Page 43 of Ice Darling
Gordie looks forlornly at her sneakers.
I’m not much of a conversationalist, nor am I good with children, but sadness oozes from Gordie’s every pore. I want to fill the space with words or music orsomething.
“This reminds me of when I was a kid. My, uh, sister and I built forts under the table. We took the cushions out of the sofa and set them here”—I gesture to the open space—“as walls.”
“You have a sister?”
My throat goes thick like it usually does, but strangely, the knifing sensation isn’t as severe.
“I did. Yeah.”
Gordie looks at me, her eyes a darker brown than her father’s and so full of heaviness that I want to give her a hug.
“You know what else?”
“What?”
“After we built a fort, we’d do a play.”
“A play?”
“Mm-hm.” I take my notebook out of my pocket and flip to an empty page. The paper makes a loudtsksound as I yank out several pieces. Gordie leans forward, staring intently while I fold the page into the shape of a bird beak and slip my fingers through the folds.
“Like this.” I flap the paper “mouth” like a ventriloquist and talk in a slightly higher pitch. “Hi there, Gordie.”
Her lips tremble, and she giggles.
“Do you want to make your own?” I shove a piece of paper at her.
At that moment, the front door crashes open, and heavy footsteps pound the floor. I look over and find Viking Renthrow’s hulking form stomping through the living room. Hereminds me of a bouncer at one of the Italian clubs Gwen once dragged me to, and I get the feeling I’m about to be booted from this table.
But then he catches sight of me with Gordie.
Every bone in his body goes still at once like someone flipped a switch.
“How do I fold it?” Gordie asks me, tapping on my knuckles to get my attention.
I rip my gaze away from Renthrow’s dramatic entrance. “Bend it like this. Into a triangle. Yes, exactly. Great job.”
“I found the keys,” Renthrow’s mother says, her footsteps much lighter and quieter than her son’s. “Cordelia, where—oh!”
When I glance up again, both mother and son are staring at me like I’ve grown horns and a tail. I touch my cheek, unnerved. Is something on my face?
“What next?” Gordie urges.
“Um…” My hands move by memory. “Make another triangle on the other side. Like this.”
As I demonstrate, my eyes wander back to Renthrow. He looks back at me, and his throat works through a swallow.
“Like this?” Gordie asks, checking her work.
“Yeah. Exactly. You’re doing great. And then you bend this part…” I continue walking her through the steps, noticing that both Renthrow and his mother arelocked in.
“I did it!” Gordie celebrates by flapping the mouth of her paper “beak.”
“Something’s missing.”
She tilts her head. “What?”
