Alaskan Homecoming. Teri Wilson

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      “Of course, of course. Please do.” She held the door open wide, and Liam stepped into the past.

      Everything was the same, at least everything within Liam’s field of vision. Same gold-framed mirror hanging in the entryway—the one where Posy had always checked her reflection right before she breezed out the door for school, ballet class or a day at the pond. Same brown leather sofa where he’d sat on more than one occasion with a boxed corsage in his hands, waiting for her to come downstairs so he could take her to the school dance. He resisted the urge to look at those stairs now, half-afraid that same tingle-tangle of anticipation would stir in his gut. As though she were about to descend that staircase wearing a pretty tulle dress and a smile just for him.

      He cleared his throat and tried to shake the memories, breathing a sigh of relief when he spotted the new big-screen television hanging above the fireplace mantel, a shiny, hi-def reminder that he hadn’t, in fact, stepped inside a time warp.

      “Can I get you anything, Liam?” Mrs. Sutton gestured toward the kitchen, where Liam knew a pitcher of Alaskan blackberry tea rested on the top shelf of the refrigerator and a ceramic cookie jar shaped like a black bear cub sat atop the butcher-block counter.

      This was just a little too surreal for his taste. Better to get in and out. Besides, the kids would be arriving at the church soon. “No, thank you.”

      “Have a seat, then. Make yourself at home.” She gestured toward the sofa.

       Make yourself at home.

      Liam purposefully sank into one of the upholstered armchairs with his back to the staircase. “I’m sorry to drop by unannounced like this.”

      “It’s no trouble at all, Liam. You’re always welcome here.” She offered him a motherly smile.

      Mrs. Sutton had always been fond of him, even before that night he’d shown up at this very house, rain-soaked, heart torn in two as he spilled each and every one of Posy’s secrets. Afterward, Posy’s parents had put him on a virtual pedestal. So high up he was out of Posy’s reach.

      He swallowed. He didn’t like to think about that night. And he hadn’t. For the better part of six and a half years, he’d managed to successfully put it out of his head. But along with Posy, all those memories had come rushing back this afternoon.

      “How are your parents, Liam?”

      “Great, I suppose.” He hadn’t actually spoken to them in weeks. A month maybe. But their latest postcard had arrived the other day. From Kivalina, 125 miles north of the Arctic Circle, which made it one of Alaska’s most remote villages.

      “Do they have any plans to visit soon?” Mrs. Sutton smiled warmly. She’d never really understood his parents.

      Liam wasn’t altogether sure he understood them himself. As overinvolved as the Suttons could be in their daughter’s life, his parents swung in the opposite direction. They were more interested in seeing every square inch of frozen tundra this side of the North Pole than they were in the particulars of Liam’s life. They didn’t know about the dog. Or the new lights he’d strung across the skating pond. Or that he’d stopped dating Sara, and that breakup had occurred over four months ago. Not that he thought of it as an actual breakup. They’d gone out once or twice a week for a few months, but that special spark had never been there. It had been casual. All of Liam’s relationships had been casual since Posy.

      He cleared his throat. “My folks don’t have any plans to visit, so far as I know. Getting planes in and out of the Arctic Circle can be complicated.”

      “I’m sure it is. Give them our regards the next time you talk to them, okay?”

      Liam nodded, not wanting to make any outright promises. Conversations full of static from his dad’s satellite phone didn’t leave much room for small talk. Besides, he wasn’t here to talk about his parents.

      “Posy’s back,” he said, his voice sounding altogether too raw and vulnerable for his liking.

      “Yes, she is.” Mrs. Sutton nodded. “We haven’t seen her yet, but she should be home in time for dinner.”

      “She’s staying here?” he asked. A dumb question. Where else would she be staying? Why was his brain suddenly on vacation?

      “Yes.”

      “Good.” His smile felt strained. He was just going to have to bite the bullet and say what he’d come here to say before he ran out of time. Or lost his nerve. “Look, I know you told her about the job at the church.”

      Mrs. Sutton’s gaze suddenly shifted to the floor.

      “I also know that you didn’t tell her I worked there,” he said quietly.

      “I wasn’t sure she’d take the job if she knew, and it’s the perfect place for her to be while she gets better.”

      They were getting to the crux of the matter. Finally. “Why is that?”

      Nervous laughter spilled from Mrs. Sutton’s mouth. “Working at the church will be good for her. She’ll be surrounded by the love of God and the girls...”

      Liam leveled his gaze at her. “And me.”

      Her only response was a quiet sigh, followed by uncomfortable silence.

      “I can’t do it, Mrs. Sutton. I just can’t.” His throat burned all of a sudden. Seared with memories of words that he would not, could not, utter again. “I can’t be the one to keep an eye on her. That’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s why you sent her to the church, and that’s why you didn’t tell her I’d be there.”

      He waited for her to admit it, not that he really needed confirmation of his suspicions. Everything about Posy’s return was a little too coincidental to be believable.

      “You’re right.” Posy’s mother gave a slow, reluctant nod. “I’m sorry. I should have spoken to you about it first. I’m worried about her, Liam. So is her father. Did she tell you about her injury?”

      Guilt hovered around the edges of Liam’s consciousness. Posy hadn’t told him a thing because he hadn’t asked. “No.”

      “It’s a fracture.” Mrs. Sutton gulped. Her eyes grew shiny with the threat of unshed tears. “Her fifth metatarsal.”

       Fifth metatarsal.

      Despite the fact that Posy’s health was no longer any of his concern, Liam felt those two words like a blow to his chest. In medical circles, a fracture of the fifth metatarsal was sometimes called the Dancer’s Fracture. Liam didn’t run in medical circles, but he knew plenty about such an injury.

      “So it’s the same injury as last time,” he said.

      “Worse, I’m afraid. She broke it all at once, in the middle of a performance.”

      Morbid images of Posy falling to the ground in an agonizing twisted cloud of tulle and sequins flooded Liam’s imagination. He squeezed his eyes closed until they faded. “She told Pastor McNeil her foot would heal in six weeks, then she was returning СКАЧАТЬ