“So how do you want to celebrate?” I asked.
Kyra walked toward a clear spot near the lake’s edge. The ice was still dark and thick but had started showing its first cracks. The surface reflected the skies above. A gust of wind swirled around us, whipping up the last of the snow cover. Kyra spread her arms wide and spun. “With stories, of course.”
“You’ll freeze to death. Zip up your coat,” I said, and I tossed her the extra scarves I’d snatched from her room.
She rolled her eyes with a smile. And when she pulled me between the stars that shined on the ice, her hands were warm around mine. “Grandfather always said that stories are the heartbeat of the world, especially in Alaska. Stories shape us. They give meaning to the harshest winters and the longest summers.”
Even though Kyra’s family had been in Lost Creek since the town’s beginnings, her grandfather had been an outsider at first. As a folklorist, he used to travel around to listen to and record the stories of the Koyukon Athabascan and the Iñupiat, the Yupik and the Haida. Though he had shared countless stories with Kyra, she would never share them with me. She said they hadn’t been his stories to begin with, and the only way to understand those narratives was to respect and know the people they belonged to.
“Then what stories will you tell?” I asked.
“Ours. Lost Creek is full of stories too. Stories of love and secrets. Of friendship and survival. Of hate.” She swallowed hard, as if thinking of a particular story. After a moment’s pause, she said, “We live and create our own stories. The story of Sam, the sheriff’s son who never smiles. The story of a haunted post office. The stories in the games your brother designs. The story of you and me and all of us on this stolen land. Don’t you think our stories are what make us human?”
I mostly kept my eyes trained on the northeast, so I wouldn’t miss the meteors, but at that remark, I turned back to her. “Wouldn’t you prefer happier stories? Happily ever afters?”
“Would I?” Kyra’s gaze settled on the distant night sky. “Think of your meteors. What if they aren’t all science? What if the burning lights we see are spirits, falling back to earth? What if they’re trying to return to their loved ones before they burn out? What if a falling star is a soul coming home, one last time?”
The differences between us were never more obvious than when we looked at the night sky. I saw supernovas and explosions, while she saw the stories behind these phenomena. I sought understanding, while she gave the stars meaning. Still… “Homecoming?” I replied. “I like that.”
“It’s no happily ever after,” she said, “but it’s enough.”
Kyra grabbed my hands and twirled me, until I started laughing and we were so dizzy that the stars danced like fireflies.
Suddenly she stopped. I tripped over my own feet and skidded across the ice.
“It is enough,” she repeated in a gasp as she tried to regain her breath. “It doesn’t have to be a happily ever after or happily always. Just a happily once. A happily sometimes. Hope. That’d make our pain worth it.” For a few seconds, she looked intensely sad. Then she curled her fingers around my hand. “Come on, we’ll tell each other stories.”
While we watched the stars in the sky, she wove tales of promise and heartbreak. Tales of Lost Creek itself.
As dawn settled around us, I felt Kyra slip away from me. Her smile faded. I clung to her. I hated these episodes. They scared me because I never knew what to expect from her.
In the end, she was the one who spoke up first.
“Rowanne thinks these new mood stabilizers aren’t helping enough,” she said quietly. She wove her fingers through her hair and tugged. “Again.”
“I’m sorry.” That was the best consolation I could offer. She’d tried most of the common treatments, but her manic episodes had become more intense. She went for weeks with minimal sleep. She spent days upon days drawing, painting, listening to tunes that only she could hear. At the same time, her depression had grown darker. Some days, she was so lost within herself that no one could reach her, no matter how much I wanted to lead her out. And both were happening more often.
“She thinks it might be better to try something new.” Kyra picked up a stick and drew figures in the snow. “She’s been in touch with a treatment center in Fairbanks. She wants me to go. To try other medications under more supervision, more intense therapy.”
“Oh.” Plenty of people in Lost talked about sending Kyra to a residential treatment facility, but this was the first time she had spoken of it herself.
“It feels like defeat, you know?”
I bit my lip. “It isn’t.”
“I know, but it still feels like it is. I want medication that helps. I want my therapy sessions with Rowanne to be enough. I want my studies and my stories and our friendship to carry me through. I don’t want to need anything more.” She pulled her knees to her chest and hunched her shoulders forward.
“Do you want to go?” I asked. I didn’t know what else to say.
She didn’t look at me. “If you’re leaving this summer… Without you here, I think it might be a good idea.”
“Oh.” I wanted her to be healthy, and I tried to support her—but I’d started to lose faith that Kyra could find a way back to a life between her extremes.
“Corey…” Her voice twisted in loneliness.
“I think it’s a good idea too.” I forced my voice to sound sincere. “It might help you. It might make you be better.”
“You don’t think I’m enough like this.” She looked at me then, her eyes sad. Because for all we had shared—skinny dipping in the lake, reading horror stories in the deepest parts of the forest—her illness had increasingly been coming between us. She was trying to accept and live with her illness, and I was struggling to understand that.
“I think you could be so much more. I want to see you happy.”
She seemed on the verge of responding, then thought better of it. She was quiet for a time, then asked, “Will you come back to me?”
“Always.” I wrapped my arms around her. “Will you wait for me?”
She leaned into me. “Always.”
Postcard from Kyra to Corey
unsent
Your postcard arrived today, Cor. Where did you even find one? Mrs. Morden had to dig through the archives to find me this ancient postcard to write. Greetings from Lost Creek Hot Springs, the fountain to cure all ills! It’s fitting, I guess.
Do you remember the first time we snuck out to the spa? Wondering what secrets it held? There are no secrets anymore, or maybe there are only secrets. And this is the one I hold closest: hearing from you gives me hope. Hope that I will see you again. Hope that I may get out of here.
But hope is the cruelest of all.
I miss you.
Now Here’s to You
Mrs. Robinson is as old as the stones, as old as Lost Creek. When she sees me coming up the walk to her home at the edge of town, she opens her door. She wraps her hands around mine, at once stronger and frailer than I thought she would be. She barely reaches my shoulder now, but she’s as fierce as an avalanche.
“Oh, Corey.” She ushers me into her living room, overwhelming me with hospitality and questions about my life.
Once I’ve assured her I’m all right and my mother and brother are well, she pours me a cup of tea from the teapot already waiting on the coffee table. Mrs. Robinson is always prepared to have visitors.
“It’s good to have you back. No matter what anyone else may say, the outside world isn’t made for people like us. You belong here.”
Her warmth wraps around me like a blanket. I want to belong here. “Lost is so different now that Kyra is gone.”
“I miss her too, dear. Everyone does. It’s sad to lose someone so young and talented.”
“She had so many stories to tell,” I say.
&nbs
p; “And so much of her art to share.”
“The paintings… Did you believe…” I struggle to find the words. It’s absurd to ask her if she believes Kyra’s paintings predicted the future. Or if she believes Kyra was the prophetess Piper seems to think she was.
Mrs. Robinson says, “Oh, I’m too old for the folly of the rest of the town.”
“Is that what you think it is?” Because I don’t know what to think.
Mrs. Robinson lifts her teacup and regards me over the rim. “Consider it a matter of perspective, then. I’ve spent decades in this town—lifetimes to some. I have seen it resist change, then embrace it countless times. I have seen it fight off financial problems when the mine closed and rise from the ashes. It’s good fertilizer, ashes. If used sparingly and knowingly, ashes will help your garden grow.”
Ashes. My tea suddenly tastes bitter. “Kyra died. How does her death help anyone?”
“Change isn’t easy.”
I’m not naive enough to think that nothing changes. I know that change can be uncomfortable. But it shouldn’t hurt, not like this. “It’s not right.”
“I didn’t say it was. But it’s not the end of the world. Very little is, in fact, although we would like to pretend otherwise.”
“Everything that happened at White Wolf Lake… It was the end of Kyra’s world. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Mrs. Robinson considers me. Her skin is thin like parchment, but her eyes are still sharp. Kyra always told me she couldn’t imagine living to a hundred, but if she did, she wanted to be like Mrs. Robinson: graceful and surrounded by flowers.
“Come,” Mrs. Robinson says. She grabs her cane and gets to her feet, with practiced ease. “Let me show you something.”
Planting Seeds
Mrs. Robinson takes me with slow determination through the house. We walk down the hall covered with sepia photos from another lifetime. In the kitchen, which always vaguely smells of rhubarb crumble, she stops at the back door.
I stare through the window, bewildered, as laughter floats in from outside.
Mrs. Robinson’s garden isn’t winter ready. The plants aren’t protected against the snow. The furniture isn’t covered. And the little shed’s door is open. It makes my fingers itch. This garden doesn’t only belong to Mrs. Robinson; we all take ownership by helping her tend it. And preparing it for winter is a communal task.
But.
On the other side of the fence, the snow is knee deep and continues to fall. Despite that, Mrs. Robinson’s garden is in full bloom.
She comes to stand next to me, leaning heavily on her cane. “Close your mouth, dear. It’s unbecoming.”
My mouth snaps shut, but I can’t stop staring. The garden is alive. One side is filled entirely with blooming salmonberry shrubs. A few of the younger teens—Gwen and Willow Wilde and Henry Lucas—mill about between the plants, picking ripe berries. Tobias Morden smiles and waves when he sees me.
I wave back. Any other time I would’ve walked over to talk to him, but my thoughts are going a hundred miles a minute. What happened here? How can this garden be in bloom?
The other half of the garden is covered in wildflowers. Yellow poppies run from the center path to the hedges, which frame the garden. It’s a sea of flowers. Purple lupine borders the edges. The Harper brothers weed around the flowers, even though the ground should be hard and frozen.
The only snow sticking in the garden is the snow that clings to people’s hair and boots. Otherwise it’s spring. Summer. Berry season. Life.
“Kyra cared for this garden,” Mrs. Robinson says. “Once she moved to the spa, she spent less time here, but she’d still come every couple of days to tend the ground and the plants. On the days that she couldn’t make it, Piper was here. Or young Tobias. Or Sam. Or any of the others. We wanted to make the garden winter ready, but Kyra was adamant that we shouldn’t. I would sit with Kyra for hours then, even when the days began to shorten. She would paint without care for rest or food.”
The bright colors of the flowers keep distracting me, and it takes a little while for Mrs. Robinson’s words to register.
“I doubted her, at first. But then the garden started to grow. Flowers started to appear that hadn’t been in this garden for years. The salmonberry shrubs started to bloom again. We had no explanation for it—Kyra had no explanation for it—but we couldn’t deny what we saw in front of us.” Mrs. Robinson takes my hand and walks me to the shed. Nothing is stored away. All the tools are still in use.
She points me around the side of the structure to the outer wall, which I couldn’t see from the house. It’s another painting of Kyra’s, but one far more realistic than her usual style. It depicts a garden filled with salmonberries, purple lupine, and other wildflowers. It’s a garden that mirrors Mrs. Robinson’s garden almost exactly as it is looks now.
“The world doesn’t end when one of us leaves it. We change by being here. Kyra left behind a tangible legacy. She created art. She created this too. Do you understand?”
I open my mouth and close it again.
“Corey?” Mrs. Robinson’s voice takes on an edge.
It’s habit to say yes, ma’am. But instead, I clamp my mouth shut and shake my head.
I don’t understand. And I don’t think I ever will.
To Those We Have Loved and Lost
I close the garden gate behind me and wander back to the center of town, lost in thought. The garden looked so different back when Kyra and I kissed. Being with Kyra was easy, comfortable. The conversation that followed our kiss was anything but. I didn’t want to remember it. I don’t want to remember it.
But I can’t ignore that memory.
“It’s okay.”
I start walking away from Mrs. Robinson’s house.
“It’s okay.”
And I remember.
A Year and a Half Before
We finished tending the garden in silence. Then I waited outside while Kyra went in to say goodbye to Mrs. Robinson. After that, we walked to the woods at the edge of town, away from the houses, away from people. The only company we might have would be moose.
“It’s okay,” Kyra said, her back to me.
I put my hand on her shoulder.
“No, it’s not,” I said. “I want to be able to talk about this, about us.”
“I just…” She raked her fingers through her hair before taking off her glasses to polish them, a sure sign she was nervous. “You shouldn’t be apologizing to me. I’m sorry. I misread the signs.”
“You didn’t. Or maybe you did—but I did too.”
She made a face. “I’m not that bad a kisser, am I?”
“No, you fool.” I punched her lightly in the arm, but quickly sobered. “I kissed you because I was curious, because I wanted to know what all the fuss was about. I thought maybe if I tried it, I’d be…” I stumbled over the words, because the only way to understand my own feelings was to voice them, but I didn’t want to hurt Kyra. While kissing may have been a one-time thing for me, it wasn’t for her. “I’m not attracted to you. I don’t think I’ve ever been attracted to anyone. That’s not how it works for me.”
“So it’s not me, it’s you?”
I grimaced. “Something like that. I love you, but I’m not in love with you.”
“I love you, and I am in love with you,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
This time, when Kyra turned away from me, I let her be.
Her shoulders tensed and her knuckles turned white from gripping her own arms so tightly. Even if she didn’t want me to see her cry, I couldn’t ignore how silent sobs racked her body. But all I could do was simply be there, close to her—and wait.
After some time, she calmed and spoke. “I don’t want to lose you.” I’d never heard her sound so fragile before.
“I don’t
want to lose you either,” I whispered. Friendship was all I could give her, and I wasn’t sure it was enough.
“You’re all I have in this town. I don’t want to push you away.”
I stepped close and wrapped my arms around her. She felt as taut as a bear trap. “I won’t let you push me away.”
“Promise?”
I stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss into her hair. “You’re my best friend. I love you endless days and endless nights. You’re stuck with me.”
She sighed and some of the tension eased from her shoulders. “I would be utterly lost without you.”
Phone call
“Is Mom there, Luke?”
“She’s at a meeting at the hospital. You know how it goes. She won’t be home for another couple of hours. Why, what do you need?”
“I…”
“Corey? Is something wrong?”
“I…”
“Cor?”
“Sorry, I forgot how terrible the reception is here.”
“Yeahhh. Tell me about something I do miss.”
“Like grizzlies?”
“They’re hibernating.”
“Eagles?”
“Migratory.”
“Mrs. Robinson’s rhubarb crumble.”
“It’s not the season for rhubarb, Corey. You know that.”
“Mrs. H’s cookies.”
“No fair. I do miss those. I’ll get on the next plane to Lost.”
“I’ll be—I’d be home by the time you got here.”
“Corey? Are you sure you’re okay? You sound weird. Weirder than normal.”
“Shut up, punk. It’s… It’s strange to be back here, you know? I thought everything would be the same, but so much has changed. Did you know they’re even talking about reopening the mine? I thought Lost would always be home, but I’m not sure where home is anymore.”
“Home is still there. And school. And here, with Mom and me. As long as you don’t take the train straight back to school without coming to see us. The new house really isn’t that bad. Mom finally decorated the living room.”
Before I Let Go Page 7
