Chapter 4

Geoffrey spent half a month recuperating at Jennifer's place.

For half a month, the snow kept falling on and off, and the mountain road stayed closed. Jennifer's plan to go to town and look for her dad had to be put on hold.

She was anxious, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Geoffrey didn't talk much. Most of the time, he just lay there, resting and letting his injuries heal. Every now and then, he'd get up and walk around the house, but he never went outside.

Molly's health was up and down. When she was feeling better, she could chat with Geoffrey for a bit, but when she was feeling bad, she'd just keep coughing, hunched over and unable to straighten up.

Jennifer was so busy—cooking, brewing medicine, cleaning the house—that she barely had time to catch her breath. Sometimes, Geoffrey would try to help, but she'd just shoot him a glare, and he'd quietly sit back down.

"You're still hurt. Don't make things harder for me," she'd say.

Geoffrey watched her bustling around, his lips twitching, but he didn't say a word.

That evening, Jennifer was out in the yard picking up firewood. The snow had finally stopped, and a streak of red sunset painted the sky, casting a rosy glow over the snow.

Arms full of firewood, she was heading back when she heard footsteps behind her.

She turned and saw Geoffrey standing in the doorway, bundled up in her dad's old coat, gazing into the distance.

"What are you doing out here?" Jennifer walked over, concern in her voice. "It's freezing."

Geoffrey didn't answer. He just kept staring off into the distance. Jennifer followed his gaze, but all she saw was a wide, empty stretch of snow down the mountain—nothing out there at all.

"Where did you come from?" Jennifer suddenly asked.

Geoffrey turned to look at her.

"From down the mountain," he replied.

"Where exactly down the mountain?" Jennifer pressed.

He was silent for a moment.

"From somewhere far off," Geoffrey replied.

Jennifer didn't ask any more questions.

She carried the firewood inside, stacked it by the stove, and went to check on the medicine. Once it was ready, she brought out the bowl. Geoffrey was still standing in the doorway.

"Drink up," Jennifer said, handing him the bowl.

He took it, his hand much steadier this time, and finished the medicine in one go before handing the bowl back to her.

"Thanks," he said.

"Don't mention it," Jennifer replied, taking the bowl. "Come inside. My mom's asleep. Let's not wake her."

Geoffrey nodded and followed her inside.

At night, Jennifer slept on the small bed by the stove, Geoffrey was on the other bed, and Molly was at the far end. A curtain hung between them—Molly insisted on putting it up.

Jennifer lay there, listening to her mom's coughing, the sound of Geoffrey turning over, and the wind outside the window.

She couldn't sleep.

She remembered Geoffrey standing in the doorway, gazing out at the snowy landscape.

The look in his eyes; it was like he was searching for someone, or maybe hiding from someone.

She didn't know who he was, and honestly, she didn't care to know. All she wanted was for him to heal up and leave, so she could head to town and find her dad.

'Dad...' Jennifer sighed inwardly, her chest tightening.

She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.