have to go. And this man Molinov, it sounds like he may be hunting the same game. I have a feeling I’ll be running into him again.
But not tonight. Tonight I will close my eyes and feel the smoke touching my face again, the smoke of burning sage with its promise of a new day.
I need to rest. I need to heal myself.
For now, there is nothing to do but sleep under the ice moon.
