“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.”
“He’s lying. He got six in the gold,” Emilie said to him.
Rafe joined them at the shooting line and peered down the lawn at the target.
“Were you shooting with buckshot?”
“I’m not used to shooting this close,” Jeremy said.
“You could throw them into the target better than that,” Rafe told him.
Emilie shook her head, tsk-tsking him. “This is not a supportive learning environment.”
“Very sorry,” Rafe said, although he wasn’t. He’d missed roasting Jeremy’s aim. “I apologize for saying the target looks like a drunk guy threw arrows at it from a moving car.”
“You didn’t say that,” she said.
“Meant to.”
“Just shoot, Robin Hood.” Jeremy gestured toward the target, then took Emilie by the arm and moved them back a few feet.
