Fingers in the Mist

by O'Dell Hutchison

  “Cait?” The sound of his voice sends a jolt through me. I slowly stand and turn to face him, a strained smile pulling at my lips. As soon as I see him, my heart aches and two years of deep regret wash over me. He looks damn good in his boots and worn Wranglers—the standard gear for every man in Highland Falls. His wet, black T-shirt clings to him. I can’t help but smile when I notice he wears the Boise State cap I sent him for his birthday three years ago. It’s ragged and dirty, just like his memories of me.

  “Hey, Trevor.” So casual. Too casual? “How are you?”

  He removes his cap and nods, but doesn’t speak. His worried eyes meet mine for a moment before focusing on the floor. “Where did you find him?”

  I lean against the doorjamb, my arms crossed over my chest. “He was wandering along the road just past the bridge.”

  “Is he … ?” He chokes back the rest of the sentence, glancing at me again, but refusing to meet my eyes.

  “I think he’s going to be okay. He’s in the living room.” I want to reach out to him. Hug him. Wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him on the cheek. Something.

  He pushes a strand of shaggy dark hair out of his gorgeous blue eyes, then busies himself with his cap. He looks so good, even better than he did two years ago when hurricane Caitlyn paid a visit. The summer I caused a rift between two of my best friends. The summer Trevor offered me his heart and I tossed it at his feet. How could I have been so stupid?

  He takes a hesitant step in the direction of his mother’s soft sobs coming from the living room, stopping when my father steps in front of him.

  “Thank you, Mr. Foster,” Trevor says, shaking Dad’s hand. “Thanks for bringing him home.”

  “We were just in the right place at the right time. You call me if you or your mama need anything, okay?”

  Trevor nods and smiles. I’ve missed that smile. He puts his hands back in his pockets and walks into the living room without so much as a glance in my direction. My heart drops a little. I didn’t exactly expect a joyous reunion filled with balloons and kisses. In fact, I was ready for him to rip me a new one. I would have much preferred that to his cold indifference.

  I step outside to wait on the porch. The rain still comes in heavy sheets, and lightning flashes in rapid succession, illuminating the mountains that surround us. If this keeps up, the entire town will be under water before the night is through.

  Caitlyn.

  My name swoops through the air in an ominous whisper, and my skin begins to tingle again. An intense pain fills my head and my vision blurs. I drop to my knees and my father’s hands catch me under my armpits before I hit the ground. Just as quickly as it hit, the pain is gone.

  “Are you all right?” Dad places a steadying arm around my shoulder.

  “Just a little dizzy. I haven’t eaten today.” It’s a lie, but he seems to buy it.

  “Let’s get you home.”

  I follow him to the truck, my eyes searching the property for the mysterious whisperer, but all I see is rain and darkness.

  Chapter Two

  The headlights of my father’s truck sweep across the two-story farmhouse as he turns off the old country road and pulls into the driveway. We’re here. The last place on earth I want to be.

  “We’re home, kiddo.” Dad cuts the engine and reaches across the seat to nudge my shoulder like I’m an old drinking buddy.

  This isn’t my home. My home is in Tacoma. This will never be home.

  He opens his door and jumps out into the pouring rain, hopping over puddles before dodging up the steps. He turns to look at me, the porch light illuminating him from behind. He motions for me to get out of the truck. I sigh in annoyance. I can’t stay here all night, but I don’t want to go in there. If I step out of this truck, walk up those steps and through that door, then it’s real. My old life will vanish and I’ll never get it back. Good-bye Gucci, Dior, and Chanel. Hello boots and Wranglers, bad perms, and camel toes.

  My eyes dart across the large gray farmhouse with its white shutters and wraparound porch. It looks the same as it always has, but it feels different. This is no longer a summer vacation. This time I can’t leave.

  I don’t want to go in there.

  The door bursts open and I see the small frame of my eight-year-old half-brother, Mitch. He waves excitedly with one hand, the other firmly clamped around the collar of his border collie, Yancy. He moves to start down the steps, but my father stops him from running out into the pouring rain.

  “Caity, come on.” He waves again, hopping with excitement like he needs to pee. Yancy barks, her tail thumping against Mitch’s leg. At least someone’s happy to see me.

  I take a deep breath and open the door. Rain pelts my face, stinging my cheeks. I don’t bother running. I’m already wet and caked in mud, my clothes officially ruined.

  As soon as I hit the steps, Mitch is all over me. Yancy jumps and barks in circles around us. Mitch wraps his arms around my waist and holds tight. I can’t help but smile. He grabs my hand and pulls me into the house, slamming the door behind us. The moment I step inside, the smell of pot roast fills my nose and my stomach starts to rumble.

  “Mom! Caity’s here.”

  At the sound of Mitch’s voice, my stepmother, Judy, appears from the kitchen, staring at us as though Mitch just dragged in a dead rat and handed it to her.

  “Look at all the mud on the floor.” She glances at me in disgust, a dishcloth in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. She looks like a housewife straight from the suburbs: bleached-blond hair pulled back from her face in a headband, her makeup perfectly applied, her pink sweater tight across her chest. It appears she finally got the boob job she’s wanted for years. “What took you so long? Dinner’s been ready for an hour. Mitch is starving.”

  “The bridge is flooded,” Dad says as he removes his boots. “We almost didn’t make it across. Then we found the Perkins boy stumbling along the road. We had to take him by Doc’s place.”

  “You found Mason? He’s alive?”

  “Yeah. He was in pretty bad shape, but I think he’ll be okay.” Dad exits the room without another word.

  Judy studies me, no doubt coveting the designer duds I wear despite their ragged appearance. “Your stuff arrived yesterday. I went ahead and unpacked what I could. The rest of your things have been stored.”

  “You unpacked my stuff?” The thought of her going through my things annoys the shit out of me.

  “I thought it would be nice for you to come home and find everything put away so you wouldn’t have to worry about it, and … ”

  “And what?” I know what she’s alluding to, but I want her to say it.

  “Your father and I wanted to make sure that everything was … clean. That you hadn’t packed anything that might … be unhealthy for you.” She chooses her words carefully since Mitch is in the room.

  I look her directly in the eye. “I’m clean, Judy. I have been since August.” My fingers trace the outline of the small bottle of pills hidden within the inner pocket of my coat. They’re both my savior and my downfall and the very things that make me a liar.

  “And I’d like to keep it that way. If I even suspect you’re using again, you’ll be out of here before you know what hit you,” she says with a smile before disappearing into the kitchen.

  Part of me wants to go after her and pick a fight, but the smart side of me knows better. I need to tread lightly—at least for a few days.

  “Cait? Do you wanna play a game later?” Mitch’s voice is small and hesitant. I forgot he was standing there.

  “We’ll see, buddy. I’m kind of tired.”

  “I’m happy you’re going to live with us. I’m sorry about your mom.” He wraps his arms around my waist, and I push back the tears that sting my eyes. If it weren’t for him, living here would be unbearable. Mitch can be a little annoying at times, but I love him to death. “I love you, Caity.”

  “I love you too, buddy.
” I ruffle his shaggy blond hair before heading upstairs to my room. I’m surprised Judy didn’t move Mitch out of his downstairs bedroom and make me stay there so I would be closer to her and my dad. I know she’s going to watch my every move. I’ll need to be extra alert.

  I stifle the annoyance that springs up again when I see my stuff laid out. Judy has taken it upon herself to paint the room a light shade of pink, and adorned the walls with hearts and flowers. I’m so not a hearts and flowers girl. I lay my damp wool coat out on the floor, hoping that maybe it will dry and not be totally ruined. What I need is a dry cleaner, but that’s not happening in this town.

  I change into my favorite pair of Juicy sweats and a tank top, then pull my hair up into a ponytail. My stomach grumbles again and I know I need to go down for dinner, but I don’t want to deal with Judy. I’m about to flop down onto the bed when there’s a knock at my door.

  “Caity?” It’s good to know that Mitch hasn’t forgotten my rule about knocking before entering. “Mom said to tell you to come down for dinner.”

  “Be there in a second.”

  I remind myself that I will not fight with Judy. I won’t talk back, I won’t act out, and I will do as I’m told. We may not have the best relationship, but I have to make it work. I have two more years before college, and I’d like those two years to be pleasant.

  Once I’ve finished lecturing myself, I head downstairs and notice the table done up all fancy as if we’re expecting guests. A vase of fresh flowers sits on the bar, the table filled with dishes of pot roast, roasted vegetables, a fresh salad, and rolls. The table is flawless; like something you would see in a magazine. Typical Judy. She’s like a mini Martha Stewart.

  I’m surprised dinner is relatively pleasant, even if I do feel a little out of place. I’ve never entirely felt a part of this family. If anyone were to see us all on the street, they’d never guess I am related. Mitch has my dad’s sandy blond hair and fair complexion and Judy’s gray-blue eyes. I was blessed with my mother’s light brown Native American skin and thick dark hair. The only thing I inherited from my father are his green eyes.

  “Hey, Caity. Do you want to enter the potato sack race with me?” Mitch looks at me hopefully.

  “Potato sack race?” Is this 1952?

  “Yeah, at the Harvest Festival. It’s tomorrow night. There’s gonna be all kinds of cool games and prizes. Mom’s in charge.”

  Of course she is. If anything, Judy loves being in charge of things: festivals, organizations, other women’s husbands.

  Judy sighs and runs a hand over her face. “If this rain doesn’t let up there may not be a festival tomorrow. All of that hard work down the drain.”

  “It’ll be fine,” my father says, reaching across the table to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “They put the tarps down on the grass at the park.”

  “But if it keeps raining—”

  “If it keeps raining, then move it into the high school gym. Stop worrying about something you can’t control.”

  Judy leans over and kisses him on the cheek. I have to force myself not to roll my eyes.

  After dessert—a delectable hot apple cobbler and vanilla ice cream—Judy sends Mitch off for a bath while she washes the dishes. I know I should play the part of the dutiful stepdaughter and offer to help out, but I really don’t want to. Instead, I sit at the table with my father, unspoken words heavy in the air.

  “How are you holding up?” he finally asks. You’d think he would’ve asked me this earlier. I guess it’s easier when he’s not trapped in a car with me. If he doesn’t like something I have to say, he can shut me off and go to another room.

  “I’m okay.” I stare at my hands, unable to look him in the eye.

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t make the funeral. There was just so much going on here. I had crops to harvest. I was working around the clock.” Even though I’m annoyed with him, I really do think he would’ve liked to be there. “Did they put that boy away?”

  I know he means Jonah. He never met him, but I can tell by the sound of his voice that he hates him as much as I do.

  “No. They only held him for a few days then let him go. Not enough evidence.”

  “Do you think he’ll come here looking for you?” There’s a twinge of fear in Judy’s voice. She stares at me, a worried look in her eyes. How inconvenient that her rotten stepdaughter’s psycho ex-boyfriend might have followed her here.

  “I have a restraining order.” I know it isn’t much, but it’s all I could do. “I’m pretty sure he’s long gone.”

  I know this isn’t true. I’d seen him just two nights ago when my friend Amy and I had gone to a movie. He was standing outside waiting for us, insisting that I talk to him. Even when he’s not around physically, he’s always on my mind. I see him when I sleep, and out of the corner of my eye every time I turn around.

  “And how’s the … other thing?” Dad looks down at his hands when he asks. He can’t even say the word.

  “The addiction?” I say for him. “It’s under control. Rehab was good for me. I’m clean, Dad. Really. I have no desire to go back to that way of life.” When did lying become so easy?

  “What happened to you, Cait? I never would have thought … ” He can’t look at me. The disappointment is evident in his voice and it hurts.

  “Stupid mistake. Peer pressure.” These are both reasons I learned about in rehab—things that can drive people to start using. For me, it was different. I used Klonopin to calm me. To get rid of the weird things that started happening to me when I turned sixteen six months ago—the night I somehow managed to throw a two-hundred-pound football player across the room by sheer force of will. The drugs keep me from hurting anyone.

  Judy walks over and sits at the table next to my dad and takes both our hands in hers. “We’re here for you, sweetheart. If you ever need us, just talk to us. We want to help you through this.”

  I want to vomit all over her. She’s putting on a show for my dad’s benefit. Her tone is certainly different from the one she used earlier when she told me she would have no problem tossing me out on my ass. I want to call her out, but I don’t. I don’t want to fight. Things have to get better, and if stroking Judy’s ego is part of what I have to do, then so be it. This is my home now, like it or not.

  I thank both of them and then plant a kiss on my dad’s cheek before retreating to my bed, promising Mitch that we can play games another night. After everything that happened today, I’m both physically and emotionally exhausted. I need some space. I go up to my room and close my door.

  ***

  Grief is a funny thing. Just when I think I may be okay—that I’ll get through this—it pulls back and smacks me with so much force that it practically paralyzes me.

  I miss my mom. A lot. She shouldn’t be dead. I should be sitting in our townhouse right now, far from this podunk town, Mom making us grilled-cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. I would finish my homework, and then we’d sit down for a marathon of all the shows we’d recorded on DVR this past week. We should be giggling at the crazy commercials and sharing a pint of Rocky Road ice cream. We should be talking about how I’m holding up after rehab. I was never one of those girls who felt their mom was a pain in the ass. I trusted her and I loved her and it’s my fault she’s dead.

  Right now, I need her more than anything. I need to talk to someone about the weird shit that’s happened to me. Mom knew I was different, and she did everything she could to protect me from whatever it is that burns inside of me. The problem is, she never told me what it is. Maybe even she didn’t know. I’m afraid, and there’s no one else in the world I can ever trust with this secret. Besides me, only one other person knows what I can do, and I never want to see him again.

  Jonah was every girl’s dream. He had black hair, dark eyes, and a lean swimmer’s build. He was charming and romantic with a bad streak—the perfect balance of good and evil. He could make me agree to anything with just a l
ook. He made me feel alive—like nothing else mattered.

  I should never have trusted him. If there were an award for the Queen of Bad Decisions, it would easily go to me.

  I pull the covers up to my chin, adjusting to the strange sounds. It always takes me a while to acclimate to this place. I’m used to horns and sirens and the general excitement of the busy city. The quiet of the country unnerves me. The only sound is the whispering of the constant wind as it teases the tree in the back yard, knocking the branches against my window. I make a mental note to grab a pair of Judy’s pruning shears and lop off a few inches of the offending branch in the morning.

  I fall into a restless sleep, my dreams plagued with images of a broken Mason chasing me through the forest, up the side of the mountain, and to the falls. The trees come to life, reaching for me with their branches, grabbing my hair and my ankles. Something out here wants me dead.

  I bolt upright in bed—limbs flailing, heart racing, sheets knotted around me like a straitjacket. Thunder pounds at the sky and a bolt of lightning lights up my room. My head throbs. I walk to the bathroom and take three Motrin, hoping it will at least take the edge off. I’d love to dive into the Klonopin tucked away in the box in my closet, but I need to show a little restraint. When I walk into my room, I freeze when I see the small figure standing near the window.

  “Mitch? What are you doing in here?” I flop down on my bed, pulling the covers around me.

  “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” He fidgets a bit, embarrassed to ask.

  “Why?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “What’s wrong, buddy?” I prop myself up on one elbow and hold out a hand to him.

  “Someone’s outside my window.” He climbs onto my bed, the static of his flannel pajamas crackling with electricity as he slides himself across the comforter.