Read Maybe a Fox for Free Online

Jules heard the sheriff say.
    A small bead of hope filled Jules’s chest. They’d dragged the river. They hadn’t found anything. They hadn’t . As long as they hadn’t found Sylvie in the river, she could still be alive, couldn’t she?
    But where? And what about the hounds? Wouldn’t they be able to track her? As if in answer, the sheriff said, “Hard to track on snow, especially after it’s melted.” He paused, then added, “We did flush out a young bear. Sidetracked the hounds for a bit. Looked like it might be injured. Or just dumb, sticking too close to humans.”
    A bear, thought Jules. Maybe Sylvie had been attacked by a bear? But the hounds . . . the small bead of hope rolled away. She knew in her heart there was only one place that Sylvie could be. Jules had seen the root sticking up in the path, she’d seen the gash in the snow that led past the stone teeth. The men knew it too; she had led them there.
    Yes, she nodded. Yes. She had even told Dad about Sylvie’s wishes. Run faster, every rock said. Every single one. Always. Faster than an osprey. Faster than light. Faster than a cheetah. Jules had told them everything.
    His shoulders started shaking, and he covered his face with his hands. A sob worked its way up into Jules’s throat. Dad rubbed his eyes, pulled her close, and wrapped his arms around her. He rubbed her back, right between her shoulder blades. Just like she always imagined her mother might have when she was a baby. The sob escaped her in a huge flood of tears. “Dad,” she gasped.
    â€œIt’s okay, Juley-Jules,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” And right there, in front of the sheriff, he said, “My little girl,” and even though she wasn’t little anymore, not at all, she climbed up into his lap like she had a long time ago, and he rocked her, back and forth, back and forth, like he had when she was so much younger.
    â€œJuley-Jules,” he said again, his pet name for her. “It’s okay.” She held on as hard as she could.
    But it wasn’t okay.
    Sylvie was gone.
    And Sylvie being gone was the worst “not okay” in the universe. Jules had not tried hard enough. If she had yelled and screamed at Sylvie to stay there, maybe Sylvie wouldn’t have gone to the Slip. If she hadn’t put that chunk of gneiss in the striped sock in the closet, knowing that Sylvie would think it was a perfect wish rock, then maybe Sylvie wouldn’t have gone to the Slip. If she had grabbed better hold of Sylvie, her hand and not just her mitten, then maybe she could’ve kept her there. She hadn’t held on tight enough. There was the single orange mitten, right there on the table. Proof.
    At last Dad stopped rocking and handed her a dish towel to wipe her stinging face.
    â€œI love you,” he whispered.
    And Jules knew that was a true thing, so true it made her heart hurt even more, because he loved Sylvie just as much. Maybe even more. And she and Sylvie had broken the biggest Do Not. How many times had their dad told them never to go near the Slip? So many.
    â€œIt’s my fault, Dad,” she sobbed, pushing the towel away. “I should have made her stay.”
    She felt him shake his head against her own. “No,” he said. “You and I both know that nobody can make Sylvie do anything.”
    That might be true, but it only made it worse. Jules felt an alarming flash of anger at her sister. If only Sylvie hadn’t run so fast. If only she had stopped in time. If only the tree root hadn’t been there. If only the snow hadn’t covered it up. Sylvie would have seen it. She would have kept her feet dry if only, if only, if only. If Sylvie were there this very minute, Jules would scream at her the way she’d wanted to this morning, when she’d shut herself into their bedroom.
    But Sylvie wasn’t there. Sylvie wasn’t ever going