“Well, I am proud of you. And I love you, okay, kid? If you didn’t know that already, too.”

And that’s how they sit, fishing poles more or less forgotten, Lance paralyzed by how much he wants it never to end—Robbie’s arm around him, Robbie’s hand cupping his shoulder, Robbie’s chest against Lance’s cheek. But when Johnny and Danny bring the boat back around close enough that Lance can hear them bickering playfully with each other, Robbie gives his shoulder a last squeeze, unwinds his arm, and reaches for his pole.

“Mind if I keep this?” He tucks the paper, refolded now, into the breast pocket of his pearl snap shirt and winks. “I want it for the fridge.”

All Lance can do is nod. And then, to complete the miracle of the afternoon, there’s a jerk on his line. He’s hooked a fish.

Now.

Lance sits cross-legged on the floor, looking at the calf. She’s about the size of a small Labrador, and her big, liquid brown eyes are framed by ridiculously long, inky-black eyelashes that curl. Her nose is a wrinkled black triangle, her ears big and silky. He’s starting to understand why people use calves as a metaphor for cuteness. He’s never seen anything more precious than her face. The thought that she might die overwhelms him.

She seems to be watching him back, aware of his attention, although she’s motionless except for the occasional sweep of her eyelashes when she blinks. He wonders if this is normal newborn animal behavior for creatures that evolved as prey. If she were curled in the grass while her mother left her to graze, a predator like him could brush past, and if she didn’t move, he might never know she was there. It’s a comfort to think that her stillness doesn’t necessarily mean she’s sick.

Lance is almost too hot while sitting this close to the wood stove, which makes him worry about the calf. But when he runs his hands all the way down her body over the towel, he can tell her body is still too cool.

From where he sits, it’s easy to stare out the big window over the bed. The snow makes the day outside look bright even through the clouds. It’s like the Earth has the same muted glow from above and below, and the trees are low-burning candles.

He catches sight of the folder that Tim gave him, sitting on top of the dresser in the sleeping area. His stomach instantly knots at the reminder of that stack of documents and the hearing date on the citation, which says he needs to be at the courthouse on Wednesday at one o’clock. How is he supposed to travel in this weather back to town for his hearing? He guesses he’ll have to ask Robbie to drive him, and that might also mean the end of this strange dance they’ve been engaged in, where they pretend Lance is just here for a visit and don’t ask one another any difficult questions.