Page 39 of Ice Darling
“You can’t tell them until Max does.”
“It might be better to know upfront. They’re a part of the team. They deserve that much.”
“And when they’re both hurt and angry, who do you think they’ll turn that energy on? Let Max explain. He’s the only one who can do it.”
I nod. “You’re right. I’ll keep dodging the question. It’ll all be out in the open tomorrow anyway.” I plate the bacon and nudge it toward Gordie. “What do you think, pumpkin? Should we throw this out and have dinner early instead?”
“I want burgers.” Gordie pouts.
“But the bacon’s toast.”
Mom winks. “My sweet granddaughter doesn’t mind, does she?”
Gordie shakes her head and pops one of the burnt strips into her mouth. After one chomp, her eyes bulge. She sticks out her tongue and whines, “That’s really bad.”
Mom laughs as she drops a kiss on my daughter’s head.
I notice her moving to the door and ask, “Are you leaving?”
“I think I forgot something in my car.”
My eyes narrow on the keys in her hand. “Those aremycar keys.”
“Oh, well”—she throws a little wave over her shoulder—“I’ll look in your car first, just in case it’s there.”
“What exactly isit?”
“Toodles!”
I tilt my head, side-eyeing Mom’s retreat. What wasthatabout?
Eyes still on the front door, I murmur, “Lunch will be a bit late, pumpkin, okay? Do you want me to cut up an apple for you to snack on while you wait?”
Gordie shrugs.
I walk to the fridge and grab the apple as I mentally page through my dinner recipes. I’m thinking of making baked potatoes, grilled chicken, and salad.
Thankfully, I thawed the chicken before I went to work this morning. The potatoes just need to be thrown in the oven. A salad… What kind of salad should I make? Do I have enough tomatoes for an Italian salad? Or should I make something with quinoa?
When I turn back to the counter, Gordie’s seat is vacant.
That empty space fills my heart with dread.
Maybe she just went to the bathroom. Maybe she’s playing hide and seek.
“Gordie?”
Silence.
The apple drops out of my hand and clatters to the floor as a now familiar panic overtakes me.
“Gordie?” I call again.
There’s no response.
I round the counter, searching the kitchen. “Pumpkin, where…” The words shrivel in my throat when I find my daughter hunched under the table.
No, no, no.
