Page 43 of Where We Began

“Lot of work to be done still,” he says, shading his eyes so he can squint at the sun. “Going to be a cold season. That rain is coming, I promise you.”

It's been a few days since he warned me about the storms. The trench we dug sits dry as a bone. We'd finished it on the day of my attempted escape. He hasn't asked me about any of it, though he has to know. I appreciate him avoiding the topic. It let's the preserve remain... innocent.

Thinking of the seasons, of holidays, wedges a thought in me. It sticks in my ribs like a bad meal. I have to toss it out, get it in the open, before it's too late. “Wyatt,” I say, taking a second to gather myself. “Do you know why Dominic never came home during his school breaks?”

“My guess is his mother didn't want him here.” He drags the garbage to the entrance, gets a new bucket and fills it with food pellets—honey-soaked ones the deer love. “That woman has never been good at hiding her dislike for her own son.”

I've seen the wretched looks he's talking about. “I don't get how a mom can be that way. Even if she doesn't want him here, what about his dad? Silas must have some say.”

Wyatt hesitates and dusts his gloves on his smock. “I don't know all the ins and outs, Laiken. Sometimes the answer is as simple as it seems.”

A pang of anger makes my core clench. “It's awful, the way she treats him.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, hoisting the bucket. “Or maybe she sensed he wasn't worth loving.”

That freezes me in my tracks. “What do you mean?”

Wyatt's face contorts; he shoots a nervous look around the preserve, then at me. Whatever he sees in my eyes makes him turn away so he can avoid looking at me. “It's not my place to talk about. Forget I said anything.”

“I can't forget, Wyatt! That's impossible.” I chase after him through the trees. “Dominic can be rough, and I'll admit he's turned into kind of a scary asshole, but to say he's not worth loving by his own mom is just... it's unfair.”

The older man strides through the preserve. He grunts as we cross over fallen branches, ducking thorns that raise up to assault us. I let him keep his silence as we move towards the feeding area. It's a habit; I always hope to see the deer, and you can't if you're noisy.

After we fill the grooves in the wooden troughs with pellets, we back away, lingering in the brush. The air vibrates around us—birds chirp, squirrels rustle high above. No deer come, and following Wyatt's cue, we back away towards the entrance.

We're almost to the gate when he finally speaks again. His tone is strained, thick with unease. “I can't say why she treated him poorly before he left. That's on her. But if my son had done what he did last year?” He frowns then throws the bucket into the tool shed harder than he needs to. “I would never welcome him back into my home.”

“What did he do?” I ask, terrified to learn—needing to know.

“Because you're forced to stay here, you're better off not knowing. But my advice?” Wyatt curls his callused hands at his sides. There's a mixture of disdain in his glistening, shrunken pupils, but beyond that, I see the shadow of terror. “Stay as far away from that man as you possibly can.”

- Chapter 18 -

Laiken

Gold. Silver. Crystal. The choices that Mellie, the party coordinator, keeps bringing me are staggering. After hours spent selecting cutlery and ribbons for the backs of chairs, I think about choking myself with the curly satin strings.

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