Winter Longing Read Online Free Page B

can confirm that the plane took off from the airstrip in Tundra, near Bristol Bay.”
    Mom clicked off the TV as the anchors moved to another story.
    “Oh my God,” Lindsay said.
    “Don’t!” My voice was harsh. Lindsay looked wounded when our eyes met, but I didn’t apologize. I couldn’t let anyone near me doubt. How would Spencer feel if he thought we had so little faith in him?
    I shifted closer to Mom, unwilling to let negative thoughts bury themselves in my mind. I was holding on by the thinnest of threads and I feared talking would snap it.
    More minutes ticked by. I noticed Lindsay had curled up and fallen asleep, her face worried even at rest.
    I let my eyes wander around the living room, taking in images so familiar I didn’t even think about them anymore. Photos of me at different ages, a bookshelf full of books about every aspect of Alaska, the shelf of carved moose belonging to my dad, another of native-carved ivory—miniature animals carved by Lester Konekuk. Mom added a new piece each fall when we descended on the fall craft fair.
    Despite my best efforts to stay awake, to keep the vigil, I felt myself getting drowsy. Sleep held more than its normal appeal. Perhaps there I could cease to worry and stop having horrible images pop into my head, even though I was determined to stay positive.
    Finally, Mom pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and spread it over me. “Get some rest, sweetie.”
    I wanted to argue but couldn’t find the energy.
    I awoke sometime later when I heard the door close. I fought the post-sleep grogginess and sat up as I noticed my dad coming in the side door. I opened my mouth to ask about Spencer, but I froze when Dad turned toward us and I saw the expression on his face: tired, drawn, devastated.
    A cry clawed its way out of my throat as the truth hit me. Spencer was gone.
    I don’t know how long I cried, or when I drifted off again, but when I woke sometime later, my head was pounding, my eyes puffy and aching. I felt as if I’d been dropped from the top of a tree.
    Lindsay lay under a blanket in the recliner, asleep and curled into a tight ball. I knew the look by then. It was how she slept when she was upset.
    I could hear voices from somewhere in the house. When I had pulled myself upright and waited for my head to stop spinning, I realized they were coming from the dining room on the other side of the kitchen, two rooms away. My parents were using hushed tones, clearly meant to keep me from hearing. I heard other voices join theirs. I moved carefully, eager to avoid detection.
    Some part of my brain screamed at me to turn around and go back to the couch—that I didn’t want to hear whatever they were saying. But some other masochistic part of me trudged forward.
    I stopped right outside the room, resting in the shadows of the darkened kitchen. Mom and Dad sat at the end of the dining room table, Mom’s hands wrapped around Dad’s. He slumped like someone totally defeated, as if he’d aged twenty years since this morning. Mom lifted one of her hands to wipe tears from her face. I choked up at the sight.
    The Kerrs sat across from them—their faces sad, too. Movement in the corner of the room caught my attention, and my eyes met Jesse’s. He started to open his mouth, but I shook my head. I could tell he didn’t think my presence was a good idea, but that wasn’t for him to decide.
    “As soon as I saw the wreck, all I could think was, ‘How am I going to tell Winter?’” Dad’s voice broke.
    I almost revealed myself then. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Dad cry; maybe not since his father had died seven years ago. As a doctor, he dealt with death all the time. Eventually, he’d acquired the professional detachment all doctors had to have in order to survive their jobs. But not tonight.
    “I still can’t believe it,” Mom said. “I keep thinking I’ll wake up, and this will have all been a horrible dream.”
    “I wish it were. God,