“I was following Leah out of the woods, and a branch snapped and hit me. It’s nothing, really. Just a scratch.” Ben plays it off so well, but I catch a glimpse of the look he gives his father, one of shock laced with fear. But it’s not possible that Ben could suspect what really hit him. I think if he did, he wouldn’t be so calm about it.
“Well, it looks like a little more than a scratch.” Mom frowns. “Why don’t you let me get you a bandage?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Roberts.” Ben takes the chair she offers next to Sheriff Hanson.
I glance down at the leaves in my hands and walk out onto the back porch, laying them with the others. I can see Ben and his dad talking, leaning close with their heads together. Though the back door is open, I can’t hear them.
“Leah, did you get what you need?” Mom asks when she returns to the kitchen.
“Yes.”
“Well, come in and shut the door. Your father and Matt will be home soon. Sheriff, would you and Ben like to stay for supper?”
“Would it be too much trouble? I’d like to talk to Michael about a few things.”
Mom smiles. “I’ll set two extra places.”
After Mom patches up Ben’s cut, he follows me to the living room and takes the spot on the couch beside me, instead of the recliner he usually tries to snag from Matt. “Are you okay?” he asks, turning so that he faces me.
“Me? You’re the one that got smacked by a ninja squirrel.”
Ben laughs, then reaches for my hand. He turns it over, tracing the lines of my palm, and it’s so surreal that it’s like watching someone else’s hand and not mine. “I think we were having a conversation earlier.”
“What?” I blink, trying to focus on his voice and not what his fingers are doing on my skin.
“About us? You and me.”
“You and me,” I repeat.
My hand disappears between both of his. “Leah.”
“Yep?”
“You look a little freaked-out.”
“You’re holding my hand.”
“Is that bad?” He rubs his thumb over my wrist like he knows exactly what it’s doing to me.
“I’m not . . . Yes, it’s freaking me out. You’ve been to my house a million times, and you always sit in that chair.” I point to the recliner. “But now you’re sitting here, holding my hand, and it’s really hard to absorb right now.”
Ben leans back with a grin. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“You’re Ben Hanson. I thought everything was easy for you.”
“Not you.”
“And is that bad?” I throw his question back at him.
“Not at all. The best things are the ones that are hard to get.”
“You think I’m playing hard to get?”
“No. I think you are being you, and that’s exactly what I want.”
“Why now?” I ask the one thing I really need to know. “Two weeks ago, you didn’t look twice.”
Ben shakes his head. “It was the bikini.”
I jerk my hand away and spring off the couch, but Ben is faster, already anticipating my reaction. “Come here.” He bursts out laughing, grabbing me around the waist. “I’m just kidding with you, Leah Roberts.” He pulls me back down with him, eyes dancing as mine burn. “I just wanted to see the look on your face.”
I glare, embarrassed that I reacted the way he expected. “And are you happy now?”
“No, because I didn’t answer your question. It was the other night at the party. I know it sounds cliché, but seeing you in the firelight was like seeing you for the first time. You were just you, without everything else that usually goes with you.” He nods toward the kitchen, where we hear Mom and the sheriff greet Dad and Matt. “And I realized I didn’t really know you at all. And I want to.”
Ben’s hands slide from my waist, and he pushes himself to the opposite end of the couch just before Matt walks in. “What are y’all doing?” he says, dropping his backpack to the floor.
“Just talking,” Ben says easily, though his grin suggests we were conspiring against the world.
“Dude, what happened to your face?”
Dad walks in behind him as Paul Hanson explains what happened to Ben. My dad levels a cold stare on me, like it’s all my fault. “Why were you out there?”
“Leaves. I needed them for art class.”
“And you don’t think we have enough around the house?” He gestures grandly with a sweep of his arm.
“I needed a lot. We don’t have that many different trees around the house.”
Dad sighs heavily. “It’s as if these rules mean nothing to you.”
My face burns as I stare at the ground. “It was just a few minutes. Mom said it was fine.”
The look he turns on Mom is both bewildered and furious as heat rises in his face. “But I didn’t. That’s the point. You’ve gone too far, and you continue to do it over and over again.”
“Michael,” Mom warns.
“She could have gotten what she needs here, Nora. She needs to understand that what I say goes in this house.”
Mom’s eyebrows raise. “This is not your church. This is our house, and I let her go because I wanted to. She was in my sight the entire time, and Ben was with her.”
Mom doesn’t look at me, but I wonder who else besides us realizes she just flat-out lied.
Dad’s face goes blank. “Paul, I believe you have something for me you wanted to discuss?”
“Well, Michael, it can wait . . .” He glances between me and Dad.
“No. No, we’ll take a look now. Nora, call when supper’s ready.” Dad’s voice is formal, as if he’s addressing his congregation and not his family, and he didn’t just embarrass me in front of Ben and his father.
I turn and head for the stairs, pretty sure I may never come down again, leaving Matt and Ben staring after me.
chapter thirteen
Mom picks me up from school the next day with red eyes and a coffee cup.
“Hey.” I slide into the passenger seat and toss my bag in the back.
“How was your day?” She takes a sip before pulling out of the pickup lane.
“Fine.”
“How was Ashley?” Mom spent a while with Ms. Hutton on the phone last night, since Ash is taking this harder than usual.
“She didn’t come to school.”
“Oh. I was wondering. I’ll call her mom tonight and check on her again. Do you want to stop by?”
“No. I’ll call her later. She was pretty worked up yesterday.” And likely doesn’t want to talk to me yet.
“Okay. How was Ben?”
“Fine.” “Fine” meaning he walked me to my classes and sat with me at lunch like he belonged there.
She glances at me as the car pulls out onto the highway. “Should I ask any more questions, or is everything going to be fine?”
My smile is rueful at best. “Possibly.”
Her smile fades when she looks at the clock on the dash. I know what she’s thinking. We have two hours to go home, eat supper, and get back in the car for Wednesday-night church. She takes another long sip of coffee. “I made meat loaf.”
“Sounds good. Matt will be mad—you know it’s his favorite.”
“We’ll save him some,” she says. Matt usually rides home with Ben on Wednesdays after practice and then comes to church with him, since Dad is too busy to get him today.
“We could always skip.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Mom is silent for a moment. “He’d be mad.”
“Do you care?” God, I need a filter for my mouth. What is wrong with me?
Part of me expects Mom to rail at me, stop the car, or do something dramatic, like when she’s mad at Dad, but all she does is consider. “Maybe the meat loaf wasn’t good after all.”
It takes me a second to catch on, because I can’t believe my mother is saying to lie about food poisoning to get out of church. Suggested by none other
than the preacher’s wife.
“On one condition.” She glances at the clock again. The electric dial flashes “3:30” in glowing green. “I want to go to the deer blind.”
“Um . . . what?”
“I want to see it.”
“Oh.” I stare at her, dumbfounded. “I don’t . . .”
“You were there a few days ago. You should be able to drive us back, right?”
“Well, I guess?”
“That’s the deal, deer blind or church. Take it or leave it.”
I’m not sure what a heart attack feels like, but I think I’m having one. I want to put my hands over my ears and huddle down in the seat, except I’m driving and that might kill us. The Ranger is so loud, we might as well scream our presence to the forest.
I’ve almost hit a few trees because I can’t stop looking around us. I thought about saying no, or chickening out, but this is just so out of Mom’s character. My mother has never set foot in the woods. As far as I know, she couldn’t care less about nature and trees; “hates it” could be a better description. Forget that we are breaking Cardinal Rules here. What could she possibly want to see the deer blind for?
The farther we drive, the less prepared I feel. We have nothing; no cell phone, no weapon, not even a big stick. Not that it would do us any good. I have no idea what we’ll do if we get there and find we are not alone and under attack again.
When the deer blind finally comes into view, I spin around, facing the Ranger back the way we came before cutting the motor. If we have to run, I don’t think I’ll have the clarity of mind to put this thing in reverse. “Here we are.”
Mom sits quietly for a moment, her eyes scanning the area around us. She pauses when her gaze lands on the rocks near the front wheel. They look out of place just lying there. Of course, that’s because they were thrown here.
Mom looks away. “I’ve never been out here before.”
“Why did you want to come now? You hate hunting, and you’ve never liked the woods.”
“I used to.”
I stare at her.
“Your father used to take me hunting when we were young. We probably spent half our lives in the woods when we were dating.”
I don’t speak, because I already know what changed, and why.
“You know I even killed a deer?”
“Really?” This time I can’t hide the shock. I can’t even picture the event in my mind.
“It’s why . . .” But she shakes her head, pressing her lips between her teeth as she looks around. She slides out of the Ranger and walks up to one of the rocks. It’s about the size of a baseball, one of the bigger ones. I can see a scrape of red paint across the top.
Mom nudges it with her toe, watching as it rolls a few inches across the flattened grass. She looks up and stares into the trees, wrapping her arms around her waist. “Were you scared?”
So I guess we’re getting right to the point. “Yes,” I answer, sliding out to join her. More so because I knew what was throwing the rocks.
“And you didn’t see anything?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t see anyone throwing them.”
She nods, silent for a moment. “But you saw something?”
Good grief, she’s intuitive. “I wasn’t near them when it happened. I was walking around over there.” I point to where the boy and I were hiding from the Bigfoot. At least it’s the truth, or most of it. I spot the shrubs where we crouched down out of sight, and I can almost feel his arms around me.
Spots of color burn their way onto my cheeks at the memory, but Mom’s not watching me anymore. She’s eyeing the ladder to the deer blind, and before I can blink, she’s halfway there. I wish I knew what she was up to.
Mom scales the ladder and peers out from one of the windows. Matt and Dad got most of it cleaned out before we were encouraged to leave. Mom goes to each of the three square windows cut into the plywood, staring for several minutes out of each one. I’m tempted to ask her what she’s looking for, but I’m afraid I’ll sound like I know. Or maybe I’ve already messed up. Maybe I should have protested coming here in the first place because supposedly some crazy person in the woods threw rocks at us and it’s not safe for either of us.
I’m not truly afraid like I should be. I wish I knew if Mom could see it. She’s not exactly afraid either.
So many secrets.
I wonder what it feels like to have none.
The tree knock in the distance cuts that thought short. I force myself to look up casually at Mom, just to see if she noticed it. Her face is turned in the direction I think it came from, but her expression is blank. A few seconds later, another one answers it, this one even farther away.
I shuffle my feet around in the grass, feigning ignorance. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to stand here if the knocks get closer. Because acknowledging them will be acknowledging that something is making them. I saunter back to the Ranger, trying my best to look bored. When a third knock echoes closer, this time on the other side of the clearing, I reach down and pluck a strand of grass, seriously considering my options.
“We’re going to have to leave soon if we want to beat the dark.” It’s not a lie. The sun has dipped far enough that we probably have thirty minutes left of visible sunlight.
Mom doesn’t answer. She’s staring in the direction of the last knock.
“I’d rather not hit a deer. I think one of the headlights is out, anyway.” Hopefully we’ll be back before I have to turn them on and reveal that they probably are, in fact, both working.
I slide into the cab as she turns away from the window and comes down the ladder. My hand is on the key, my foot tapping on the accelerator. She stops again at the base of the tree, hugging herself. When I hear a branch snap nearby, I crank the motor. We have to go or I’m afraid we’re going to have another round of rock throwing. I put it in gear, and as Mom slides into the seat, I see a flash of dull silver peeking out from underneath the edge of her sweater.
I’m pretty sure my mother has a gun sticking out of her jeans.
If I wasn’t already freaking out about our situation, that alone would have done it. Mom hates guns. Never touches them. And she’s wearing it like it’s a part of her, which worries me more than anything.
“Let’s go,” she says, snapping her seat belt and holding on to the side as I hit the gas. I drag my gaze away from her and focus on the trail, praying a rock doesn’t come flying out of the shadows.
We’re halfway home when I slam on the brakes.
A young pine tree, maybe twenty feet tall, is lying across the trail. It’s not dead, but it will be. We sit for a moment, staring at it. There is no logical excuse for its presence here. At least, not for a human unfamiliar with monsters.
I cut the motor.
The forest is deathly silent as we get out of the Ranger. This close to twilight, the crickets should be going crazy by now, but the distant call of a hawk only serves to magnify the quiet.
It’s obvious the tree has been pushed over. There’s no clean cut that would have been made by a machine or tool, just jagged pieces of bark and wood ripped apart, like the open mouth of a sharp-toothed animal or one of those deep-sea fish that dangles a light in front of its mouth. Right now I kind of feel like Marlin and Dory, completely at the mercy of the environment and its hidden predators.
“We’re going to have to move it,” Mom says. “Unless you think we can drive through the trees.”
“Trees are too dense.” I glance around, trying to see a path that will get us through here without going too far away from the road. Hopefully that wasn’t the objective of this “accident.”
“Maybe a bear?” I say, trying to come up with something logical.
“Maybe. Come on, help me.” Mom motions me to follow and we line up side by side along the trunk. As we begin pushing, the slender tree bends under our weight. Fighting for each tiny step, we win a few inches at a time, the wood snapping with each shove. The air smells like fresh-
cut pine, and sap is working its way over my fingers and hands. The green needles are sticking through my clothes and piercing my skin where I have nothing to cover it. Mom keeps blowing needles out of her face, but neither of us stops.
“I think it’s far enough,” I mumble through the branch in my face. We’ve pushed it up until it’s nearly parallel with the road, enough that I can drive over the end of it.
We turn in opposite directions, me to the left, and her to the right. I’m glad, because I know she would have seen him if she had turned my way. The urge to scream is so strong that I can’t stop the moan that escapes me as I meet his stare not more than thirty feet away.
“Leah, are you okay?”
“Fine, just a leg cramp.” I swallow over the fear in my throat as I walk the few steps to the driver’s seat. The hardest thing is taking my eyes off him to face forward and start the Ranger. When the motor breaks the silence, I want to scream again. He’s not even trying to hide. Just standing there, all eight feet of him, watching us.
The Ranger lifts as Mom’s side goes up over the end of the tree. The limbs scratch and scrape the bottom, and a new fear envelops me when I think about what damage they’re doing to the underside, potentially jarring something loose, and then we’d really be stuck here. With him.
When the last tire rolls off the tree and everything sounds normal again, I shudder in relief. This time I don’t look back. I don’t want to know how close we came. All I want is to get out of here.
That was our second warning. I don’t know if we will get a third.
chapter fourteen
Ashley’s bounced back from her depressive state with enough enthusiasm to make me wonder if she’s on something. She’s been off and on antidepressants for years, so it wouldn’t be surprising. Or maybe it was the aspirin and the energy drink she chugged outside before school this morning.
“You want to go out tonight?” She spins around in her desk to smile at me, wearing a short white skirt and furry Uggs. No Goth girl today. The pink streak in her hair is now aqua, along with new blond highlights instead of the normal brown.
The Shadows We Know by Heart Page 10
