She assumed Ethan had arranged something.
So at four-twenty Christmas afternoon, the boys and I boarded.
They wore dark winter coats over matching navy sweaters.
Not intentionally matching.
Claire had bought them.
She denied planning it.
I did not believe her.
Jack spent the entire flight glued to the window.
Henry asked the pilot technical questions.
Sam held my hand.
Lucas watched me.
“You nervous?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
I looked at him.
“We can turn around.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“He got eight years to not believe you.”
“We can give him five minutes to look.”
I laughed softly.
“Fair.”
The Caldwell estate appeared beneath us.
Snow.
Lights.
Cars lined along the circular drive.
People were already gathered near the house.
The helicopter descended.
Wind exploded across the field.
Snow flew outward in white clouds.
Through the window, I saw figures coming onto the terrace.
Margaret.
Ethan’s father, William.
His younger sister, Sophie.
Several cousins.
Then Ethan.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Military posture unchanged.
A dark sweater beneath a winter coat.
Natalie beside him.
Red dress visible under white wool.
His arm around her waist.
Even from a distance, I recognized his confidence.
Then the helicopter landed.
The door opened.
Marcus looked back at me.
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
“You want me to stay?”
“No.”
He smiled.
“Call if you need extraction.”
Jack whispered.
“That sounds cool.”
I shot him a look.
