A Fractured Light (Beautiful Dark)

fisherman’s sweater I’d found the last time I was at the cabin. Now that I knew my parents had lived there, I wondered if it had belonged to my dad.
    On the morning of our trip, I zipped myself into an all-black ensemble: black tank, black long-sleeved tee, black zip-up fleece, and black insulated pants. I pulled on thick wool socks and laced my hiking boots tightly. Halfway through getting dressed, I realized that I was dressing with a purpose: I was preparing myself for something. In my ensemble, I felt lithe and stealthy, ready to face anything. But was it something specific? Was it a premonition of things to come?
    Dan drove Cassie and Ian to our place, where Aunt Jo had a fresh pot of coffee waiting and granola bars for everyone. Cassie’s cast still hadn’t come off, but the hike itself wasn’t hard, and I pitied whoever would have gotten stuck with the task of telling her she couldn’t come. The doorbell rang. I opened the door to find Asher and Devin standing there next to each other, still as statues. They wouldn’t make eye contact and kept their eyes trained on me.
    “Hi,” said Devin. “Thank you for inviting me.”
    “Don’t get used to it,” Asher muttered under his breath as he swept past him into the hall. Devin hesitated on the doorstep for a second, meeting my gaze.
    So much passed between us. We were thinking the same thing. We were thinking a million different things. The truth of the matter is that I would never know entirely what Devin was thinking. Though if Gideon was right, I might be able to find out whether he was influencing what I was thinking.
    I stepped back and let him pass.
    Our three cars formed a caravan through the winding mountain back roads. Aunt Jo took the lead in her SUV. Cassie, Dan, Ian, and Ardith followed close behind—I could see them dancing along to some music on Dan’s stereo. And my car was last. Asher sat in the passenger seat beside me, drumming his fingers along the base of the window and every so often glancing in the rearview mirror to keep an eye on Devin, who sat perfectly still in the back. It reminded me of the last time the three of us had shared a tense drive to a mountain. Except this time, the tension was worse. Gideon sat next to Devin, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. There was something odd about it, like Devin was a prisoner, and we were transporting him from one containment facility to another. I didn’t like it, and I couldn’t put my finger on why.
    We parked at the trailhead, then set off on the winding path. The morning was overcast and the clouds hung low above us. The air was damp, and just walking through it made me feel clammy and wet.
    I hiked a good part of the trail next to Ian. He was quieter than usual, lost in his own thoughts. I understood: the solitude of hiking had that effect on me, too.
    “Okay,” I said eventually. “That’s like the fifth time you’ve sighed. What’s wrong?”
    “Hmm?” he murmured. “Oh, nothing.”
    “Do you want to talk about it?”
    He turned to me. “Do you ever feel sometimes like you don’t belong?” he asked. “Like everyone else is swimming downstream and you’re the only one trying to make it against the current?” I was about to say, “Do I ever!” when he laughed, short and bitter. “Of course you don’t. What a stupid question. Everything is easy for you.”
    I gaped at him. “Are we talking about the same me?” I asked.
    “Yeah,” he said. “Everyone loves you, Cassie and Dan would do anything for you, you get amazing grades, and Aunt Jo is, like, the coolest mom in the world.” He sighed. “And you have, you know.” He jutted his chin up ahead of us, where Asher was cutting something edible off a tree branch with a pocket knife. “Someone like that.”
    “And you think all that is easy? I mean, I’m flattered, Ian, really—but Cassie and Dan were, up until recently, still mad at me for disappearing, my grades are plummeting, Aunt Jo wouldn’t speak to me, and Asher . . .” I paused, wondering what to say about that. “Things aren’t ever as perfect as they look.”
    “I guess.”
    “Why the sudden melancholy?” I asked.
    “I don’t know,” he responded morosely. “Things didn’t really work out so much with Ellie. She never called. And there’s you, and—sometimes I just wonder if I’m destined to be alone.”
    “Ian.” I smiled, putting my arm around his neck. “You don’t have to resign yourself to destiny.”
    It