Page 73 of Ice Princess

When I’m done, I turn off all the lights, set the alarm in the store, and return to the farm.

My first task is prying off the old, mildewed boards nailed into the tree trunk. I replace them with the wood I cut in my uncle’s workshop.

Next, I fix the door of the treehouse until it swings open and shut like a dream.

After that, I get to work hacking through the overgrown roof and shaping the canopy.

My phone buzzes what feels like minutes later. I pull it out of my pocket and flinch when I see the time.

It’s three a.m.

My phone keeps buzzing and mom’s picture fills the screen. I cut off the hacksaw, wipe the sweat from my brow and let the phone go to voicemail.

A moment later, the device chirps with a deluge of new messages.

MOM:Where are you?

MOM:Why aren’t you home?

MOM:At least let me know you’re alive, Gunner.

MOM:Even if you’re mad, you shouldn’t sleep outside.

MOM:Come home.

ME:Don’t worry. I’m fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

My phone rings again.

I keep working.

The light of dawn touches the horizon by the time I finish fixing up the treehouse. As a soft blueish-purple hue takes over the sky, I run the broom over the balcony, sending tree leaves, bugs, worms, and decades of moss skittering.

Every bone in my body aches and I’m pretty sure there are new callouses over my old callouses.

But it’s done.

I lean the broom against the railing and step back, admiring my work. I wiped or sanded down every wooden surface until it glistens. The canopy’s been pruned back, leaving one half as a natural roof and the other side free of foliage. The porch has been swept and tidied.

But something’s missing.

I scramble down to the ground and make a break for the daisy field. Grabbing a few of the wildflowers, I tuck them together and hold them carefully in my arms as I crawl back up to the treehouse.

Setting the bundle on the roughly hewn window, I step back and assess. The flowers add much-needed color to the dark brown of the wood.

There.

The treehouse is beautiful again.

As the sun spills over the horizon and birds trumpet to the start of a new day, a fresh resolve wells in me. With a decisive nod, I scramble back to the ground and head home so I can shower, change and make some calls.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

REBEL

“Arewe really not going to talk about what happened last night?” Mom grins at me as I plod out of the bathroom with my toothbrush.

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