In memory of Nicole Lewanski

A
Snowflake in a Snowfield.
I made a cup of tea and settled myself on the
loveseat with the book on my lap.
It was a chilly night, and I drew my favorite woolen throw up to my chin and
curled my legs under my body. I breathed a sigh of contentment and reached for
my tea. After taking a sip, I flicked open the book and turned to the first page.
An unnerving feeling settled over me as I began reading. It grew in intensity as
I progressed further. The book was set in 1920s Wisconsin, a story about a
woodcutter’s daughter that read almost like a fairy tale. There was a dark
undercurrent of abuse and neglect I found deeply disturbing. In the closing scene,
Emily, the protagonist, trudges across the snow toward her favorite ironwood
tree, a length of rope clutched tightly in her hands. In the last few moments of
her life, Emily’s thoughts play out on the final page in a series of flashbacks that
felt strangely familiar to me.
I snapped the book shut and realized my hands were shaking. I got up to get
myself a glass of water. I barely made it to the kitchen sink when my legs gave
out under me and I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath. For the first time
in a while, I reached for my rubber band, but I didn’t have it on. I pinched as
hard as I could at the skin above my thighs. The pain was excruciating and I bit
down on my lip to stop myself from crying out. Tears flooded my eyes and
spilled down my cheeks.
After a few agonizing moments, the tension in my body began to ease and I

---

clutched my knees tightly to my chest, rocking back and forth.
I had no idea why the book had been so triggering. Somehow, it was written
in a way that mirrored many of the feelings I had kept buried since Ana’s death—
the sorrow, the regret, the overwhelming guilt. It was as though this writer had
understood me in the most intimate way.
Taking a deep breath, I picked myself up and walked to the kitchen table. I
withdrew my laptop from my satchel and flipped up the screen. With trembling
fingers, I typed “Colorado Clark” in the search box. It was such an unusual name
that I had no trouble finding a photo of the author. My heart pounded wildly in
my chest as image after image flooded the screen. Colorado was the boy I had
met the night of Ana’s funeral who was still on my mind all these months later.
“Rad,” I whispered.

---

Fourteen
I 
ARRIVED
AT
the café where April had arranged for me to meet Rad. I found a
corner booth and sat down, staring out the rain-splattered window where
intricate letters spelled out the words “Callisto” in reverse. Every so often, drops
would burst onto the glass like newly formed stars on a flat, translucent galaxy.
I checked the time on my phone. He was ten minutes late. I drummed my
fingers nervously on the table. It felt like a lifetime since we last spoke. A teenage
girl with frizzy brown hair walked by with a handful of dirty plates. “I’ll be with
you in a minute,” she said before disappearing behind the counter. She came
back a few minutes later with a menu. “Give me a holler when you’re ready.”
“Sure, I’m just waiting for someone.” Just as the words left my mouth, I saw
Rad outside the window, pulling up his coat collar against the rain. Moments
later, he was through the door. His eyes scanned the café as I stood up.
“Hi, Rad,” I said, as he strode toward me.
“Audrey?” he said with a jolt of recognition. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m with 
See! Sydney
. I’m here to interview you,” I explained.
He broke into a grin and shook his head in amazement. “You’re kidding me,
aren’t you?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“But you’re barely out of school. How did you become a journalist so
quickly?”
I shrugged. “You know, slept my way up.”
He laughed. “God, what a strange coincidence.”
“Isn’t it?” I said. “Congratulations on your book, by the way. I had no idea
your name was Colorado.”
He grimaced. “Mum is the only person who calls me Colorado. To everyone
else, I’m just Rad.”
“You know, I had this poster of Colorado stuck on my wall when I was a kid.
Come to think of it, that’s probably what started my fixation with snowcapped
mountains in the first place.”

---

“Really?”
“Yeah. Isn’t that weird? It’s like something out of a novel.”
“Well, that supports my theory—you know the one about us being characters
in a book.”
“I can’t argue with you there.”
The waitress walked by our booth and threw us a look. “Do you want a
menu?”
“Yes, thanks,” Rad said.
Rad slid into the booth opposite me, and the waitress came back with a menu.
“Let me know when you’re ready.”
Rad took off his dark blue coat and put it on the bench beside him. His hair
was wet from the rain, and he reached up and ruffled it with his fingers.
“Nice day, huh?”
“Not so much,” I said, a small smile crossing my lips.
“Parking was a nightmare! How did you manage?”
“I caught the bus.”
“Really? In this weather?”
“I’ve been meaning to go for my driver’s license, but things have been so
hectic over the last few months.”
He nodded. “I can imagine.”
“So, I have to ask. How did you wind up with a name like Colorado? There
must be a story there.”
“Well, my mum was obsessed with the book