Suddenly her digital clock blinks red. Minutes later, Dad comes back upstairs. The big bed creaks, he groans, and his snoring could wake the dead.
The world hums and ticks, snorts and groans. Flor slips her two fossils into her pocket. Waits.
And tonight when Cecilia sneaks out, Flor follows her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The fog. In her whole life, Flor’s never seen it so thick. It prowls the wet grass, fingers the treetops. Dad got lost out here. Dad! If he can get lost, anyone can.
Flor walks her bike. Lucky for her Cecilia’s going slow, like she’s thinking things over. Like she still might change her mind and turn back. Once she stops, tilting her head that way she does, listening to her own thoughts. Flor holds her breath. If Cele discovers she’s being followed, no way Flor can save her. Because Flor will be dead.
Her sister starts walking again. Picking her way along the edge of the road, skirting the sheets of black water.
Waves of fog, now wispy, now thick. The light on a garage glows like a little lost moon. A stone wall is a beached silver whale. At the bend in the road, a long, dark shape puffs out its own personal fog.
Perry’s truck. Idling. Waiting.
Jealousy. Fury. Fear. Twisting and twining, they braid themselves tighter and tighter, turning solid, turning into someone whose name is Peregrine Pinch IV.
Huddled behind a tree, Flor can’t see him, only her, and can’t hear what they say. Standing beside the truck, Cecilia goes up on her toes and sinks back down. She wraps her arms around herself. Maybe she’s telling Perry she changed her mind. It’s all over between them. Thanks to her little sister, she’s come to her senses. Her sister has opened her eyes at last.
Flor’s believing this. She’s becoming convinced that she better get home quick, before Cele does, when the passenger door flies open. Her foggy sister climbs in. The door slams hard.
The truck pulls away. Slowly. Flor has never seen Perry drive so slowly. This is terrifying behavior for him. She throws her leg over her bike and starts pedaling.
The dark! While she could still see her big sister, Flor was all right, but now, all alone, her old fear beats up inside her, stronger than ever. The sneaky dark, where invisible things grow and multiply. The snatching, menacing, kidnapping dark. The dark at the bottom of the grave. The dark of her nightmare.
Hard as she pedals, the truck pulls farther ahead, but she can still see its taillights, see it take the turn onto Moonpenny Road. The air in her lungs turns to grit. Sweat rolls down her spine, and her knees become sponges. She knows where they’re going.
Her foot slips on the pedal. What are you going to do, Flor? Jump him? He’s only three times your size. And those fists. You remember those fists. That hand closing on your arm.
The swim hole, the darkest, most treacherous place of all. Why is he taking her there?
The bones of those lovers, picked clean. Minnows swimming in and out of their skulls.
Something can have no bottom. She knows that now.
Flor leans over her handlebars. Her bike is a speeding train. It’s a silver bullet. It’s a speeding silver bullet train.
By the time she gets to the quarry, the truck is parked and empty. Flor bends in two to catch her breath. The fog keeps her feet guessing as she goes to the rim, tries to find her way down. Everywhere, mud. Silty, stony mud. Her sneakers are already soaked and her toes curl under, aching with cold. She can make out forms and shapes, but the fog blunts everything.
She might or might not be on a path when she hits a slick patch, and that’s it. Her feet fly out from under her, and now she is Flor, the human toboggan. Her bottom bumps over rocks, and her hands snatch at nothing till finally she comes to a stop, lodged between two scratchy junipers. Did she yell out? Maybe. Chest heaving, she stares up at the blank sky, braces for footsteps and angry voices.
But nothing. Nobody comes.
Scrambling to her feet, she rubs her arms and looks around. She’s never been down here at night. Of course she hasn’t! The rocks feel alive, fog swirling between them like stony breath, or ancient thoughts suddenly made visible. All the creatures trapped in those rocks for millions and billions of years—what if they really came alive now, like toys after the toy shop closes? They’d recognize her, their fellow islander, and the fossils in her pocket. They’d circle around and protect her.
Flor shakes her head. Crazy! Crazy loca! But still. She slides her hand into her pocket to touch her fossils, her bits of this island’s secret buried heart. They make her feel less alone. Less afraid of what she can’t see.
It’s what she will see she’s afraid of.
The squish of her sneakers is too loud. Never mind the thump of her blood in her ears.
Nothing moves.
Slowly, she makes her way toward the swim hole. And for the first time, the fog parts enough that she can see clearly. There are the cattails, haunted and trembling. Whispering among themselves.
Something trips her, yanks her to her knees. Flor flings out her arms to break her fall, and a spike rams her open palm. Gasping, she realizes what it is. The grid she and Jasper measured out—she’s stumbled into the center of it.
Voices.
“You can’t. I’m not letting you.”
Perry’s anger slams into Flor like a fist. Cecilia says something she can’t catch.
“I made up my mind,” Perry answers. “There’s nothing to say.”
Flor wobbles to her feet. Her ankle throbs. As quietly as she can, she parts the cattails, slips between them. Cecilia and Perry stand on the slick, flat rocks beside the swimming hole. Fog swirls on the water’s surface. Cold as she is, the sight of that yawning black water makes her colder. Slices through her, picks the flesh off her own bones.
“Please.” Cecilia’s voice is small. “You’ve got to listen to me!”
It’s true! She’s trying to break up with him! Trying to tell him it’s all over, and he has to leave her alone. But he won’t. Of course he won’t! When Cecilia lifts her arm, Perry catches it by the wrist. Her delicate hinge of a wrist. He could snap it without blinking.
“We’re done talking.” His voice is low and tight.
Flor bites the insides of her cheeks to keep from crying out.
“No more talking,” he repeats. “No more arguing. You hear me? We’re done with that.”
Cecilia starts to cry. She rams her head into his chest, making him lose his footing on the wet stones, and they topple close in a horrible dance. They’re much too near the edge now. Doesn’t Cele see how close she is to falling into that hungry, greedy water?
Flor goes light-headed. Her dream! Her dream of teetering on a high, treacherous edge. But tonight, Flor’s eyes are wide. She’s awake. Awake.
“Come on.” He’s got her elbow. “Let’s go. It’s late.”
“Don’t do this to me,” begs Cecilia.
Flor’s body forgets how to breathe. Forgets how to breathe.
“Let’s go, Cele!”
“No!”
“YOU HEARD WHAT SHE SAID! SHE SAID NO! LET GO OF HER!”
The words roar out of Flor, and she’s flying forward like a balloon with its air gushing out. Perry and Cecilia fling their arms over their heads. What? Flor’s twisted ankle collapses under her, and by the time she understands exactly how slippery the smooth, wet rocks are, it’s already too late. Her sneakers scrabble and Cecilia tries to grab her, but nothing can stop Flor’s headlong slide. Jet propelled, screaming to wake the dead, she’s on her way down. The swimming hole opens its freezing jaws and swallows her whole.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cold can hurt like fire, and dark hides a million colors. The black water sucks her down, down, piercing her skin, exploding into nightmare fireworks. Flor kicks her feet and flaps her arms, but every part of her is heavy and bulky and made to sink. The hole has no bottom. The water presses in on all sides
Far away, someone calls her name. The voice wants to catch her—she’s a fis
h and it’s trying to reel her in. Flor’s so numb, the wall of water is so dense, which way is up? She can’t tell. Her lungs beg for air. Her fingers slide across a rocky ledge. The voice calls again, tugging and pulling. Does she really hear it? Or just imagine it?
Flor! Flor!
The water’s got other ideas. No way will it let her go, no no no. It’s been way too long since it got a victim in its jaws. The cold burns. The darkness blazes.
Flor! The voice won’t give up. It’s like Thomas, saying the same thing over and over, trying to make it come true. Flor! Is it a real voice? Or the voice of a ghost?
Lungs bursting, Flor follows it. Her legs kick back the hungry water, her hands slap it, and now the voice grows louder.
Come on, Flor!
Almost in her ear.
Please, Flor!
Her head breaks the surface, who knew water could be so hard, hard as cement, but she breaks it, and in her struggle to breathe she swallows more water, and goes under again. She’s sinking deeper, deeper and deeper yet, but now the tip of her foot glances off something solid. Is it a skeleton, turning to stone, becoming part of the island forever? Or can it be the bottom? A bottom after all? Flor’s foot searches for it, finds it again, pushes against it, and it pushes back, she feels it help her, boost her, send her kicking and fighting back toward the surface, where a pale light grows brighter. Her body’s so tired, it’s like she’s pulling two people up, like she’s the rescuer and the one getting rescued. Just as she thinks she can’t make it, the water gives way, makes way. Arms reach for her and she reaches back, hands grasp her, pull her, and here’s her sister’s face, only inches from hers. Cecilia’s crouching, panting, sobbing, but Flor’s swooping upward, light as a silver minnow. Other hands have her, hard fingers dig into her with such force she squawks and struggles. The big hands lower her. Her feet touch ground.
She is saved.
Perry Pinch has her by the shoulders. He lets loose a string of curses, some words Flor has never even heard, then hugs her till her bones flatten. Face against his broad chest, Flor may hear him say “Sylvie.” But her ears, not to mention every other part of her, are so waterlogged, how can she be sure?
“Oh my God.” Cecilia can’t stop saying it as Perry peels off his jacket and wraps it around Flor. No human ever shivered this hard. Her head may shake off. Someone lined her mouth with tiny castanets. Water streams out her nose and ears and all of a sudden her mouth, a stinking, puking stream that lands on Perry’s feet.
“Sorry,” she whispers.
“We gotta get you home,” he says. “I’ll go warm up the truck.”
He disappears through the cattails. Cecilia’s still crying, shaking her head, saying, Oh, Flor, what were you doing? You are so crazy, you followed us out here, what were you thinking? And then she gives a sob, a sob so big and hard it nearly knocks them both over.
“Flor! I was so scared you’d die!”
“Me too.”
That makes Cecilia cry even harder. Flor grabs her sister’s ice-cold hand.
“But I didn’t. And I won’t. I promise, Cele! Not ever! And I won’t let you die either.”
“Oh my God, you are crazy crazy loca. I love you so much.”
No one talks as Perry drives them home. The heater blasts, but still Flor shivers. When he stops in front of the house, Flor takes off his jacket and gives it back. The end. The air is dense with it. In spite of how hard Flor tried, something died after all, and they all feel it. The second Flor and Cecilia get out, Perry speeds away.
Dad doesn’t wake up. For once, Flor is glad. Tonight she’s sneaking in too. A secret life—she owns one now too. Tiptoe up the stairs, step around three empty milk glasses and a plate of cookie crumbs. Was it really tonight they all played Town?
Not daring to take a shower, she staggers into her room, peels off her wet, muddy jeans, and pulls on sweatpants. Her skin smells like lake. She’s all fumbles, her arms and legs so heavy. Cecilia appears in the doorway and stands there like she’s waiting for permission to come in, which is, for sure, a first.
“What?” whispers Flor, and her sister sits next to her on the bed.
“Why’d you do that?”
“To save you.”
“Save me!” Cecilia looks astonished. “From what?”
How can Cecilia ask? Flor would like to bite her. Sink her teeth into her sister’s arm till she tastes hot blood.
“What do you think?” she cries, then lowers her voice to a hiss. “Save you! From him!”
Cecilia leans back on her hands. Laughs a jangly laugh.
Flor jumps up, furious. Furious! What’s worse, humiliated. How could she think that saving Cecilia would make her sister love her forever, with a love that never wobbled or changed? That Cecilia would be so grateful she’d never leave? Instead, her sister’s laughing in her face.
Maybe Flor should run away. Maybe she will! She stomps toward the door, but Cecilia catches the hem of her sleeve. Flor keeps going, and the sleeve stretches and stretches. Her big sister reels her in, for the second time tonight.
“I’m sorry.” She pulls Flor down beside her. “Listen. You did save me. But not from him.”
“You are in shock,” Flor informs her.
Cecilia pulls the comforter off the bed and wraps it around them both. She tells Flor that Perry was breaking up with her. Not the other way around. They’re no good for each other. At first they were. At first it was so wonderful, Cecilia felt like she died and came back as someone else, and he said she made him feel the same way, and when he kissed her . . .
Cecilia rests her cheek on Flor’s shoulder. She’s quiet for a long time.
“The swim hole,” she says at last. “That was our special, secret place. Our own world, where we could be those two new people. Not smart goody-goody Cecilia and troublemaker Perry, but just us. We could get away from everything and everybody and just be.”
But then the arguments started. Perry was smart, way smarter than people gave him credit for, and Cecilia tried to convince him to take school seriously. He said she sounded like everyone else, and why couldn’t she just love him for who he was? The last thing he needed was another person trying to change him. She was the one good at school, not him. So they’d argue and make up and argue and . . .
“People say opposites attract.” Cecilia’s face is like one of the complicated knots fishermen tie. “And they do. But for Perry and me, it turns out, just for a while.”
Mama and Dad. Flor shivers and clutches the comforter. What if that’s true for them too?
“Arguing made me so miserable so deep down, I wanted to break up too. But . . . I wasn’t brave enough. I hate to make mistakes. It’s a bad way to be. You never learn anything, trying to be perfect.” Cecilia takes Flor’s hand, lifts her fingers one by one. “Perry’s way smarter and braver than me. He knew we were only making each other sad. He said he’d already made enough people in his life sad, and he wasn’t going to do it anymore.”
Flor’s heart slides sideways in her chest. She feels it bump against something. Hate—the hate she’s cherished for Perry Pinch IV. Flor feels her heart bump against it, feels the hate break into tiny bits. That hurts. Hating someone becomes a habit as sure as loving him does. Letting go of a feeling, even a terrible one—it’s hard. It hurts.
“I guess I got it all wrong,” she whispers.
But Cecilia pulls the comforter closer around them, and her breath warms Flor’s cheek. As if the hating was keeping her cold, Flor begins to feel warmer all through.
“Me too,” Cele says. “I got it wrong too. Really, Flor? You didn’t save me from him. You saved me from me.”
The scent of wild roses, the smell of new pencils, the smell of Cecilia—Flor breathes it in. If she saved her sister from anything, anything at all, she is glad.
“Something else.” Cecilia’s voice teeters. “I didn’t want to break up because . . . because I don’t want to feel all alone.”
Their heads tilt t
ogether.
“Me either,” Flor whispers.
“You’re not.”
“You’re not either.”
“I know. I found out.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Flor waits all day long, till late afternoon. The chilly air buzzes with chain saws, and the ground is deep in leaves. Every tree is bare now, the afternoon light waterfalling through the branches. She rides past the damaged ferry landing, where a crew is hard at work, past Two Sisters, where a sign says SORRY—OUT OF MILK AND BREAD, past the Cockeyed Gull, where Violet sits on the bench, Minnie at her feet. Around the island she pedals, past the school, where the fallen branches are neatly bundled and tied and where Joe and his father climb the front steps, carrying toolboxes. Mr. Hawkins’s step is sure and steady. When Joe spies her, he points to the clock tower. Gives her a thumbs-up. Flor waves back so wildly she almost rides into a tree.
Cecilia’s cell phone is in her backpack. A one-time-only loan. And when Flor figures orchestra practice (what is a bassoon, anyway?) and soccer practice and tutoring and whatever else Sylvie does on Saturdays have to be over by now, when, the truth is, she just can’t stand to wait one more second, Flor gets off her bike. The rocks on the shore are still wet, so she doesn’t sit down, just stands on top of one, facing the distant, distant mainland, and calls her best friend’s number.
The phone barely gets the chance to ring.
“You!”
“You!”
And then perfectly in synch, like they practiced, like two halves of one and the same person, they cry, “Sorry!”
“I should’ve told you everything before,” babbles Sylvie.
“I was so sad!” babbles Flor. “After you left I thought I would die. I mean, for real.”
“I’m sorry!”
“But you’re not really, are you? Sorry? Because it’s better for you there. It is, isn’t it?”
Sylvie doesn’t answer.
“I get it, Sylvie. I get it now, and it’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry. It’s good you went. And you’re becoming a sculptor. That’s so awesome. It wouldn’t have happened if you’d stayed here.”
Moonpenny Island Page 15
