Page 67 of Smoke Signals

Alaska’s eyes go huge. She nods hard and points at Julia and Tim, then points at herself, then Stellan, finally me. She arranges us with her hands like a little director building a scene. Tim’s eyes flick to Alaska, then back to me, and he opens his mouth.

“Dad,” Stellan says quietly, warning in one word.

Tim still says it, because he’s a dad and dads ask questions even when they shouldn’t. “Why doesn’t she speak?”

The table goes still for half a beat. Julia knocks her elbow into his side hard enough that he hisses, and Stellan’s jaw goes tight. I look at Alaska first and she’s watching me, waiting to see if I’m going to make this moment scary.

I keep my smile, reach over and wipe a small smear of sauce off her chin with my napkin.

“She hasn’t said a word since her daddy went to Heaven,” I say, voice steady. “She can hear, she can speak, she chooses not to. She’ll let us hear that cute little voice again when she's ready.”

Julia’s face softens, immediate regret in her eyes. Tim looks like he wants to crawl under the table.

“But,” I add, because there’s light too, “she’s said two words since tutoring with Stellan.”

Stellan’s whole face changes, pride flashing through him.

He tickles Alaska’s side, playful, quick. “She’ll talk again,” he tells her. “She’s waiting for the right moment.”

He winks at her.

Alaska tries to wink back and it comes out as an exaggerated blink. The table breaks into laughter, Tim included, relief loosening the tension. Julia reaches over and touches my hand for a second, a quiet apology without saying a word.

Dinner finishes with full stomachs and lighter air. Alaska is sticky with Sprite and rice, sleepy but still glowing, her eyes tracking the koi pond again on the way out.

Back at the house, Alaska yawns hard the second we step inside, her body finally giving up the adrenaline.

Julia crouches beside her. “Milk before bed?” she asks.

Alaska nods solemnly, then signs thank you.

Julia’s eyes shine. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Stellan squeezes my hand as we head down the hall, and I realize I’m not bracing for the door to shut behind us. I’m not counting minutes until we can leave.

Stellan leans in close and murmurs, “You did good.”

I believe him.

26

HARTLEY

The hallway light is dim when we step away from Alaska’s temporary room. The door closes softly behind us, the quiet click of the latch settling into the calm that has filled the house since we got back from dinner. For a moment I stand there with my hand still on the knob, listening to the faint rustle of blankets on the other side and the distant hum of voices drifting from the kitchen. Alaska fell asleep quickly, the kind of sleep that takes over after too much excitement in a single day.

Stellan’s hand finds mine without hesitation. “You okay?” he asks quietly.

I glance at him and nod, though the truth feels more complicated than that. Being here should feel overwhelming. A strange house, new people, a weekend that feels bigger than I know how to handle. Instead there’s a calm spreading slowly through my body.

“I’m good,” I smile.

We step into the kitchen together. Julia stands at the sink rinsing a couple of glasses while Tim wipes the counter with a dish towel. Julia turns when she hears us.

“How is she?” she asks.

“Out,” Stellan says with a quiet laugh. “She didn’t even make it through the whole bedtime routine.”

Julia laughs. “That’s a good day for a four year old.”