Blood Bond

by Heather Hildenbrand

  I had to agree.

  One thing I’d learned at Skye View was how to sit for hours without really focusing long enough on one thought to let the emotion in. It was a sort of meditation I did. Allowing myself snippets of memories to fall into my awareness, relive them, and then let them fade away again. All before my emotions had a chance to react. It allowed me to still picture my parents’ faces without having a complete breakdown. Like the night of the accident, six months ago …

  I picked up my phone on the fourth ring, right before it went to voicemail. “Hello?” I sounded breathless from digging it out of the bottom of my bag.

  “Whisper, hey, it’s Dad.”

  My heart leapt into my throat, and I swallowed back the lump. “Did we get her?” I asked.

  “We got her.” I heard the smile in his voice. A car door slammed in the background.

  “Did you tell her?” My mother’s voice floated faintly through the speaker.

  “I’m telling her now,” my dad said.

  “That’s great. When do we get to pick her up?”

  “The lawyer has to finalize the paperwork. We’ll close on the deal Tuesday morning. Then we can go pick her up.”

  “Tuesday morning? I have school,” I said, already forming the next question in my mind. Dad cut me off before I could ask.

  “No chance, Whisper. Don’t you have mid-terms next week?”

  I sighed and shifted the pile of books in my hand before the top two slid off the stack. I leaned a shoulder against the wall near the library exit, trying unsuccessfully to flip my thick, black hair out of my face. I needed a hair tie and a free hand.

  It was late, pitch black outside and cold. December in Colorado was ridiculous; even the Eskimos would’ve complained. It was also past closing time. The overweight librarian bored holes into my back, letting me know she wanted to go home, prop her feet up.

  “I can make it up,” I said. I wasn’t completely sure if that was true, but I didn’t want to miss this.

  “No way, Jose. Sorry. You’ll see her when you get home.”

  “She was my idea in the first place. I found her.” Stubbornness crept into my tone. Dad and I both knew where this was headed.

  “Fine. If you can talk your mother into it then you can come,” he said, effectively winning the argument before it’d begun.

  We both knew she was the general, an iron horse of reason who could not be swayed, especially when it came to my studies. Her dreams for me were much bigger than a small-town, animal rescue doctor.

  I sighed, long and loud. I didn’t ask to speak to my mother. There was no point. “Fine, after school, then.”

  “You almost done there?” he asked. I could hear him revving the engine, trying to warm it up faster in the frigid air.

  “I’m leaving now.”

  “Us, too. See you in thirty. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  We hung up at the same time. I shoved my phone in my jacket pocket and traded it for my keys. Behind me, the librarian cleared her throat. I didn’t look back at her. I pushed open the door and felt the breath leave my body as the first wave of cold hit and pushed right through into my bones. I gritted my teeth and stumbled forward, so cold it irritated me. We hadn’t even had a decent snow yet this year which, in my mind, didn’t make the sub-zero temperatures worth it.

  The road home was black and empty. The absence of other cars didn’t surprise me. I was close enough to Grant land that there wouldn’t be any other traffic. I was used to the curve of the road and the feel of the steering wheel as it pulled against the turns when I took them fast, so I kept the gas pedal close to the floor and hurried to beat my parents home. I wanted to be the first to tell Tinker, my grandpa. It was my project, after all.

  I rounded the last curve and gravel flew up behind me as the asphalt gave way to dirt and rocks. I flew through the front gate, which was never closed for the very reason that it stood so near to the curve, you’d crash right into it if you didn’t know it was there. The porch light gleamed in the darkness, revealing a white F250 parked out front. Tinker—my grandpa—was here; my parents were not.

  I rushed up the porch steps, letting the banging door announce my arrival, and hesitated in the entry, trying to decide where to start my search. Tinker poked his head out of his office. I should’ve known.

  “Whisper? What’s all the racket?” He straightened and stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders and long legs only half visible in the dimmed light of the room behind him. His hair, yet to go gray, lay flat on his head, thanks to the trademark Stetson he wore.

  “Tinker, we got her! Dad called. They took our bid. We pick her up Tuesday.” I grinned like I’d won the lottery. I felt like I had.

  “Well, that’s somethin’ else,” he said. He didn’t sound nearly as surprised as I thought he should.

  “You didn’t have anything to do with that deal going through now, did you?” My hands were firmly on my hips. I tried to look stern enough to make him feel guilty if he had.

  “Not a thing, Whisper.” He winked. “I didn’t doubt your deal-arranging skills for a second. I knew you had it in you. You’re a Grant.”

  The sternness faded, and I grinned again. “Thanks.”

  “You going to pick her up then?”

  My expression fell. “No. I have mid-terms. Dad said it’s up to Mom.”

  “Hmm. So I guess you’re not then.”

  “Guess not. I’ll see her when I get home, though.” I tried to sound like I didn’t mind.

  Tinker nodded. The phone in his study rang. I wandered into the kitchen while he answered it. I’d skipped dinner to study for an upcoming math test. Math and I weren’t on easy terms. Normally, Erin would’ve tutored me, but she was still on her skiing trip and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. I was on my own, trying to figure out why x squared equaled y cubed. Good times.

  I found a Tupperware full of spaghetti left-overs, courtesy of Lydia who handled all things domestic in the Grant empire now that Grandma was gone. I popped the lid and stuck the whole thing into the microwave, staring absently as it twirled inside the machine.

  I ate standing up. The microwave never cooked evenly so the outside edges were hotter than the middle. I didn’t care. I was starved. I’d missed lunch in favor of coffee I’d smuggled out of the teacher’s lounge and couldn’t remember the last time anything solid had entered my stomach.

  I heard footsteps behind me. Tinker must be off the phone, finally. I waited for him to pick up our previous conversation, or tell me about some part of his day that I’d missed while stuck inside the walls of learning. But there was only silence. I turned and found him standing in the kitchen doorway, his hands limp at his sides and the most confused expression I’d ever seen on his face.

  “Tinker?”

  No answer.

  He stared at a spot on the wood-planked wall that bordered the breakfast nook, off to the right somewhere. My eyes followed his and I found a tiny cross-stitched plaque that read “Home Is Where the Heart Is” in blue thread. My grandma had sewn it years before I’d been born.

  “Tinker?” I asked again. “Who was on the phone?”

  “A friend of mine, lives down by Port Creek.” His voice was distant, hollow.

  I hadn’t been worried until the moment our eyes locked. When they did, it felt like a tidal wave rushing up to meet me. Suddenly, I knew that whatever he was about to say would be very, very bad.

  “Whisper …”

  The doorbell rang and the microwave dinged at the same time. I stared back at Tinker. Something final rested in his eyes. The only time I’d ever seen him look like that …

  “I’ll get it,” I said.

  I ignored the spaghetti and went to the door, sliding carefully by Tinker on my way. I didn’t want to touch him. It was something about the energy he gave off, and I knew if I touched him it would infect me. He didn’t move to follow.

  I pulled open the door and found a man in a dark uniform st
aring back at me. The shiny silver buttons on his shirt matched a gleaming badge on his belt loop. His hat was big enough that, had it been yellow, this could’ve been a scene from Curious George Goes to Colorado.

  “Ms. Whisper Grant?” he asked. His thin lips arched into a frown when he spoke.

  “Yes?” Tinker came up behind me. I felt his hand come down heavily onto my shoulder.

  “I’m State Trooper Nelson. This is Hefley.” He gestured to another man off to the side, who I hadn’t even noticed, on the porch but away from the light of the door. His expression matched the first man’s.

  “Can I help you?” I asked. I felt the spray of another approaching wave and braced myself, though I wasn’t sure why.

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news. There was an accident. On the bridge near Port Creek. A car went over the embankment. It was registered to a Shawn and Anna Grant. They are your parents, I believe? A man at the scene said he knew you, gave us your address.”

  Tinker’s hand squeezed into my shoulder.

  That’s the last thing I remember of that night.

  Tinker says I lost myself. He says it’s what animals do when the pain of loss is too much to bear. He says one day, I’ll find myself again. A new me, a version who is able to live again, despite the loss I’ve suffered. I told him that sounds like something Grandma would say. He said he learned it from her, and he’s learning to find himself again, too.

  ***

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  Heather Hildenbrand lives with her family in coastal Virginia. She loves her DVR, Mexican food, and Blue Moon beer. She also enjoys getting email from readers. To find out more, visit the links above.