Mom washed the dishes while Rafe dried. Through the window over the kitchen sink, he saw Jeremy and Emilie taking turns shooting arrows from the five-yard line. He couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other, but every now and then, Emilie would laugh, and they could probably hear it in the next county.

“They’re having fun out there,” Mom said, scrubbing the caked-on crumbs from the pie plate. Dinner had been fried pork chops topped with caramelized onions, salad, and apple pie for dessert. Why hadn’t he cut his hair and shaved his beard off months ago? He knew why. Because every time they were together, Mom would tell him to call Jeremy.

“Sounds like it.”

“It’s been nice to see your face again. Forgot how much you take after me.” She gave him a wink. “What made you change your mind?”

“Maybe I just missed your pie.”

“Oh, sure, that’s gotta be it,” she said with subtle sarcasm. Emilie’s laugh rang out again.

“I can handle these on my own. You ought to go out there and show ’em how it’s done. You know you want to.”

He did want to, but he was afraid to go out there. It felt like his father was watching him, making sure Rafe did what he was supposed to do—help his mother with the dishes.

“Go on.” She’d caught him staring out the window and lightly elbowed him. “Go have fun.”

“Dishes are more fun,” he said.

“If you say so.” She glanced out the window again. “That Emilie is a sweet girl. Quite a talker.”

How long had he and Jeremy been alone downstairs while Emilie was up here with Mom? Long enough to wreak havoc.

“Lord, what did she say?”

“Nothing much. She said she’d hired Jeremy to look for her sister, a girl named Shannon Yates.”

He knew that tone of voice, that look. She was fishing for something.

“When your son goes missing in a state park, you learn the park rangers’ names pretty quick. You learn their wives’ names, their kids…You put your hands on their shoulders sometimes,” she said and reached out and put her hands on Rafe’s shoulders, “and you say things like, ‘Mike, tell me the truth. Are we ever going to find my son?’ And they say things like, ‘I don’t know, Bobbi. We’ve never found Shannon Yates, and we’ve been looking for her five years now.’ And you never forget that name because you know what Shannon’s family’s going through because you’re going through it too.”

Rafe met her eyes. This was the most they’d talked about his disappearance in years.

“They need me to go with them,” Rafe said. “Not want. Need.”

His mother slowly nodded. “I see.”

“If you don’t want me to go with them to the Crow, I won’t.” He glanced out the window to where Jeremy was showing Emilie how to keep her elbow high enough.

“I’d be happy if you never left this house, but that’s my problem, not yours.”

“I feel bad even thinking about going—”

“If you want to help that girl find her sister, I’m not going to stop you. I’m not going to enjoy knowing you’re out there, but I’ll survive it. Survived worse.”

“Dad made me promise to never—”

“He’s gone, baby. Let him go.”

Her dismissiveness caught him off-guard. “Do you even miss Dad?” Rafe demanded.

“Do you?” She turned to him, waiting for an answer, hands still in the soapy water. He looked out the window. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she said, scrubbing a plate although it was already clean. “You’re just a lot more forgiving than I am.”

“No, I’m not.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Whatever she was going to say, she didn’t let herself say it. Instead, she smiled brightly.

“Stay here. I got something for you.” She took the dish towel from him and dried her hands off before tossing it back on the counter.

It was only a minute until she returned, carrying something in a large black case. He already knew what was inside it.

“Mom.”

“Open it. Early Christmas gift.”

Heart racing slightly, Rafe took the case from her, laid it on the kitchen table, and opened it, revealing a sixty-inch White Stag takedown recurve bow made of hand-carved marblewood.

“Mom. You didn’t have to do—”

“Oh, but I wanted to. This is the right one, isn’t it? The one you were gonna buy? Right size? Right arrows? Right poundage?”

“This is it. This is exactly it.”

He’d ordered this bow at the archery shop in Kingwood four years ago. Then his dad had died. Nothing to do but cancel the order and use the two grand he’d saved for it to help cover the funeral expenses. He’d forgotten how much he’d wanted it until now.

Quickly, he assembled the bow and strung it.

“I love it,” he said.

“A few steps up from what you’ve been using.”

“I’ve been using Dad’s.” Rafe’s father’s bow was a forty-year-old Arrowsmith Shrike. A great bow, but it had never felt like a perfect fit. This one, though…he wrapped his fingers around the grip…They were made for each other. He couldn’t wait to show it to Jeremy.

“Now you have your own. You take it with you tomorrow to the Crow.”

“Are you sure? You swear?”

“I don’t want you to go back to the Crow. But if you want to help Jeremy and that girl, you should do it.”

He ran his fingers over the supple limbs of the bow, tracing the veins of the woodgrain. Outside, Emilie groaned, followed by another of her bubbling laughs. He wanted to be with them, but guilt still held him back.

“How come you never blamed Jeremy for us getting lost? Dad did.”

He could see her hesitate before answering. “I was too busy blaming your father,” she said. But then she smiled softly and nodded her head toward the backyard. “Now go show ’em how it’s done.”

Rafe walked out to the backyard. Jeremy lowered his bow when he saw him coming.

“Thank God. I’m shooting for shit tonight. Come show Emilie how to do it right.”