The Shadows We Know by Heart

by Jennifer Park

A deep breath, one step, and suddenly nothing is below me but air. I break the glassy surface, arms crossed and nose pinched. Darkness closes in like a heavy blanket as I push for the light above. Bubbles swirl around me, and I’m caught in a tornado of diamonds. My foot brushes against something that I’d rather not think about, and I kick violently just to make sure my legs stay attached to my body.

  I’m shamefully relieved when my feet touch bottom. They slide deep within the slick mud that coats the river floor, and it’s an effort to pull them out. I try not to look like I’m in a hurry, but fear of the unknown has me moving fast.

  Ashley stands there smiling at me, green eyes glowing. “See? Not so bad.”

  “Thanks, Ash.” I catch the towel she tosses me.

  “Stop worrying. You look killer in that bikini, and your dad won’t find out since he’s not here.” She rolls her eyes as she slides her feet into flip-flops. “I don’t know why he worries in the first place. It’s a freaking youth retreat. It’s not like people are going to go hook up behind the trees or anything.”

  “I know, but I’d rather avoid another talk about modesty and propriety. Did you know that I got a lecture when you got that piercing?” I point to her stomach, where the jewel flashes. “Not my decision, not my body, but I get the speech. How is that fair?”

  “Ben’s hot,” Ashley says, tossing her half-dry brown hair over her shoulder and completely ignoring my rant. “Did you totally die when he touched your stomach like that?”

  I glance around quickly to see if anyone heard her. “Be a little louder next time.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s not like he doesn’t know he’s drop-dead gorgeous. I’m just stating the obvious.” We walk toward the line, passing up slower groups of girls. “You probably see him half-naked all the time.”

  That comment draws some attention. Conversations taper off around us. “Ashley,” I warn. Yes, I have seen Ben shirtless at my house on occasion, usually when he and Matt have been throwing passes in the backyard and he strips off his shirt when he gets too hot. But that’s beside the point.

  “Please, Leah, you’ve got the reputation of a saint. You could be caught completely naked—”

  I slap my hand over Ashley’s mouth, the rest of her words smothered behind my palm. “I swear, if you finish that sentence.”

  Her emerald eyes sparkle as she peels my hand away. “You’re so easy. I love you.” She swings her arm over my shoulders. “Did you know your face matches that towel? It’s like the perfect shade of pink. Pure and innocent.”

  “Shhh!” I elbow her in the ribs, but she keeps her arm around me. “I really don’t like you sometimes.”

  “I know, but we’re stuck with each other, tossed upon our lofty pedestals of tragedy this tiny hick town will never let us down from.” When my body stiffens, Ashley sighs. “Sorry, forget I said that.”

  Forcing my shoulders to relax, I reply lightly, “Already forgotten.”

  Ashley stares at my fake smile long enough for me to know that I haven’t fooled her, but she lets it go. “I think I’m going to have two hot dogs since I don’t plan on throwing them up afterward,” she says loudly as we walk by a glowering Carlie and Brittany, both of whom have been rumored to visit the girls’ bathroom every day at the end of lunch. I don’t know if it’s actually true, but they made the mistake of telling Ash she gets away with everything because half her family’s dead. Needless to say, she’s made sure their reputation has suffered ever since freshman year.

  “And then we’re going to follow Ben Hanson up that ladder and shove his perfect, sinful body into the river.” We laugh, falling back into familiar patterns, and for a moment I forget the shadows of our past.

  “Causing trouble again?” Matt comes up behind us and slings his arms around both of us. Ashley’s smirk leaves her face immediately. Matt doesn’t notice. I swear he never does, for someone so observant.

  “Just taking advantage of our status. It helps to be the best friend of the preacher’s daughter.”

  Matt snorts. “It also helps to be you, Ashley. You don’t care what anyone thinks.”

  “Why should I? It’s a waste of time,” she says lightly, but her body is wound tight with Matt’s arm around her.

  “That was a nice jump, Leah. Maybe next time you could try to not splash half the river onto the bank.”

  “Very funny, Matt. I haven’t seen you jump yet.”

  “That’s because if I did, everyone would realize they’ll never look as good as me and give up.”

  “Except for Ben.” Ashley smirks.

  Matt frowns. “What? No way. I’m the king of the river. Officially.”

  “Well,” Ashley says. “Officially, I’m going to have to see it to believe it.”

  Matt stops, his hands tightening on our arms. “Is that a challenge?”

  “It’s whatever you want it to be. There’s no way you can beat Ben.” She lifts his hand off her arm and drops it. “Come on, Leah, I’m hungry.”

  Ashley walks away to stand in line. Matt shakes his head. “I’m going to have to make Ben look bad, aren’t I?”

  “I guess so,” I say flatly. Boys are so dumb sometimes. I slap Matt on the shoulder and follow Ashley.

  “Is he going to jump?” she asks, staring straight ahead when I join her.

  “Yep. Mission accomplished.”

  The corner of her mouth lifts into a wicked grin. “Perfect.”

  By the time Matt and I drag ourselves home, it’s too late to make it back to the woods. All I can manage is to sit and stare out the window all through supper, waiting for the barest glimpse of movement.

  Dad relates his day with the sick and elderly, skipping over the parts where Mom was missed or asked after, and Mom nods and does her best at conversation. Before everything changed, we would make up games at dinner, play tic-tac-toe on our paper napkins, or Mom would call out our spelling words and see who could spell the fastest. The winner got to clean dishes with Dad, because it always led to soap bubble Santa beards.

  Now, when supper is over everyone goes their separate ways: Dad to his office, Mom to her room, and Matt to the couch. But I linger. For a tempting moment I’m alone. The back door is within a few feet and no one is here to watch me leave.

  “Leah, we need to talk.” Dad appears in the doorway, staring at his phone.

  “Okay,” I say warily, sliding back into my chair.

  “How was the retreat today?” His gaze never leaves his phone.

  I stare at him in silent confusion. He already asked us this question over dinner. Why is he asking me now? “It was fine. Fun. Everyone had a good time.”

  Finally he breaks his gaze from his cell to look at me. “It certainly looks like you had a good time.” Dad places his phone on the table and slides it across to me. As soon as my hand grabs it I freeze. There on the bright screen is a distant shot of me, standing on top of the diving platform, wearing Ashley’s borrowed bikini, with Ben Hanson standing next to me. I can’t see his eyes clearly, but from the tilt of his head, it’s obvious where his attention is.

  If I could melt into the floor, I would. I know what’s coming.

  “You know the rules, Leah.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why did you feel the need to break them? And in such a shameful way?”

  I glance down at the phone again, weighing my options. It could have been worse. The picture could have shown the exact moment Ben’s hand was on my bare stomach. My initial reaction is to tell him that it doesn’t matter because I looked the same as every other girl, and maybe he should be lecturing them instead of me. But the last thing I need is to have Dad paying extra attention to me for breaking a minor rule when my goal is to continue breaking his most valued ones, because they are the ones that make me feel alive. Seeing the forest at dawn, waiting for the Bigfoot—and now the wild, nameless boy who dominates my thoughts—I do it all to prove, if only to myself, that there’s more to me than this seemingly passive girl.

 
; “I’m sorry, Dad. A bunch of other girls were there, and they dared me to wear it, and it just happened.” I shift in my seat, trying my best to look uncomfortable. “Peer pressure is hard to get away from sometimes.” I glance down, sniffing. Would it be too much to wipe at my eyes? I can’t tell if he bought that ridiculous, cheesy line because I’m afraid to look up and have him see the truth. I twist my fingers together, hoping I look repentant enough to forgo one of his infamous lectures.

  Dad sighs, reaching for his phone. He hits a few buttons, and I wonder if he’s deleting the picture or saving it. I prepare myself as he takes a deep breath. “Leah.” There it is again. That tone. “You’re going to—” His phone dings with a text message. Dad’s face slides into a frown as he stares down at the screen. His lips move silently as he turns and walks away.

  “Dad?”

  He stops. The look he gives me says he completely forgot I am still here, waiting for my sentence. Dad shakes his head, distracted. “You should spend the evening contemplating your actions and asking forgiveness.” Without another glance, he leaves. A few seconds later the door to his office closes.

  That’s it? No lecture? No long-winded discussion of why I continue to disappoint him with my poor choices or why I have to try harder to be a good example because of my place in the community?

  I tramp upstairs, having no intention of thinking on my actions or asking forgiveness.

  I’ve done nothing wrong.

  Not yet.

  chapter four

  I sleep too late.

  The engine of the Ranger cranks loudly outside my open window, sending me flying out of the bed. I shove the wooden pane the rest of the way up and stick my head out. “Matt!” I wave wildly, trying to get his attention. But the bright red Ranger, with Matt and Dad in it, turns quickly out of the yard, running parallel along the fence line until it enters the forest.

  So much for my plan. Going with Matt and Dad to help with the deer blind would have gotten me into the woods. Dad agreeing to let me go would have been another story. Cardinal Rule Three: Matt and Dad are the only ones who go into the woods, because we live in East Texas and we have to kill at least one unsuspecting, innocent deer every November just because.

  Whatever. On to plan B.

  The rattle of dishes downstairs means Mom is still here. I dig my nails into the soft, faded wood of the windowpane and stare at the trees, deciding how to maneuver this. White flakes of paint fall to the shingles below. I know what she’s going to want, but at this point, what’s one more lie?

  After a few moments a soft knock raps on my door and Mom peers in. “How do you feel?”

  “Fine,” I say after a moment’s hesitation, remembering the lie Matt concocted for me yesterday. My opportunity has presented itself.

  Mom eyes me up and down, like she’s trying to convince herself I’m telling the truth. “Your father and Matt have already left. I thought you might like to go into town with me. I’ve got some errands to run.”

  The question in her voice is there, and oh, it’s tempting. Even as badly as I want to go into the woods, I still want to go with Mom. She’ll take me places, buy me little things, and for just a while, all will be normal. This is how she makes it up to me, for the fights, for her bad moods, and I guess it’s not much.

  But it’s something.

  I grab my arms and shiver. “Is it cold to you?” She moves into my room and places a warm hand on my forehead.

  A line forms between her brows. “You don’t feel too warm.” She holds her hand there for a moment longer, and I try not to press into it. “I’ll get you some aspirin.”

  I glance out the window again, restless, as Mom walks down the hall. Through the badly insulated wall comes the sound of her moving around the bathroom and sifting through the crowded medicine cabinet. I close the window and hop onto my bed moments before Mom walks in, aspirin in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “Here.” She hands them to me. “If you don’t feel like going, it’s fine.”

  I swallow quickly, cringing at the sour, bitter taste of the pills. “Are you sure you don’t care?”

  She sits on the bed beside me, touching my face again. This time I lean into it, knowing it won’t last. “Not at all. You try to rest, okay?”

  I nod, knowing it’s another lie.

  “You’ll be fine by yourself?”

  “Of course, Mom.”

  “Just checking,” Mom says, her walk reluctant as she heads toward the door. “I’ll be back in a little bit.” She waves good-bye and leaves the door cracked.

  I squeeze a stuffed animal to my chest, listening to every sound in the house until I hear the one I’ve been waiting for. The front door shuts and I’m on my feet, tearing through my closet. Clothes aren’t complicated for me. Jeans, boots, T-shirt, and ponytail. I don’t even glance in the mirror.

  The crackle of rocks echoes through the window as Mom pulls down the drive. I pause at the back door as a wave of uncertainty rushes through me. It’s not like we planned anything today, so I don’t know why I should feel so guilty. Maybe it’s the lies, or maybe my subconscious is warning me against what I’m about to do.

  I have to see him again. It’s as if I’ve finally gotten the answer I didn’t really know I’ve been waiting for. Here, Leah. This is why you’ve been drawn to the forest, even knowing it’s wrong, why you’ve been watching the Bigfoot in secret all these years, yet never said a word. It’s all so you could be the one to find this boy.

  But now that I have this knowledge, what should I do with it? Fear twists its way into my mind as I remember the anger from the male Bigfoot and the same I could encounter from my father. Am I so eager to return to where I shouldn’t go?

  Yes. I twist the cold handle of the door and leave without a backward glance.

  I jog along the fence line, following the path the red Ranger took. White egrets swoop through the air and stalk the freshly mowed field beside me; their slender, sinuous heads dip and bob for whatever prey managed to escape the tractor’s blades. In the hazy distance, the tractor sputters to a stop, leaving the world in sudden silence.

  I’ve never been to the deer blind. For all I know, I could walk up on Matt and Dad in five minutes or five hours. But the idea of getting caught doesn’t stop me.

  Part of me wants to be found. Just not by them.

  When I step into the cool shadows, it’s like shedding a second skin. My body relaxes, and tension fades from my shoulders as my feet ease into familiar paths worn down by creatures other than me. I feel myself coming back to life as I lose the other me in the shadows I know by heart. This forest is my religion, the towering cathedral of trees my church, and I’m reborn every time I leave.

  The trees are tall and thick enough that little grows on the ground but lush ferns. Deeper in, scorch marks cover the bottoms of the trunks, evidence of controlled burns in years past. The wind picks up and the shadows become cold. I stand in a patch of sun until the chill goes away, soaking in as much warmth as I can.

  Somewhere ahead of me a chain saw cranks up, the whine as it cuts through wood as faint as a buzzing gnat. It’s got to be Matt and Dad. I jog for a little ways until the sound grows louder and voices become clear. There is a flash of red about fifty yards up the trail and the snapping and thrashing of branches from a tree being pushed out of the way, likely blocking the path. Soon the Ranger starts up and continues on, and I follow.

  After a while I get the distinct feeling of being watched. I glance around, seeing nothing but shadows and light in erratic patterns across the trees and ground. I slow my pace and silence my steps, but the sensation doesn’t leave. In fact, the farther I go, the stronger it gets. I look over my shoulder frequently, fully expecting to see the boy standing there, or a Bigfoot. Yet there’s nothing.

  A half hour has gone by when I hear the crank of the chain saw again. I veer off the game trail toward the sound, until I can see the green deer blind peeking through the trees with the Ranger sitting below. Even
from here it looks like a giant vermin nest, with vines and tree branches crawling through the windows.

  Off to the left sits a clearing, part of it in view of the blind, the other part hidden by a thick stand of brush that follows a narrow creek, cutting through the center of the meadow like a ribbon. I navigate my way toward the side obscured by trees, fingers trailing against rough bark as I move from pine to pine, completely at ease. The sky is a deep blue overhead, the kind of color you see only when the heat of summer is gone. A squirrel chatters in the trees high above me, and cardinals dart from branch to branch, their red bodies stark against the deep shadows of the trees. A dove calls from the field, and I walk toward the sound, keeping my steps light and silent. Matt’s and Dad’s voices echo through the silence, too far to understand, but close enough to offer security.

  The dove calls again, closer this time as I step around the thick stand of brush, trying to keep out of sight from the blind. Something about the sound is different, and alarm bells blare through my head.

  I’m not alone.

  Instinct takes over. Run. Run now, it screams. I spin around and freeze.

  The boy is five feet from me. My running-away option just ran out the door.

  He’s a statue, standing in a single patch of sunlit forest, the bright rays casting him in gold and shadow. His bronze skin is stretched tight over sinewy muscle, and he hovers on one foot, as if I caught him following me.

  But I feel like the one who’s been trapped.

  Struggling to breathe, I tuck my violently shaking hands under my arms. Green eyes leave mine long enough to track their movement with the alacrity of a predator. He slowly lowers his foot to the ground but still seems frozen in motion.

  I press my hands to my sides, clenching them into fists, steeling myself not to panic. He watches me, and his own fists clench momentarily. I uncoil them and place flat palms against my thighs. He mimics me again. I bite my lip against the flood of emotion threatening to burst forth. I’m not sure if I’m going to laugh, cry, or scream.

  The boy watches me like a dying man might view a glass of water. It’s unnerving, like he’s seeing every inch of me. Scorching heat creeps up my face. I can see almost every inch of him, all except what is covered by a piece of deer hide, tied roughly around his narrow waist. I’m staring, and my face burns with the knowledge.