Page 74 of Torin

“For about a week. Then she moved in with Gunnar.”

There’s a smile in his voice when he says it.

I walk over to the window. Pine trees crowd the slope below, with the mountains rising beyond them.

“Not a bad view.”

“Gets better in winter.”

I glance back at him. “You really do think everything gets better in winter.”

“Most things.”

I smile.

Torin nods toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s across from you. Towels are in the cupboard. Anything else, you know where I am.”

“I do.”

He looks at me for another second, then leaves me to settle in.

I close the door behind him and lean against it.

The stillness hits me.

I’ve been moving since I saw Dad’s face on my phone. Packing. Leaving. Coming here. I haven’t had a second to absorb any of it.

Now I do.

My stomach clenches. I have no idea what happens next.

I push away from the door and reach for my backpack.

There isn’t much to unpack.

I hang up my clothes, put my toiletries away and set my laptop on the bedside table.

The folder comes out last.

I run my fingers over the worn cardboard before sliding it into the top drawer of the chest.

From somewhere outside comes a heavy thunk.

Another.

Then another.

I cross to the window and look down.

Orson is beside the woodshed, splitting logs.

Shirt off. Axe raised over his head. Bringing it down hard enough to send two halves of a log tumbling apart.

Thunk.

I bite back a smile. It’s the middle of summer. I doubt they’re running low on firewood.

Apparently, this is how Orson deals with me staying here.