Now, though—well, it’s been a long time since he was surrounded every day by Chases, never given the chance to doubt he was loved. Back then, if he’d had to choose between Robbie loving Lance like he loved Johnny and Danny, or wanting him, he would have chosen wanting. But since then, he’s had a lot of opportunity to learn just how rare and important love is, and he’s no longer sure he could choose so easily.

Winter was always the only season when he and Danny could walk the creekbank without risking losing a shoe in the silty mud. In warm months, they used to bait danger by wading down the center of the creek, where the regular depth was to their waists, but the rocky bottom occasionally fell out beneath them and they’d dunk themselves to their chins, or sometimes go all the way under.

He likes walking here along the bank, the frozen mud not sucking him down, so that his steps are easy. Walking on water, he thinks with a smile. The snow is a white blanket over the creek’s ice. He takes a sideways step and shifts his weight onto the foot that’s resting on the ice. When the ice holds, Lance walks on across its center, the thick, powdery snow giving him traction. It’s like the forest paved the creek for him, offering a path he can walk alone to the end of the world—or, more accurately, to the creek’s mouth, where it meets the river in a broad triangle of shallow tributaries.

Lance remembers winters past when they used to skate the creek. Though Lance wasn’t much of a skater, mostly wobbling and straining not to fall, ending the day with bruises and aching calves, he liked it when Robbie and Johnny each took one of his hands and towed him. They’d pick up so much speed that the creekbanks became a blur in the corners of his eyes; only their faces were in focus, taking turns glancing over their shoulders to grin at his expression. By the time they wound the entire distance from the yard to the river, his face would be streaked with tears from the cold air and his chest would ache from breathless laughter.

He walks until he can’t feel his feet. Even good winter gear can only keep you warm for so long; when the reservoir of body heat is spent, it’s best to get back to somewhere warm. That lesson is too deeply ingrained for Lance to forget it, so he’s turning back almost without deciding to when he hears an ominous crack. The ice is splitting under his feet.

He scrambles to the bank, but in his haste, he goes to the wrong one. He looks up and instantly recognizes the specific crook in the trunk of one of the big trees.

He knows exactly where he is.

If he leans into the climb and walks up the bank, he’ll emerge into the little weedy clearing with the small, square house.