Page 134 of Lost & Found

Almost.

Then I caught myself. She was opening up. Carefully. I’d learned the hard way what happened when you rushed moments like this. So I leaned back and let her have the space.

“It’s like riding a time machine where we skip an entire season,” she said. “For us, we can’t conceive of the notion of winter-time. It’s like it’s been wiped off the calendar completely, but inside we know it’s there.”

I could feel her heart breaking.

“I didn’t know,” I said. “But I guess it makes sense in some ways. Kinsley always gets sad when the calendar flips.”

She nodded faintly. “We put on a happy face to celebrate holidays and such, but it’s never far from our minds. The missing piece. I can’t explain it, but I know it here.” Her hand came up, resting over her heart.

“I believe you. Tell me more about her.”

“Really?” she asked, fingers worrying the edge of her napkin. “You want to know about her?”

“Yes. If she’s going to be coming into our home and lives, I’d like to know her a little beforehand.”

Something shifted across her face then. A flicker of hesitation, then surrender. Somewhere in the last few days she decided I was trustworthy. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. She took her time.

“Winter was a contrast to the name of her season. I often wondered why she wasn’t Autumn instead of me. With my dark hair and all.” A small breath escaped her. “I’d convinced myself it was because she was fire and could warm the most frozen nights with her music.”

I didn’t interrupt.

“That was until it was explained to me our seasons coincided with our birthdays.” She shook her head faintly, almost amused by her younger logic. “Her curly red hair was unmanageable most days and during the summer when the humidity was at its worst, forget it.”

A smile spread across her face. She closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh. It was like watching something sacred.

“Tell me what you’re seeing behind those closed eyes,” I said, careful not to break whatever thread she was holding.

“I used to take my sketchbook outside with me. We weren’t allowed to talk to one another ever, and it helped pass the time.” Her lashes trembled as she spoke. “Right now, I’m remembering the time when I drew her under the large tree that sat outside by the lake.”

The way she said lake made my stomach tighten. “Share it with me,” I said. “Exactly how you see it.”

“I can see her sad eyes. Pale skin. The freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks.” Her voice slowed, like she was sketching with words. “By the end of our time outside, her face would be red from the heat.”

She paused. The silence stretched, and I leaned forward without meaning to.

“What is she wearing?” I asked.

Her eyes closed again. And this time, I didn’t just see her accessing memories. I saw something else underneath it. Appreciation. She felt safe with me. She felt seen.

“It’s summer, so she’s not wearing the traditional school uniform we normally wear.” Her eyes stayed closed, building the image piece by piece. “She’s wearing a yellow dress. It has spaghetti straps here.”

She touched her shoulders, fingertips grazing skin.

“But then there were sleeves too. The kind that puff out.” Her hands drifted down her arms, tracing invisible fabric. She frowned. “It was short. Our uniforms were that way, too. On purpose. And tight. I could tell she was getting older. Like me.”

I frowned. “Getting older how?”

Her eyes flew open, color flooding her cheeks. “She started developing right about the same time me and Tori had.” She cleared her throat, suddenly hyper-aware. “And Kinsley was still flat as a pancake. Winter would pull at the top of her clothing all the time.”

I blinked, trying to reconcile the innocence in her tone with the undercurrent beneath it. There were layers there I wasn’t fully grasping, and something told me I didn’t want to.

“But Pasha,” she continued, the blush fading as memory overtook embarrassment, “she had the most beautiful hazel eyes. They would only light up when she played. Otherwise…They were filled with deep sorrow and pain.”

“That’s understandable,” I said. “She played the cello, right?”

Isabella nodded.