I do it because I’m making up for something that can never be atoned, no matter how much I acknowledge the truth of what is in the woods.
Matt stuffs most of the bacon in his mouth, his cheeks stretching like a chipmunk’s.
“Why is Mom mad now?” I say, changing the subject.
I stare, waiting for him to finish chewing so he can speak. He takes too long, and I can feel the corners of my eyes tightening up into a glare.
Matt gives me a knowing smile. I growl as I throw open my closet door. The last thing I feel like doing is hauling myself off to a youth group retreat. What I want is to pull my filthy boots on and walk out the back door to discover if I’m losing my mind or I really saw what I think I saw. Forget the “never again.” Now that the fear has faded, rationale has returned. Or maybe just an influx of crazy. Either way.
“What time do you think we’ll be home today?” My mind is already working out the logistics of my poorly thought-out plan.
“I don’t know, maybe midafternoon.”
“Did you have plans tonight?”
Matt shrugs, tracing a pattern on my comforter. “Not really. I was thinking about going out.”
“With who?” Matt doesn’t have a girlfriend. He’s too busy dating.
“Maybe Kelsey.”
“Wright? She’s pretty nice.” At least compared to Kelsee Connor, the girl who used to chunk dodge balls at me in fifth grade.
“Yeah,” he says noncommittally. “But it’s no big deal.”
“Don’t you like her? You two have been off and on for a while,” I say carefully as I peer out my window.
“Sure, she’s great. Long legs, nice tan . . .” He flashes me a smile. Then he goes back to plucking listlessly at my comforter. He pulls one of my sandy blond hairs off and makes a show of dropping it to the floor.
“Who would you rather go out with?” I look away and out the window just as something flickers at the edge of the forest, near the tree stump.
“No one. Not right now, anyway.”
My gaze is so focused it takes me a minute to realize he answered. “But you don’t like her like her.”
“It doesn’t matter. It gets me out of the house. You should try it sometime.” He leans over and thumps me on the arm.
“I don’t think so. That would require me to actually like someone.” I strain my neck to peer around Matt’s head. I swear I see something. “And it doesn’t matter anyway since I can’t date.” One shadow suddenly detaches itself and drifts slowly along the edge of the trees. My heart jumps into my throat.
“I know, but still.” Matt tosses a stuffed bear into the air and catches it.
A fox darts out of the trees and into the hay field, disappearing from view. So not the wild boy, then. The crushing surge of disappointment actually surprises me. I turn around to find Matt staring at me. “What are you looking at?”
“I just thought I saw something in the woods.”
“Like?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Keeping secrets?”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I say lightly as Mom yells for us again.
“Are you going to get ready or not?”
“Are you going to tell?” I answer, glancing down at my boots.
“I’ll think about it.” He shoves the final piece of bacon in his mouth and rolls off my bed. As Matt turns to leave, I lift a stuffed unicorn off the rainbow pile of animals at my feet. He senses me and bolts for the open doorway just as the unicorn leaves my hand, his laughter echoing down the hallway. The stuffed animal slams into the door and falls uselessly to the ground. That’s exactly how I feel right now. Useless. I’m trapped by circumstances, so any plans I want to make will have to wait.
I change clothes and head downstairs. Dad is sipping coffee with his Bible lying on the table, wearing the usual dress shirt and tie that I don’t think will look appropriate on the river today. Mom’s stirring her scrambled eggs around on her plate, staring at the table in tense silence, her blond hair pulled up and makeup put on a little heavier today to hide the shadows under her eyes. Neither of them looks like they’ve slept in a week.
Slowly I pull my chair out and sit, trying not to draw attention. Mom’s smile is less than sparkling this morning, and she eyes me like she knows I’m hiding something. Dad flips a page before looking at me from over the rim of his glasses. “Matthew says you’re not feeling well?” It’s never Matt, always Matthew, said with the same formality of mine.
I glance at Matt, sitting across from me, realizing I actually need an excuse for sleeping so late. “I’m just tired, couldn’t sleep well last night.” I shrug, thinking I should have come downstairs earlier to avoid all of this now. I’m good at lying about the things I want to cover up, like lip gloss at school and contraband copies of Cosmo that Ashley sneaks me, but I’m not sure I can lie about this. It’s too important. It feels . . . urgent.
“Well, I’ve got to go to the hospital this morning, so I won’t be at the retreat today,” Dad says with a sigh, already moving on. “Mrs. Ellis had a fall last night. They think it’s a broken hip.”
“That’s terrible,” Mom says absently as she stabs a bit of egg.
Dad stares at her, the frown line between his brows getting deeper. “I’m sure she would appreciate seeing you, Nora.”
“And I’m sure she’s so full of painkillers that she won’t notice if I’m not there.”
Dad clears his throat, like he’s about to start preaching. Knowing what kind of a day it is, and what’s likely to happen, I wish he’d just leave her alone.
“Nora—”
Mom doesn’t even give him a chance. Her hand slaps the table, and glasses rattle as she meets Dad’s gaze. “Don’t preach to me, Michael. Not today.” Her eyes burn with fire, but she still can’t stop the quiver of her bottom lip. Dad sighs, shaking his head as he looks down at his Bible again. Mom tears herself from the table, snatching up dishes of half-eaten food from everyone. Matt grabs the last of the bacon from his plate as it’s being carried away.
It’s definitely a Bad Day.
Dread coils in my stomach like a living thing. I hate this feeling. The fighting never gets easier. I used to think it would, or that they would eventually stop, but I’m still waiting.
I can still remember my first youth retreat down at the river. I was five, and Mom had packed our picnic basket with enough food to feed an army. Dad sang silly songs with us in the car, even when he was tired and we kept insisting. When the youth minister began playing a guitar, Dad twirled Mom around in the sand, and then they danced with each of us until we all fell down in the water laughing, a completely happy family.
But that was another lifetime ago.
Dishes rattle and threaten to shatter as Mom flips down the dishwasher door and turns on the sink water as fast as it will go. It’s only going to get worse from here. The anniversary of the end of our perfect lives is weeks away, and like it or not, preparations have to be made.
Dad’s tired voice breaks the tense silence. “Matthew, don’t make plans for tomorrow. We need to get the deer blind ready.” Matt gives me a resigned glance. Our father, the mighty hunter on Saturday and convicting preacher on Sunday. One of these days he’s going to realize that Matt hates hunting and killing things—basically anything to do with the woods. Or maybe Dad knows, maybe he sees the truth and this is his way of trying to smother it. Dad refuses to let either of us be less than what he expects.
Dad gets to his feet, grabs his Bible, and sips from his white coffee cup one more time. “I know I don’t have to remind both of you to conduct yourselves properly today at the youth retreat. I know this is a . . . casual event, but it is still a church activity. Remember you are Robertses.”
“Hard to forget,” I mutter into my juice glass.
“We know, Dad,” Matt says loudly, kicking me under the table. “Tell Mrs. Ellis she’s in our prayers.” Dad nods absently, his focus already miles away. Matt shakes his head at me
and I roll my eyes.
More dishes crash into the sink and Dad’s fist tightens on his cup. Just when I think he’s going to slam it down, he stops, the cup’s bottom hovering just above the linen tablecloth. His lips are pale and pressed flat. A muscle in his jaw ticks.
With a shaking hand, he sets the cup down and walks away.
Our family is anything but the perfect one everyone believes us to be, even with our tragic history. To the community, it makes us even more picture-perfect. To have survived something like we did and still appear normal and sane.
But I know the truth. Mom walks around with a Kleenex to hide the fact that her red eyes aren’t from tears. Dad hides his bitterness so well it’s become second nature. I’m still amazed at the way it melts away the second we leave this house, how he replaces it with a reverent smile as he takes the steps to the pulpit on Sunday morning, raising his hands in welcome as if all is well in the world.
We’re all liars. We have to be. It’s not like we can try to forget and move on with our lives in a town like this. You can see it sometimes, in a too-long glance or subtle whisper. Small towns make time slow, as if the tragic, horrible events happened only yesterday. I think it’s the collective memory of an insular, backwoods community. It’s all they can think or gossip about until the next big incident comes along. All I’ve ever thought about is getting out of here after graduation and never coming back.
But that’s a lie as well. I know I can’t stay here forever, living in and out of the forest, though the thought of leaving for good frightens me more than staying in this broken home. I feel that if I take that step, it will break some unspoken trust I share with the forest and with these creatures. My refuge will disappear, and them along with it.
I don’t know if I can let go of that, if my freedom is worth the cost of losing myself. I think I would rather maintain the precarious balance between my two worlds than fall one way or the other and risk ruining everything.
And now a giant complication in the form of a wild boy has appeared, threatening that balance I’ve worked so hard to protect.
A car starts outside, and the sound of crunching gravel echoes over the soft rumble of the dishwasher. As soon as Dad’s gone, I hear the utensil drawer open, the one where Mom keeps her secret, and then her ragged sigh of relief as she presses the silver flask to her lips.
chapter three
The murky river swirls far below as I slide my carnation-pink toes to the edge of the diving platform, polish remover waiting in the car to hide the fact that I painted them on the way over here. It’s taken me hours to get the nerve to come up here and jump, but unlike the other girls before me who have questioned the depth of the water or the likelihood of alligators or gar, my thoughts go a little deeper today.
A log floats by, and it brings a vision of the past so strong that I forget, for just a moment, that it’s not real. Matt, Sam, and Reed sprint to the water, already boasting about who will be the first to reach the tree trunk coming around the bend. Ashley and I stay on the sandbar with our parents, knowing we can’t outswim the boys with their head start. Matt’s and Sam’s matching blond curls make them almost impossible to tell apart in the spray, and then Reed’s dark head splits them, pulling ahead as the log begins to spin in the current as it draws closer.
I don’t know what they’re going to do when they catch it. It’s twice as long as they are. Sam and Reed are neck and neck, but at the last second Matt kicks, and all three boys slap their hands on the wood simultaneously, whooping with success.
My parents laugh. I slow the memory, just to watch their faces, to remember what that looked like. When the boys swim back to shore, Matt and Sam tackle Dad in the sand, but the combined strength of their eight-year-old bodies is no match for him, and within moments Dad grabs each of them under an arm and leaps into the water, splashing half the river out onto its banks.
Reed hands me an empty clamshell as he sits beside me, the pink and aqua swirls catching the sunlight. “You should make a necklace with it.”
“I don’t know how.” I place it on top of the sandcastle at my feet, admiring it.
“Here.” He holds out his hand. “I’ll make one for you.”
“Can I help?”
“Can’t make it without you.” He reaches down with a smile and pulls me to my feet.
I blink, and they’re gone, the memory fading into the currents below, until it’s just another murky swirl.
“Come on, Leah, just do it,” Ashley, my best friend from birth, yells from the shore, her impatient tone making my stomach churn. Of course she can be cocky about it. She’s jumped three times already. As if she’s trying to tempt death. Or maybe just shove her middle finger in its face because that’s the kind of girl she is. Her bright green belly-button ring, which was quite the scandal when she got it done in the sixth grade, blinks in the sunlight.
In the tiny East Texas town of Zavalla, anything new is a big deal, and anything tragic, even bigger.
Sometimes I think this town doesn’t see me but the tragedy I represent. If I faded into the trees behind me, would anyone notice? How long before the straitlaced preacher’s daughter’s absence would cause concern? If Matt and Ashley weren’t here, I might try it, if only to push the boundaries of my imaginary cage once more.
But now I wouldn’t be alone. Another soul has claimed my woods, made it his home, and now shares my sanctuary. And he is more a mystery than the darkest shadows of the deepest part of the forest. He’s the towering tree I’m too intimidated to climb, the cave I’m too afraid to enter, or the strange noise I’m too wary to explore.
And the lure is overwhelming. I can’t walk away from it this time, no matter my fear. The boy’s face haunts me. Without warning it appears in my mind, those wide eyes full of surprise. The more I picture him, the more I want to see him again. I need to see him again. Every time I close my eyes he’s standing in front of me, like I’ve found a puzzle piece but don’t yet have the puzzle he fits in.
Had he not been shaped so differently from the others, I wouldn’t have marked him as anything else. His movements and actions reflected their own. He was one of them. Up until the moment I realized he wasn’t.
And it’s slowly driving me to do something reckless.
The platform vibrates as someone starts moving up the ladder below. “Let’s go, preacher’s daughter.” Ben Hanson climbs the last step and joins me.
“You have got to find a new label, Ben. You’ve been calling me that for years.” I don’t turn around. There’s no way I’ll be able to not stare at his perfect body in those black board shorts. I’ve seen it too many times at my house, sitting next to Matt on the couch watching football. It’s a shame his personality doesn’t always match, but it hasn’t stopped my epic crush on him.
“Don’t want you to forget it, little Leah. You need someone to show you how this is done?” He elbows me jokingly, moving to stand beside me at the edge. His skin brushes mine, and he doesn’t move away.
“I’m not little.” Heat creeps up my skin when I feel his eyes on me. “And I know how to jump,” I grumble, always feeling out of my league when I’m near him.
“It’s not the jump that counts, Leah.” Ben places a hand on my bare stomach. My brain shorts out as he pushes me away from the edge before swinging his arms back and forth. “It’s the fall.”
In one swift motion Ben propels himself off the platform, dark hair and wet skin flashing in the sunlight. After he rolls into a tight ball, his body straightens out like a board the second before he hits the water. He slides under the surface like a pro. Flawless, just like the rest of him.
I should have shoved him off the platform. Of course, if he hurt his arm or something and couldn’t catch my brother’s passes on Friday nights, the entire town would blame me. Coach Banks is standing by the grill, shaking his head grimly as he waits for Ben to break the surface. Even if he drowned because of his own foolishness, it would probably still be my fault.
; On the other hand, I’m a Roberts, and that tends to come with a Get Out of Jail Free card in this part of the world. People would probably just give me a sympathetic stare like they usually do and leave it alone.
Ben is already laughing when he finally comes up for air, breaking into a muscle-flaunting breaststroke as he swims for the bank and a shore lined with semi-bare bodies. I’m probably not the only one who releases a heavy breath. Ashley shrugs with a smirk, giving me a look that says you can’t deny that was awesome.
I shuffle back to the edge, a little less excited about the jump than I was, now that I know how clumsy I’m going to appear after that perfect dive. Country music from another decade drifts through the air from one of the trucks, mild enough to be acceptable for a church function. Besides, we’re all wearing shorts and bikinis, so it’s not like the music we’re listening to is going to change what some of us are thinking about.
A shrill whistle echoes down below. Coach Banks is waving a silver spatula in the air as smoke from the grill streams across the shoreline. The aroma of roasted hot dogs permeates the air along with the lingering scent of muddy river water. The younger kids in our youth group run to line up, grabbing Styrofoam plates with wet, sandy hands and shoving each other to be first. I can remember when stuff like that mattered, when life was something called “fun.”
Strands of hair cling to damp skin as I drag my sticky ponytail off my neck. The air is heavy with humidity that never really goes away, even in early October. We don’t have that buffer zone known as “fall.” We have an oppressively hot summer that one day slips into winter. And then the temperature just fluctuates until January, when we get a hard freeze that kills everything that’s been trying to bloom, and then it gets warm again and starts over.
Ashley peels herself off her bright pink towel, dusting the dried sand off her legs. “Now or never,” she calls up, shading her eyes. The muddy water swirls lazily as stories of what lies beneath zip through my mind. I don’t know for sure what monsters live below, but I’ve seen what lives above.
The Shadows We Know by Heart Page 2
