“So this life we’re living is really enough for you?”
“Lily’s enough,” he answers, bringing tears to my eyes.
“Of course she is,” Mom says more softly. “I’d leave it all again in a second. You know I would.”
Questions collide in my mind. What truth could Dad want to tell me? Why do they think I need protection? What did my parents give up for me?
I start to go down the stairs to ask, but Iris’s urgent whisper stops me. Wait. Listen. I hold back.
“When do you want to tell her?” Mom asks.
“After we get back from our ride this morning. You and I should do it together.”
“Something’s happened, hasn’t it? You’ve been tied up in knots ever since you came home from the coffee shop on Monday.”
“Nothing’s happened. Everything’s fine.” Despite his assurance, Dad’s voice stretches tight. “It’s just time. We have a responsibility to prepare Lily. Just in case.”
“But what if she hates us?”
“Myla . . . don’t you know your own daughter? Lily could never hate us.”
Cookie whines, then barks once, short and sharp, calling me back to bed. Mom and Dad must hear him because they stop talking. Dishes start clinking. The television comes on, the volume low. A weatherman predicts more snow later today.
Iris stirs beneath the surface of my skin. Do you understand any of this? I ask.
There’s something, she says. Like mist . . . too faint to grasp.
Confused by her vague comment, I calm Cookie, then head for the bathroom, still trying to sort out my parents’ conversation. A few minutes later, I emerge again with my face washed and my hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. Cookie inches to the edge of the mattress as I throw on some jeans, a gray sweatshirt, and a pair of wool socks. I help him hop down onto the rug, and he walks stiffly to the head of the stairs and sits, waiting while I lace my boots. “Come on, boy,” I say, and together we take the steps down to the cabin’s first floor.
Our living area and kitchen are one big room, connected to my parents’ bedroom, the guest room, and the downstairs bath by a short hallway. Dad sits at the kitchen table and he glances up when he hears me, his brown eyes twinkling beneath his bushy gray brows. “Good morning, Doodlebug. Happy birthday.”
I smile, but I’m too nervous to hold his gaze. His face shows no sign of the strain I sensed when he and Mom were talking. He’s shoving his feet into his boots, yesterday’s newspaper folded beside the placemat in front of him.
“Happy birthday, darling,” says Mom.
“Thanks.” I let Cookie outside, then look across at her. She moves slowly from the table to the sink and back again, her arms crossed tightly. She has on a baggy wool sweater, black sweat pants, and sheepskin slippers. Deep lines I’ve never really noticed etch the skin around her mouth. Mom looks tired and old this morning.
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask her, wondering if her lupus has flared up again. That led to her rheumatoid arthritis, and now the knuckles on her fingers bulge like knots on a branch. During a flare-up the symptoms are worse.
“I’m fine,” she says. “Just a little tired.” Her weak smile suddenly widens into a real one. “And excited,” she says playfully.
“Excited about what?” I follow her gaze to the floor beneath the coffee table, where I see a box wrapped in white paper and topped with a big yellow bow. “What’s that?” I ask, stooping to reach for it.
“Hands off!” says Dad in a teasing tone. “You’ll find out later.”
Grinning, I stand and walk toward them. I kiss the top of Dad’s head, then wrap my arms around Mom. She hugs me a little too tightly as I stare over her shoulder at the framed sketch of a violin that hangs on the wall above the table. Mom did it before her arthritis made sketching and painting too painful. That was her violin in the sketch. She used to play when she was young, but she stopped before I was born to concentrate on her artwork.
“What’s for breakfast?” I ask, stepping out of her embrace.
Mom tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Blueberry muffins. They’ll be ready when you and Dad get back from your ride. I’ll fry bacon, too, and scramble some eggs.” Turning, she straightens the tablecloth, then rearranges the silverware already laid out for three. Without looking at me she adds, “Take it slow, okay? It’s dark out there, and the higher roads might still be snow packed.”
“I know, Mom. We do this every year, remember?”
The things she said to Dad earlier replay through my mind. What are they going to tell me after we come home that could possibly make me hate them? I want to ask, but something holds me back. Maybe the look of weariness and pain that I saw on Mom’s face when I first came down.
Returning to the living room, I let Cookie inside again, then wrap a scarf around my neck, slip into my coat, and pull on my stocking cap and gloves. From the kitchen, Dad calls out, “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes,” I say, and silently ask Iris, What’s happening?
Not sure, she whispers. Be careful. She’s right—everything can change in an instant.
A chill skitters through me. What do you mean?
I listen for an answer, but hear only the steady white noise of her silence.
2
Cookie rides in a crate on the back of Dad’s four-wheeler. I follow behind, my headlights illuminating them. Every so often, Cookie turns to glance back at me. His ears flap in the wind, and his teeth are bared like he’s grinning.
The lake appears ahead, the water a glossy black ink stain. The sight of it takes me back to the winter I was seven, when I first met Wyatt. His mom had just decided she had better things to do than raise a kid and sent him here from Dallas to live with his grandparents. A couple of days after we met, I taught Wyatt to skate on this lake. He’d never ice-skated before, but when I tried to give him a few tips, he cut me off. He knew what to do, he said. He was a Rollerblader and ice-skating couldn’t be much different. He’d show me every trick he knew.
But when Wyatt and I stepped onto the ice, the only trick he did was the splits, and not on purpose. The seat of his pants tore right up the seam, and as he struggled to stand, I caught a glimpse of his Star Wars long underwear. Falling served him right for being such a show-off, so I laughed. But I also offered him a hand. At first he wouldn’t take it, but then he laughed, too, and let me help him up. From that day on, Wyatt and I were best friends.
I wish he could’ve come with us to the lookout point this morning. I’m going to have a lot to tell him when he comes over after school. What’s in the box with the big yellow bow, for one thing. Dad’s reaction to my college news. And my parents’ Big Secret. I shove that last one from my mind, determined to enjoy the ride.
We turn onto the trail that runs along the creek, and aspen trees press in, towering over me, standing guard. I breathe in their spicy scent while listening to the song that Iris hums in my head. It’s a favorite of hers, the tempo urgent and powerful.
The trail climbs, becoming narrower and rougher as it winds through the forest. Patches of snow at the side of the road flash by, icy blue in the moonlight. Ragged swatches of purple sky flicker between the branches above. Ahead, the rock dike that snakes through these mountains rises on the left side of the road, while the right side drops into a deep ravine. Soon my headlights expose a place where the edge arcs out to a rocky ledge wide enough to sit on.
Dad slows and pulls in. I follow, easing up on the gas and stopping beside him. We cut our engines, take off our helmets, and hang them on our handlebars.
“Made it just in time, Doodlebug,” Dad says, nodding toward the pink hem of the eastern horizon.
Cookie whines, and I help him out of his crate. “Stay close, boy,” I say as we follow Dad to the ledge and sit down to watch the sunrise.
“What’s on your mind, Lily?” Dad asks. “You’re so quiet I can hear the wheels turning in your head.”
Wrapping my arms around my knees, I say, �
�Remember last August when I talked to you and Mom about going to the University of Oklahoma this fall with Wyatt?”
“Of course I remember,” he answers. “I should’ve been more supportive about that. In fact, I’m starting to think that going away to a four-year school might’ve been the best option for you.” Dad frowns. “But now it’s too late, isn’t it? I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “It’s not too late. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I applied anyway. I hoped that if I got accepted, I could persuade you and Mom to let me go.”
His brows lift. “And?”
“I got an acceptance letter last month,” I say.
“You’ve been accepted?” He hugs me. “Congratulations, sweetheart!”
“You’re not upset?”
“Upset? No. I’ll worry about you,” says Dad with a chuckle, sitting back. “I’ll miss you, too. But it’s time for you to go. You should be around people your own age. I know it hasn’t been easy for you, living out here so isolated.”
Something Mom said to him earlier comes back to me: Is this life we’re living really enough for you? Anger rises up in me. Anger at her. Feeling defensive, I say, “I love our cabin. And I love Silver Lake. You know that, Dad. But I feel like I have to go away for a while. I can’t explain it.”
“You don’t have to. You’ve grown up.” Dad loops his arm through mine. “Why OU? I hope you’re not just following Wyatt there. You should go to a school that’s right for you.”
“OU is right for me,” I say. “It’s right for both of us. Wyatt and I want to go to another state—just for a change, you know? But it’s still close enough that we can drive home if we want to.”
“That would be a long drive,” he says.
“It’s only 491.94 miles. We could make it in eight hours.”
“Is that all?” says Dad, sounding amused, his breath a white plume on the cold morning air.
“Not exactly.” I grin. “Eight hours and two minutes.”
“You really have done your research.”
“MapQuest,” I say.
“Just so long as Wyatt didn’t influence you.” He winks.
A laugh bursts out of me. “Dad. You know it’s not like that with Wyatt and me. We’re just friends.”
“So you say. But I wonder if Wyatt feels the same.”
I bump my shoulder against him. “Wyatt’s chasing after a different girl every week. He doesn’t think of me like that.”
“Okay, okay!” Sighing heavily, he mutters, “Oklahoma. I’ve never been. It might be a good place for you. . . .” His voice trails, and the humor on his face fades, leaving behind an expression I can’t identify.
“Mom won’t be as easy to persuade as you were,” I say.
“Don’t worry about your mother. I’ll talk to her.”
Gathering my nerve, I stroke Cookie’s silky ear and say, “I heard the two of you talking this morning. You said something about the truth protecting me and needing to prepare me for something. What did you mean?”
Dad tenses and inhales sharply. “I’m sorry you heard that, but it’s nothing to worry about.”
“But Mom said the two of you had to give up everything for me.”
“Lily . . .” He hugs me tightly. “Nothing could be more important than you. You can’t even imagine what a miracle you are to us. When you were born . . .” Leaning back, he cups my chin in his gloved hand. “You saved us, Lily.”
“Dad, you’re freaking me out,” I say. “What are you planning to tell me when we get home?”
“We’ll talk about it later, okay? Everything’s fine, and right now, I just want to enjoy the sunrise.” He nods toward the sky. “Look.”
On the horizon, light erupts, setting the east peak’s snowcap on fire. I try to relax as Dad drapes an arm across my shoulder. But for the first time in my life, his nearness isn’t enough to make me feel safe.
The trail becomes steeper as I lead the way down the mountain past blue spruce trees, green firs, and towering white aspen, their branches shivering in the wind. Dad follows on his four-wheeler close behind me. The sun is bright enough now that we don’t need our headlights.
As I round a curve, a deer darts across the snowy path a few feet ahead. I don’t have time to react, but out of nowhere the four-wheeler seizes up, as if someone slammed a foot down hard on the brake. My head whips forward, then back again with the sudden jerk, and the ATV skids sideways, blocking the trail. Iris, I think, feeling her terror spike up inside of me. She pressed the brake to keep me from hitting the deer. I’m sure of it, even though she’s never done anything like that before.
The roar of Dad’s engine drowns out every other noise around me, and a warning catches in my throat as I turn to see him come around the curve. Time slows down. My ears ring and my skin prickles as he yanks his handlebars hard to the right to keep from ramming into me. His four-wheeler tilts onto the two right tires, teeters toward the sharp incline that drops into the ravine at the side of the road, then slams into a boulder. Dad hurtles off the seat toward the trees. Behind him, Cookie flies from the crate and lands in a mound of snow as Dad smashes into an aspen tree at the edge of the slope. The four-wheeler rolls on top of him.
“Dad!” I scream, my boots pounding the ground as I run to him, passing Cookie whose yelps prick me like needle-sharp icicles. I round the overturned four-wheeler and find Dad facedown on the ground, the six-hundred-pound vehicle crushing him. As I drop to my knees beside him, he lifts his head enough for me to see a red gash above his temple where he hit the aspen’s trunk. Blood oozes from the wound, soaking a patch of snow beneath his head.
“Lily,” he rasps.
“I’m here, Dad.”
His face twitches as he lowers his cheek to the cold, hard ground.
“Hold on. I’ll get you out,” I say, my body shaking.
“No! Don’t move anything,” he gasps. “My back . . .”
He doesn’t have to say more. If I try to move the four-wheeler off him, I could hurt him worse. Panicked, I ask, “What should I do?”
“Get Mom. Call for help.”
Cookie’s frantic wails shred the last thin thread of my self-control. Sobbing, I say, “I didn’t bring my phone.”
“My front pocket,” Dad says weakly.
I scoot closer and look for a space to slip my hand beneath him. “I’ll find it. Don’t worry, I—”
“Don’t!” Pain and panic flash across his face when I touch him. “It’s— Can’t reach it,” he says, each word a struggle. “Go . . . get Mom.”
I swipe at the tears on my face. “I can’t leave you and Cookie here.”
“Don’t cry. Cookie and I—we’ll be fine. Please, sweetheart . . . hurry.”
Desperate for another way to help him, I squeeze my eyes shut. The scents of the forest fill my senses—moss and pine and rich, damp earth. I hear the tense hiss of Iris’s essence. The rattle of tree limbs. Then in the distance, the crunch of snow beneath hooves . . . or boots.
Opening my eyes, I scan the forest in every direction, praying it’s a person I hear, not an animal. “Help!” I scream. “Over here! Help us!”
I wait a few seconds for a reply, but know if I stay any longer, I’ll risk Dad’s life. “I’ll be right back. Everything will be okay,” I promise him, desperately hoping that’s true.
A few feet away, Cookie wails and Dad gasps, “Can you . . . bring him . . . ?”
I run to Cookie and kneel down. He doesn’t appear to have any outer wounds, but I have no idea if that’s the case internally. I shouldn’t move him, but he and Dad need each other, and I can’t bring myself to leave him crying in the road. “I’m sorry, boy,” I say, lifting him despite his wails. He seems weightless as I carry him to Dad and place him on the ground.
“Lily . . . ,” Dad says when I start to turn away. His eyes are closed, the lids quivering like moth wings. “If I don’t—”
“No!” I drop to my knees and sweep locks of silver hair off his forehead with
trembling fingers. “You’ll be okay,” I whisper.
“Your mother . . . loves you . . . try to understand. She can’t lose you, too.”
“She’s not going to lose either one of us, Dad. You’re going to be okay.”
“Trust Mom,” he says in a strained whisper. “No one else.”
“What?”
“Promise me,” he says.
“I promise, but—oh, Dad,” I sob, lowering my face close to his.
“We thought we did . . . the right thing.” He clutches my wrist. “It was right, wasn’t it? You’re happy? You’re all right?”
Confusion grips me, but before I can answer him or ask any questions, Dad loses consciousness and a voice calls out from the forest on the opposite side of the trail. Turning, I see a hiker emerge from the trees.
Pushing to my feet, I run toward him.
3
“Your mother is finally sleeping,” Wyatt’s grandmother says as she sits on the edge of the couch beside me. “Won’t you let me give you a sedative, too?”
“I want to stay awake until we hear about Cookie.” A tear trickles down my cheek. “God, will I ever stop crying?”
Addie’s fingers are dry and cool as she wipes the tear away. “It’s good to let it all out, sugar.”
“Wyatt hasn’t called?”
“Not yet,” Addie says.
Wyatt volunteered to stay at the animal clinic in Silver Lake and bring Cookie home when the vet says it’s okay. Dr. Trujillo called it a miracle that Cookie appears to have survived the wreck with only a few bumps and bruises. But he still wanted to watch him for a while, just in case.
Embers crackle and glow in the hearth across the room. The fire is dying. Addie glances at it, and I know that soon she’ll stoke the flames back to life and add another log or two. I hope I’m like her when I’m old. Although she’s in her seventies, tiny and thin, with a short cap of snow-white hair, there’s nothing frail about Wyatt’s grandmother. Her husband had a fatal heart attack in his vegetable garden two years after Wyatt came to live with them, and although a lot of women Addie’s age would’ve moved to town, she didn’t budge. She and Wyatt stayed out here alone, practically in the middle of nowhere. I wonder if Mom will stay, too, now that Dad’s gone. I can’t see it. She isn’t that strong.
The Shadow Girl Page 2
