Free The Slow Burn of Silence (A Snowy Creek Novel) by Loreth Anne White Page B

in every way, but you’re special because you have other parents as well, birth parents.” Oh, God, this is coming out wrong.
    “ I . . . I don’t understand.” A glittering wildness enters her eyes. But there’s no turning back. I take her cold little hands in mine.
    “Your mother and father tried for a very long time to have biological children of their own, for years and years. They were desperate to have a baby, a family. But when the doctors said it wasn’t possible, they decided to adopt. And then, out of the blue, you came along. You entered Sophia and Peter’s lives and you were ready for them to take care of you. They brought you home when you were just a day old, a tiny newborn right out of hospital.” My voice catches on a surge of emotion. I lean forward, move a strand of hair from her eyes.
    “I was there the day they brought you home. I saw the smiles on their faces; it was the happiest day of their lives. You were theirs—ours—to love forever.” My eyes burn as I try to hold it together. “They wanted a baby, Quinnie, and you found them.”
    She’s grown dead still. I’m not even sure she’s breathing. Worry cuts through me. I cup the side of her face. “They were your mom and dad, Quinn. I am your family.”
    A shudder runs through her body. Her face goes white, her mouth tighter. Her fists are balled. I don’t know how to do this; there is no manual. I physically ache with need for my sister to be here, to help, to whisper some assurance in my ear. “They were going to tell you when you were a little older,” I offer, but my voice is faltering now. “They just didn’t get a chance.”
    She springs backward suddenly, shoving me away, and she swings her backpack at my face. The buckle smacks across my eye. “You’re lying too! It’s all lies! You’re a bitch, too!” she shrieks. She pops open her seat belt and lunges for the door handle.
    “Quinn! Wait!” I grab her arm, fear galloping through me. She glowers at my hand on her arm, eyes fierce. I can feel her limbs trembling. She’s fighting herself. Fighting this knowledge, hitting back at it, trying to make it go away. The fabric of her psyche, her belief in who she is, her very foundations are shattering around her.
    I swallow and loosen my grip slightly, fearful that if Quinn gets out of this truck now, she’ll bolt blindly into the dark. The surrounding wilderness is a dangerous and cold place to get lost, especially at night. I’ve volunteered enough hours with Rescue One to know this firsthand. I know how many never come home.
    “I love you,” I whisper. “I love you very, very much. I loved your mother with all my heart, too. And Peter. We are family. Quinnie MacLean, that’s you. We belong —” My voice chokes. “I hate what happened to your parents as much as you do. It’s a terrible, terrible thing. But you and me, we’re all that’s left. We need to be here for each other. I’m scared as hell, too. Terrified, really, because I don’t know how to be a good guardian. But I am here for you—I’ll always be here. I promise you that. And one other thing I promise is that I’ll try my best, my hardest. But I need your help.”
    The rawness in my voice reaches something inside Quinn. Her eyes lift slowly.
    “I don’t know how to do this either,” I say. “But we’re going to try, together, okay? Because if you beat me up along with the rest of the world and run away, where are you going to go on your own? If Mrs. Davenport kicks you out of school for violence, what are we going to do then? Where will we go then?”
    A siren wails down the highway, winding away into the mountains.
    “It sucks,” I whisper. “I know that. But we’ll deal with it. Baby steps. Each day we’ll just aim to get through. Then one day, maybe it’ll all be a little bit easier. Like a sunny break after a terrible storm.”
    There’s a long silence.
    A single headlight flares suddenly in my rearview mirror, momentarily