The Mysterious Death and Life of Winnie Coleman
Page 20
I take a deep, steadying breath. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I can hear Trish talking to my dad in a quiet, insistent tone. She’s probably trying to point out that I’m some apparition created by his grief, or some other nonsense. Apparently he’s buying it, because suddenly they both go silent and there is only the quiet crunch crunch crunch of snow as they turn around and walk back towards the resort. I do not turn around. I can’t.
“Hurry,” I tell Sam desperately. “Just hurry.”
Hand in hand we sprint back the way we came, following our footsteps. How is it, I wonder wildly, that people I once knew and spoke to can see right through me, but my beat up sneakers still leave a mark in the snow?
Panting, we claw our way up the hill. I slip at the top and Sam pulls me the rest of the way, gritting his teeth at the effort. Scrambling to my feet I brush my shirt clean and scoop a ball of frozen ice from the waistband of my jeans. Turning in a slow circle, I say, “Well? Where is it?”
“I… I don’t know. It should be here.”
I don’t like how wide Sam’s eyes are, or the way he is clenching his jaw so tight. I spin around again, looking for a red door that should be right in front of me. “Maybe we need to walk a little further?”
He shakes his head violently. “No. No. It should be here. Right here.”
“Well… it isn’t. So what do we do now?”
“I told you not to talk to your dad! I told you. Didn’t I say what the number one rule is? DIDN’T I?” Sam shouts.
I have never seen him so angry. He actually lifts his hand, fist knotted, before he mutters something under his breath and pivots to face the forest, chest heaving and eyes pinched closed. Hesitantly I walk up behind up and rest the tips of my fingers on his shoulders. “I’m sorry. Sam, I’m really sorry. But we can fix this, can’t we? I mean we’re not stuck here or anything, are we?”
His laugh is as harsh as it is unexpected. His shoulders slump. His fists uncurl. Tonelessly he says, “Yes, Win. That’s exactly what we are. We’re stuck.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jillian Eaton grew up in Maine and now resides in Pennsylvania. When she isn't writing, Jillian is doing her best to keep up with her three very mischievous dogs. She loves horses, coffee, getting email from readers, ducks, and staying up late finishing a good book.
She isn't very fond of doing laundry.
www.jillianeaton.com
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
ABOUT THE AUTHOR