Roots of the Ash Tree, Part 2

Dawn sat in the hammock near the southern cliffs, arms drawn around her knees, her chin tucked into the space between. The hammock creaked with every small shift of her weight, its white canvas streaked with salt and the faint pink of hibiscus pollen. Beyond her, the sea crashed against the rocks, spitting up spray that glistened in the early sun. Above, the palm fronds whispered and clicked, their shadows flickering in jittery patterns across her legs.

Emi perched on the edge of the hammock’s wooden frame, six arms splayed for balance, two cradling a mug of tea, two more clutching a book, the last pair bracing herself and, more often than not, gently steadying Dawn’s back. Every few minutes, Emi’s thumb would stroke a slow, dreamy circle across Dawn’s shoulder blade—a small, **** comfort. She stared out at the horizon, a smile flitting at the corners of her mouth as if she were watching a movie no one else could see.

For a long time, they’d been silent—Dawn because she felt wrung out, Emi because silence was her natural state.

When Andy and the others rounded the corner, their approach was telegraphed by the soft slap of Emily’s shoes and the low sound of Claire’s tail swishing in the sand. Erin strode slightly ahead, completely naked except for her battered running shoes, her huge breasts moving with a kind of heavy, deliberate grace that drew the eye whether you wanted it to or not. Claire wore a blouse and jeans, neat as always, her blue eyes bright behind her glasses.

Andy hung back, letting Claire and Erin take the lead. He watched the two women in the hammock as he approached, catching the tension in Dawn’s shoulders, the slow, looping movement of Emi’s hand.

“Hey,” Andy called, keeping his voice low.

Dawn raised her head but didn’t answer. Emi beamed and wiggled all six hands in a lazy hello.

Erin walked right up to the hammock, crouched to Dawn’s eye level. “You okay?” she asked, voice all business but not unkind.

Dawn managed a shrug. “Yeah,” she said. “Just… didn’t sleep.”

Emi’s arms coiled around Dawn, not quite hugging her but keeping her steady, an anchor. She smiled at Andy and the others, then looked back at Dawn with concern.

Andy eased onto the low wall by the hammock, hands folded between his knees. Claire sat beside him, her tail brushing lightly against Dawn’s calf. Emily hovered on the edge, looking awkward until Emi patted the frame, inviting her in. She perched on the far corner, her long hair veiling her torso like spun gold and strawberry.

For a moment, the only sound was the sea and the creak of rope.

Andy waited, then said, “We missed you at breakfast.”

Dawn’s laugh was a single, flat note. “Didn’t want to be a downer.”

“Nobody cares,” Erin said, her tone dismissive but her eyes soft. “We’re all downers. It’s kind of our thing.”

Dawn grinned despite herself. “Guess I’m in the right place, then.”

Emi twisted in the seat, two hands pouring her tea into a second mug, two more reaching behind her to steady herself. She held out the mug to Andy with an apologetic smile.

Andy took it, surprised to find it still warm. He sipped, then held it out to Dawn.

Dawn hesitated, then took the cup, her hands shaking just a little. “Thank you,” she said, so softly Andy almost missed it.

Claire tugged her notebook from her lap, pen already uncapped. She wrote with quick, efficient strokes, then passed the page across to Dawn:

We’re here for you. No pressure.

Dawn read it, smiled, and passed it back. “Thanks,” she said again, a little louder this time. She drained half the mug in one go, then handed it to Emi, who balanced it expertly between two hands.

After a long pause, Andy asked, “Is it about two days ago?”

Dawn nodded, eyes fixed on the horizon. “I keep thinking about Norah,” she said. “About how close I came to screwing it up for her. If Arabella had not used her veto…”

Andy broke in, his voice gentle. “But she did. And Norah made her choice because she cares about you.”

Dawn looked at her, searching for the catch. “That’s what scares me,” she said. “That I could do everything right and still…” She let the thought hang.

Erin squeezed Dawn’s wrist, her fingers strong and steady. “None of us would blame you,” she said. “Not even Norah.”

Claire nodded, jotting down a new note:

She’s tougher than she lets on. So are you.

Dawn smiled, the expression small but sincere. “Thanks,” she said. “I just… I don’t want anyone else to go. Not even for a minute.”

Emi made a soft noise, almost a sigh. “We're all here with you, Dawn,” she said, her voice so gentle it barely carried past the hammock.

Andy felt a lump catch in his throat. He set the mug down on the wall, then rested his hand on Dawn’s shoulder, a weight both grounding and kind. “You won’t have to face it alone,” he said. “Whatever happens, we’re in it together.”

Emily shifted on the frame, the movement drawing everyone’s attention. Her hair fell forward, and she tucked it behind her ear, looking right at Dawn. “You know,” Emily said, her voice shy but steady, “the hardest part of fear is carrying it in silence. If you ever want to say it out loud, you can. Even if it’s just to me.”

Dawn felt her face flush, and for a second she was back in grade school, flustered by a compliment. She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded, blinking hard. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

Emi nudged Dawn, then turned to Andy. “You could always Command her to feel better,” Emi said, only half kidding.

Andy smiled, shaking his head. “That’s not how it works.”

Erin laughed. “He’s too soft for that. You want a real drill sergeant, you need Marissa.”

They all laughed, even Dawn, the sound breaking the shell of anxiety that had built up around her. The tension in her body eased, her shoulders dropping an inch.

After a minute, Emi reached out, three of her hands taking Andy’s, the other three wrapping around Dawn and Emily. “We’re good now,” Emi announced, her tone ceremonial. “Team hug?”

Claire leaned in, tail curling around everyone’s legs, and Erin crowded closer, her own arms open to the pile. Andy found himself at the center, Dawn tucked against his shoulder, Claire at his back, Emily and Emi pressed in close.

For a few seconds, they just breathed together, the hammock swaying under the weight of their bodies.

Emi squeezed Andy’s hand. “If you ever need someone to scale the walls of a labyrinth for you,” she said, “I’m your girl. Six arms. I’ll climb every maze wall if that’s what it takes.”

Dawn’s laughter was wet this time, but bright. “I’d like to see that,” she said. “Bet you could rescue a whole soccer team with those arms.”

Emi nodded, serious. “Or carry all the groceries in one trip.”

Emily giggled, her eyes shining. “Or sneak attack group hugs.”

Andy didn’t say anything. He just listened, letting the warmth and the laughter soak into him, let himself believe that things could be okay.

The group untangled itself, rising one by one from the hammock and the wall. Dawn wiped her eyes, but she was smiling now, the lines of worry smoothed from her face.

“Thanks,” she said, looking at each of them in turn. “I mean it.”

“You’re allowed to lean on us,” Erin said, giving Dawn’s arm one last squeeze.

Dawn grinned, then hooked her arm through Emi’s. “Let’s go find the rest,” she said. “I don’t want to miss out on the good stuff.”

Andy fell in beside her, Claire at his side, Emily just behind. The sea crashed below, and the palm trees shivered overhead, but the heaviness was gone now, replaced by a sense of purpose, of possibility.

They walked together, their shadows weaving across the sand, a team for real this time, stronger than the sum of their damage.

Above them, the sky had shifted from pale gold to a deep, electric blue. The breeze caught in Erin’s hair, in Claire’s tail, in the loose curls that framed Emily’s face. Even Emi’s extra arms seemed to move with a kind of effortless choreography. Andy felt light on his feet. “Let’s get the rest of the family,” he said.

They made their way through the gardens, taking the winding paths rather than the direct route. Andy suspected the detour was intentional—an unspoken wish among the women to draw out the calm before the next inevitable storm. The garden was in full spring mode: the hydrangeas bursting blue and violet, the jasmine spilling over trellises, the neat stones underfoot still cool from last night’s rain.

Around a bend in the path, the group spotted Chloe and Marissa sitting side by side on a low bench. Chloe’s hair was let loose, her skirt draped over her knees; she seemed to be listening intently, nodding as Marissa spoke in her careful, measured voice. Marissa’s hand rested on Chloe’s shoulder, dressed in leggings and a tank top that, as always, failed to hide her perpetually erected nipples, and the two women sat close enough to be mistaken for sisters.

When Chloe saw Andy, she froze. It was the kind of stillness that came before a sprint, or a collapse. Her eyes flicked from Andy to the women at his sides, then back again. She didn’t speak, but her mouth trembled as if she wanted to.

Marissa leaned in, her hand steady and warm, and murmured something only Chloe could hear. Chloe nodded, once, then looked up at Andy again—this time not away, but at.

He stopped a few feet in front of them. Claire, Erin, and Emily fanned out to his left, Dawn and Emi to the right. For a second, nobody moved or spoke. It was as if the whole garden was holding its breath.

Andy broke the silence, pitching his voice just for Chloe. "You're not going anywhere," he said.

Chloe's chin dipped, but she didn't break eye contact.

"The last challenge doesn't define you," he continued, gentler now. "That was on Moory, not you. It doesn't erase everything else." He took a step closer. "You've earned your place here."

Chloe blinked hard, her knuckles white on the bench. Her cardigan slipped off one shoulder, and she made no move to adjust it. Her chest rose and fell with each quick, shallow breath.

"I know what you're capable of," Andy said. "We all do."

Marissa's hand squeezed Chloe's shoulder, and she spoke quietly. "The scoreboard is just numbers," she said. "It doesn't measure what matters most."

Chloe looked at Marissa, searching for reassurance, and found steady certainty. After a second, she nodded.

Andy knelt in front of Chloe, putting himself at her level. He waited, letting the silence grow comfortable, and then said, "We're building something real here. All of us. Including you."

Chloe's hands relaxed. She looked down at them, then back up at Andy, and managed the smallest of smiles. "I'll do better next time," she said. It sounded like a promise.

Marissa nodded at Andy, her eyes bright with approval. "Sometimes we just need a reminder of where we stand," she said. "And who stands with us."

He shrugged, suddenly bashful under their collective gaze. “It’s true for all of us, I think.”

Dawn sidled up to Chloe and put her arm around the other woman’s shoulders. Emi sat cross-legged on the mulch by the bench, her arms folded in a self-hug, just happy to be present.

Claire gave Chloe a thumbs-up, then passed her a tiny slip of paper torn from her notebook. On it, in neat script, was written: You’re never alone again.

Chloe clutched the note in one hand, her lips quivering with something between gratitude and disbelief.

Marissa rose, helping Chloe to her feet. The two of them stepped into the slow, ambling flow of the group, Marissa at Andy’s right, Chloe just behind, flanked by Dawn and Emily.

They walked together, not as competitors but as a single unit. Andy felt the change in the air: the tension that had haunted Chloe since her arrival was lighter now, as if it had been acknowledged and then—if not erased—at least lessened.

Ahead, the path split, one direction curling toward the reflecting pool and the other toward the main house. They took the pool path without hesitation, the whole crew together at last, sunlight filtering through the bougainvillea overhead.

For the first time, Andy saw Chloe relax her posture, the corners of her mouth turned up. She looked at him and said, “You still owe me a rematch, you know.”

He laughed, delighted by the spark in her voice. “Name the time and place,” he said.

Marissa smiled, her hand still steady on Chloe’s shoulder. “Now that’s progress,” she murmured, just for Andy.

He nodded. It was.

The path to the reflecting pool ran in a low arc along the edge of the garden, just far enough from the main house to feel forgotten. As the group rounded a corner, the heavy scent of water and cut grass rose up, and the sky opened overhead—a bright, cloudless dome reflected perfectly in the still pool below.

Riley sat at the edge, knees pulled up, elbows planted on either side. She wore black jeans and a faded army jacket, her hair a half-matted firebreak at her shoulders. The colors of the water doubled her in the surface, a ghost below the living girl, but even doubled, she looked alone. Her back was hunched, shoulders tight, the attitude of someone expecting to be turned away and determined not to cry about it.

Andy saw her before the others did. For a second he hesitated, his mind running through a dozen possible approaches, all equally wrong. Then he stepped off the path, leaving the others to file past, and walked down to where Riley sat.

She didn’t move when he approached. Didn’t look up. He stopped a few feet away, considered sitting next to her, but thought better of it. Instead he crouched, resting on his heels.

“You’ve spent enough time alone for a lifetime,” Andy said, keeping his voice neutral, almost casual. “It’s not doing you any favors.”

Riley glanced at him, then away, mouth pulled tight. “Sometimes being alone is the only way to keep from making things worse.”

He shook his head, smiling despite the tension in his gut. “You tried that already. It didn’t work.”

She gave a short, dry laugh. “Didn’t work for either of us.”

For a long moment, they just watched the water, the world reflected in ripples and glare.

“Your new family’s here,” Andy said. “And they came to get you.”

Riley snorted. “You make it sound like a puppy adoption event.”

He shrugged, then offered his hand. “It’s a little like that. Only the puppies are all haunted and weird, and nobody gets put back in the cage.”

She looked at his hand, then up at his face. “You’re not mad?”

“Not at you,” Andy said. “Not anymore. You apologized. You did the hard part.”

She blinked, her eyes gone glassy at the edges. “I could have done more.”

“We all could,” Andy said. “But we’re here now. Come on. They’re waiting.”

For a moment, Riley stared at his outstretched hand, as if she were trying to memorize it. Then she took it, her grip fierce, and let him pull her to her feet.

As she stood, the others gathered at the edge of the path. Emily was first, her expression open and a little nervous. She reached out, offering her own hand in greeting, and when Riley took it, the relief on Emily’s face was so palpable it made Andy’s heart twist. Behind her, Dawn lingered, ears flattened, uncertain until Riley pulled her in for a half-hug, whispering something just for her. Dawn’s eyes went wide, then she squeezed Riley back, the motion cautious but real.

Emi didn’t wait for an invitation. She darted forward, wrapping all six of her arms around Riley in a hug that was more bear tackle than embrace. Riley gasped, struggling to maintain her seemingly perpetual glare, and Emi squeezed tighter before letting go.

Erin stood behind the others, arms folded. She met Riley’s gaze with something like respect, and gave a single, sharp nod. Riley returned it, the barest tip of her chin, but it was enough.

Claire, standing a little apart, raised her notebook: Glad you’re with us, it said, the handwriting neat and unadorned.

Riley wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Thanks,” she muttered, and Claire beamed, tail waving in a slow, contented arc.

They stood together in the sun, a lopsided, makeshift circle. The moment hung for a beat, then Chloe sidled up, her face lit with the tentative hope of someone who wanted to belong but wasn’t sure how. She looked at Riley, then at Andy, then back at Riley, as if seeking permission.

Riley held out her hand, and Chloe took it, her grip shy but growing stronger.

For the first time since her arrival, the air around them felt unified—a single breath, a pulse that ran through all of them and back to the water. Even the sky seemed closer, as if the garden’s walls had fallen away.

Andy looked at Riley, then at the whole group. “Laura would have loved this,” he said, quiet but sure. “She would have complained about the harem, but the rest… she would have loved.”

Riley wiped her eyes, then laughed again, this time softer. “She would have hated the harem,” she said. “She wanted you all to herself.”

Andy grinned. “True. But she’d have loved the family part. Even this kind.”

Riley looked at him, and for the first time Andy saw no anger in her eyes. Only tiredness, and a kind of fragile hope. “Let’s not screw it up, then,” she said.

He nodded. “Let’s not.”

They started walking, one by one, along the path. No leader, no one at the front or the back. Just a group, loose and easy, making their own shape in the world.

They passed under the wisteria arbor, and the pale purple blooms brushed their hair and shoulders, painting everyone in the same light. Even Riley, who hated anything remotely flowery, didn’t shake them off.

As they left the garden, Riley lingered for a moment, looking back at the pool and the sky mirrored there. She stood alone for only a heartbeat, then Emi looped three arms around her waist and tugged her forward. Chloe fell in step on her other side, and together they caught up to the group.

Andy waited, watching them close the gap. When Riley glanced up, he met her gaze and smiled. She glared back, but there was no venom in her eyes. She looked almost fond, in the way a wolf is fond of its breakfast. But he saw the corners of her mouth curl upward slightly. Inwardly, Andy was glad. There was progress, at least.