Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(71)

He’s pushing me out. He doesn’t want me here. Why? Because I’d get in the way? I’m not exactly self-sufficient right now. I would definitely slow him down. But I want to be here. I want to help him.

“If that’s what you want,” I say quietly.

He hesitates. “I sort of thought… it’s what you would want.”

“It’s not.”

“What do you want?”

I swallow hard. “I want to stay here. I want to help you. I want to finish what we started out there on the Pax.”





My bedroom has an en suite bathroom, and I’m thankful for that. For the privacy. I missed that in the hospital.

The next morning, I’m washing my face when I hear the habitat’s outer door open. A gust of cold air flows in and keeps coming. I hear the sounds of banging like the house is being turned upside down. I walk out of my bedroom, towel in hand, and gawk.

The dining table and living room furniture have been pushed to the walls, and most of the floor space is now covered with exercise equipment. James has turned this place into a physical therapy facility.

For one.

He’s beaming at me, holding his hand out toward the equipment like a car salesman on a showroom floor motioning to the latest model.

“James, we don’t have room for all this.”

“Sure we do,” he says cheerfully as he plugs in a recumbent bike.

I know when it’s no use arguing with him. This is one of those occasions.

When he leaves for the day to meet up with Fowler, Oscar stays, which surprises me.

“You’re not helping with the mission planning?” I ask him.

“I have been. James wanted me to stay and help you. Just in case you need anything.”

“I really am fine on my own.”

“Of that I have no doubt. However, I’ve been studying various physical therapy techniques and am quite ready to help. Shall we begin?”





Oscar proves to be quite adept at physical therapy. He’s significantly stronger than I would have suspected from his small frame. He’s encouraging when he needs to be, stern at times, which surprises me, and always there when I need help. He seems to never tire, or perhaps it’s simply because I’m always so winded. I don’t know what normal is anymore.

“What’s next?” I ask.

“Rowing. Then a break.” He holds his hand out, ushering me toward the rowing equipment. “You’re doing quite well, ma’am.”

“Oscar, you don’t have to call me ma’am.”

“It’s no trouble. Courtesy is costless and benefits all involved.”

Ma’am it is.

Between rowing sessions, while I pant, desperately trying to catch my breath, I manage to ask, “How long have you known James?”

Oscar gets a faraway look in his eyes. “My whole life.”

That lends evidence to my theory that Oscar is his son. I have to know.

“Is he your father?”

Oscar is silent for a long time. I’m about to ask another question when he finally responds.

“If I had to name anyone as my father, it would be him.”

What does that mean?

I meant what I told James on the way back to Earth: I intended to look up what happened to him. But the AtlanticNet has no details on him. And I’m not exactly spry enough to go bouncing around the camp asking anyone who might know. Oscar will have to do.

After the rowing session, I sit at the dining table and wipe the sweat from my face with a towel. Oscar is standing behind me, making a snack in the kitchen.

“Oscar?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“When James got in trouble, were you there?”

“I was.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“I believe James would want to tell you himself, ma’am.”

“What can you tell me? Anything would be helpful.”

Oscar doesn’t respond. He simply motions to the stopwatch he’s holding, which indicates that it’s time for another session.

Once again, I row, my anger flowing into the strokes. Oscar’s just being a good friend. He’s probably doing the right thing. But I still feel shut out, the two of them with this secret they won’t let me in on.

When the interval is done, I pant, and as soon as I can I say, “Why did he get in trouble?

“The real reason?”

“Yes.”

“He tried to save someone he loved.”

“That’s not a crime.”

“I agree.”

“Then what happened?”

“The actions he took were extreme. They threatened to take power from the most powerful people in the world. He underestimated their reaction.”





For two weeks, our routine is the same: breakfast, James leaves to work with Fowler, Oscar and I do physical therapy, lunch together, I nap, then more physical therapy, then dinner together.

Tonight is a welcome change. The outer door opens and Madison, David, Owen, and Adeline rush in out of the cold, carrying preheated rations. Our own rations lie on our dining table, already steaming. It’s a humble assemblage of food, but here, now, it’s a feast. And we devour it like one. I haven’t seen my sister or her family since the hospital. I’m a bit stronger now, and I feel this strange sense of pride in showing that off. Despite my protests, my physical therapy sessions with Oscar have helped.