“I do. I love it.” Then I realized I was quickly running out of time to ask the things I’d always wanted to ask. “But why not Ginn, Dad?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why Shelby Lake? Why not Shelby Ginn? You were the one who was going to raise me.”
“Raising a child doesn’t mean you own them. I thought you deserved to be your own person, separate from me. I had visions of you going off and living your life far away and seeing the whole world. I never wanted you to feel as if you were stuck here with me.”
“I’m not stuck anywhere. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Dad didn’t react or say anything. His eyes were lost in the darkness of the lake.
On most days, I don’t think he was aware of what was happening to him. That was probably better. Time played hopscotch in his head, and he simply jumped along with it. Old friends became strangers he called “young lady” or “sir,” and he had no knowledge of losing anything. But every now and then, I saw a glimmer of regret as he recognized the horror that was unfolding. He knew that his moments of clarity were growing rare, and he was too proud to say anything about it. He’d watched his parents die of the disease, and he’d always wanted to shelter me from the same thing happening to him. He wanted me to be far away when it took him over. But here I was.
“We should go, Dad. It’s late.”
“Let’s just take five minutes at the lake, okay?”
“Sure. If you like.”
We got out of the truck and hiked through the snow of the campground to a bench near the flat sheet of ice, where the lake water was trapped until spring. The wind howled at us, as if angry that anyone was here. I was cold, but my father didn’t seem to notice the frigid temperature. He pointed at the narrow gap between the trees where the cove broke out onto the larger area of the lake.
“That’s where I had the boat anchored. The owl just came down from the forest. And you told me where you were.”
“I guess I did.”
He inhaled loudly, swelling his lungs with the winter air. His white mustache looked crusty with frost. “Snow’s coming soon. A lot.”
“You think so?” I trusted his judgment about that. He’d lived enough seasons here to know what nature was planning.
“Definitely. A big storm. We’ll be buried in it soon.” He turned his head to look at me. I could barely make out his blue eyes. “Do you know what they say about the deep, deep snow?”
“What?”
“It hides every secret. It covers every sin.”
“But only until spring,” I pointed out. “The snow always melts.”
“Yes, but sometimes that takes a very long time.”
I took his hand. “Let’s go home, Dad.”
But he didn’t move. He didn’t want to go, and to be honest, neither did I. He was himself again, and neither one of us knew how long the moment would last or how many more moments like that we would have. I think he wanted to make the most of it while he could.
“It was thirty-five years ago, Shelby. On this very day.”
“What was?”
“My mother died.”
“I’m so sorry, Dad. I didn’t know.” I felt bad. I knew it had happened in January, but as far as I could recall, he’d never told me the date. I didn’t even realize that he remembered it himself.
“It was the worst day of my life. Nothing else comes close. Even losing my father a few months later wasn’t the same.”
“I understand.”
“I had a breakdown after it happened. I had to get away from here. I simply got in my car and drove. I didn’t know where I was going. The snow was coming down. It was practically a blizzard and the roads weren’t safe, but I didn’t care. I can’t say I was even aware of the time or the miles passing. Sort of like tonight.”
I was still holding his hand, and I squeezed it tight.
“I drove all day,” he went on.
“Where did you go?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention to signs. I stopped at a campground much like this one and just watched the snow fall. I stayed so long that I got snowed in. I couldn’t go anywhere. It was pretty remote, and I hadn’t taken anything with me. No coat. No food. I grew a little concerned as night fell. However, as I always say, things happen for a reason. A young policewoman came by on her way home, and she rescued me.”
“That was fortunate.”
“Yes, it was.”
He didn’t say anything for a while, as if he were caught between present and past. The cold got inside my bones and sent a shiver up my spine. Or at least, I blamed it on the cold at that moment, rather than on anything else.
“Dad?” I said when he stayed quiet. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Maybe we should go.”
“Yes, we should.”
I led him back to the truck through the snow and helped him inside. I got behind the wheel and started the engine, but the warmth did nothing to shake away the trembling I felt. Dad was next to me, but I could feel him slipping away. He was tired, and he was about to time travel again to a new square in some other part of his life.
“This policewoman. Do you remember her name?”
“Policewoman?” he asked. He was already gone.
“Never mind, Dad.”
I drove us home through the dark, empty roads. I was relieved that he was safe but anxious about when he would wander away again. Next time we might not find him. Things couldn’t go on like this, and the choices I had to make for our future felt painful and close.
I thought about that and so much more on the forty-mile drive home. The same forty miles my father had driven to rescue me when I was a baby.
I thought about the white F-150 that had been abandoned near this same lake.
I thought about Breezy lying to me about being alone after Jeremiah disappeared.
I thought about Anna and the damage I’d done to our relationship.
I thought about Adam and his mother.
I thought about mothers and fathers and orphans.
Most of all, I thought about the strange coincidence that thirty-five years ago, in the middle of the deep, deep snow, Sheriff Tom Ginn met a young policewoman, and nine months later, I was born.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The FBI search continued the next morning at the old resort, but there wasn’t anything for me to do there, so I drove to the raptor center in Stanton instead. One of our neighbors agreed to stay with Dad, but that was a temporary solution, and I knew I needed to find a permanent answer soon.
Jeannie Samper had expanded the center with two new buildings over the years. A couple of her larger donors had passed away and left the organization sizable donations in their estates. She wasn’t involved in the daily operations as much as in the past. She’d had two hip replacements that limited her mobility, but her oldest son, Matthew, had come back from Northwestern to take over the management of the center. Her husband and three younger kids were involved, as well.
Fewer birds arrived for help during the winter, but I still came over whenever I could to work with the owls and eagles that had permanent homes there and to drink Jeannie’s farmers market tea. And, yes, to see Dr. Lucas Nadler, too. He was now the center’s primary vet. Our visits hadn’t overlapped in several months, but I knew Lucas was on the schedule today.
I arrived while he was giving a presentation to a middle-school class in the newly opened visitor’s center. He had Winston, a great horned owl, perched on a leather glove, and he was explaining to thirty rapt twelve-year-olds about the hunting and breeding habits of owls. When he saw me, he gave me a warm smile from the front of the room. Winston’s head swiveled on his neck to observe me, too. The owl had white feathers on either side of his beak that looked like Santa Claus whiskers.