Page 64 of Smoke Signals

Alaska stiffens slightly in Stellan’s arms, not scared, just cautious in that way she is with new people. Stellan adjusts his hold on her and laughs under his breath.

“Hi, Mom,” he says.

She wraps him in a quick hug that includes Alaska automatically. “Look at you,” she says, squeezing his arm before stepping back to take us all in. Her eyes land on Alaska first, softening immediately.

“This must be Alaska,” she says gently. “I’m Julia, Stellan’s mom.”

Alaska watches her closely, then lifts one hand in a tiny wave while clutching her fox with the other.

Julia’s smile widens. “Well, hello there, sweetheart.”

His dad steps forward next, offering Stellan a firm clap on the shoulder before turning toward me. "You must be Hartley. Tim."

“Yeah,” I answer, hoping my voice sounds steadier than my stomach feels.

“We’re glad you made the drive,” he says simply.

Something in the way he says it eases a little of the pressure sitting in my chest.

Julia claps her hands lightly. “Come inside before we all freeze. We’ve got milk and cookies waiting if Alaska wants some.”

Alaska’s eyes light up instantly.

“See,” Stellan says quietly to her, “best house ever.”

She nods as if that’s already been confirmed.

We step inside together and the warmth hits first, followed by the smell of something baked earlier in the day. Framed photos line the walls, blankets folded neatly over couch arms, a pair of reading glasses sitting on the end table like someone set them down five minutes ago.

Julia leads Alaska toward the kitchen, already asking if she wants chocolate milk or regular. Alaska signs ‘C’ without hesitation and Julia laughs like she understands perfectly.

Stellan nudges my shoulder gently. “Let’s grab our bags,” he says.

We carry them from the car into the house and down the hallway. The floors creak slightly under our steps, the kind of sound older homes make when they’ve held decades of footsteps.

He opens a door on the left first. “This one’s Alaska’s for the weekend.”

The room is small but cozy, a queen bed made with a bright quilt, a nightlight already plugged into the wall. “She’ll love it. Probably beg me to get her a bigger bed for her room back home.”

Stellan chuckles.

Then he opens the next door.

“My room growing up,” he says.

The space has clearly changed over the years. The bed is a king now, but the bones of a teenage bedroom still live here. A dresser that’s seen better decades, a shelf with old sports trophies, a few faded books. It feels like a snapshot of who he used to be.

“I can see it,” I say.

“See what?”

“You here.”

His mouth curves into a small smile before he leans in and kisses me quickly.

“Good,” he murmurs.

From the kitchen we hear Alaska laugh, a bright sound that makes both of us pause.