“I was talking about seeing you.” The smile he flashes is so dazzling it blinds me.
Feeling shy, I give him a sandwich and say, “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with schoolwork.”
“No problem. I understand. I’m sort of jealous that Plato gets to spend more time with you than I do, but I’ll get over it.” His eyes sparkle as he takes a bite.
“Plato and I are through.” Embarrassed, I quickly change the subject before he can comment. Motioning toward the roof, I say, “How’s it going?”
“Okay, but it’s warm today.” He tugs at his collar. “I was actually roasting up there.”
“I’m sure it’s warmer if you’re working,” I say.
“Yeah. It’s hard to believe it was snowing just over a week ago.” He takes another bite of his sandwich, chews, and swallows. Narrowing his eyes, Ty says, “What did you mean about Plato?”
In a smug voice, I say, “I finished. You are looking at a high school graduate.”
His eyes widen. “Just like that? You don’t have to take a test or anything?”
“Nope. Just like that.” I snap my fingers, feeling different—free.
He beams. “What are you doing this weekend to celebrate?”
“Does taking Cookie to the vet first thing Saturday morning qualify as a celebration?”
“You and your mom don’t have plans?” Ty asks, frowning.
“No.” I glance away, certain my voice revealed my pathetic disappointment about Mom’s apparent indifference.
“Come here.” Ty sets his sandwich on the patio table, takes my hand, and draws me nearer to the cabin where Mom can’t see us. I back up to the wall, and he kisses me. “I’d like to take you out tomorrow night, graduate,” he says, the low vibration of his voice scattering goose bumps up my arms.
“I’d like that.” I wipe a smudge of dirt off his cheekbone with my finger and smile. “I hope you’ll clean up first, though,” I tease.
Ty’s lunch break ends too soon. He goes back to work, and I go inside. Late in the afternoon when he leaves, Mom surprises me by heading for the couch instead of the workshop. She curls up under a blanket and stares blankly at the television until it’s time for dinner. I offer to bring her a bowl of soup, but she doesn’t want anything. She hasn’t eaten all day.
Iris comes out of hiding and nudges me. I don’t need any persuading, though. If I’m ever going to ask Mom about Winterhaven, it may as well be now. There’s not ever going to be a good time, and I’m tired of waiting.
“Mom?” Bringing my own bowl of soup into the living room, I set it on the coffee table and sit down on the floor with my legs crossed. “Have we ever been to Winterhaven, Massachusetts?”
She pushes onto her elbow. “Winterhaven? Why do you ask?”
“I found a slip of paper in Dad’s workshop with Winterhaven, Massachusetts, written on it.” Which isn’t entirely a lie. She doesn’t need to know that I wrote it.
“What were you doing in the workshop?” she asks, the accusatory tone back.
Scrambling for a reason, I say, “Ty needed a tool.”
“I had him take your father’s tool chest out of the workshop his first day here. He’s supposed to be keeping it in the storage shed.”
“He is, but whatever he needed wasn’t in there.” I can tell by Mom’s expression that she doesn’t believe me, but I don’t care. I won’t let her suspicions distract me. “Have we been to Winterhaven?” I ask again.
She hesitates, then says, “We flew to Massachusetts once when you were a baby. To Boston. We were on vacation and rented a car. We might’ve driven through Winterhaven—we passed through a lot of small towns.”
I wonder if the memory I have of the dock and the lake could have taken place on that trip. I start to question her further about it, but I can’t do it when I notice that her hands are shaking as she pulls the quilt higher to cover her shoulders. I have a feeling it’s fear making them tremble. The same fear I see in her face.
Mom moves from the couch to her bedroom at ten o’clock when the news comes on. I wait until Cookie falls asleep, then go to my sock drawer and take out the spare keys Wyatt made me. Rubbing the metal of one key between my forefinger and thumb, I try to talk myself into going out to the workshop.
Of course, Iris is all for it, encouraging me with tantalizing words: Everything’s tied to the violin. To the music. I feel it.
The music? I don’t understand, I tell her.
But I know by now that Iris doesn’t understand, either. Whatever she’s channeling, it’s only arriving in snatches.
I press the key into my palm. If more clues to the mystery are hidden in the workshop, what will they tell me about my parents? In my mind, I see Mom’s gnarled hands trembling as she pulled the blanket higher. That splash of icy blue fear in her eyes. What is she afraid I’ll find out? What did Dad want me to know?
Go out to the workshop and see, breathes Iris.
I nibble my lip. What if the truth is something I’d rather not know?
Do it for me.
For her? I shove aside the curtain over my window, look out at the moon-bathed peaks, startled and shaken by Iris’s plea. I’ve been assuming she wants to solve this puzzle for me, but she sounds like she has a personal stake in putting it all together. What could she possibly stand to gain from learning about my tie to Winterhaven or who Jake is? Iris isn’t even human. She isn’t alive. She’s . . . I go still.
What are you, Iris?
Shaken, I stare at the shadowy east peak. A silent and brooding presence. Always standing guard. The few times I’ve asked myself about Iris’s existence, I’ve always dismissed my questions before they could take hold. What am I afraid of? That I’m insane? Or that there might be more to Iris than I ever dreamed?
Something I’ve never dared to let myself consider pushes to the front of my mind now, refusing to be ignored. “Who are you?” I whisper. “Were you ever alive?”
I don’t know. Help me remember.
Rain strikes the bedroom window and taps on the roof. A few drops, then dozens, then hundreds. The wind kicks up, and the cabin logs creak, as if complaining. Seems Mom was wrong when she told Ty we’d be having dry weather for the next several days.
I put the keys back in the drawer, anxiety gnawing at the pit of my stomach. Maybe it’s not the shop we should be searching, I tell Iris. Returning to the bed, I open my laptop.
For the next hour, I browse the Winterhaven website with thoughts of Ty, of Wyatt and Iris, of my parents and the items in the chest, coiling together like a braid in my mind.
11
Wyatt is busy with school on Friday, so we aren’t able to get together. I don’t see Ty, either. He calls early in the morning to say that he’s not coming to work since it’s raining and not supposed to let up all day. He sounds sad and edgy. I ask if he’s okay, and he claims he’s only tired because he didn’t sleep much last night. He asks if we can postpone our date tonight, too, and the moment we hang up, I start imagining all kinds of things. Mainly, that he’s decided to leave Silver Lake earlier than he’d planned. I can’t believe how much that possibility upsets me.
I spend the day searching the internet for more sites about Winterhaven and doing chores while Mom watches television and Cookie sleeps. Mom hasn’t cleaned the cabin since the accident, and it shows. I’ve been neglecting my chores, too. As I’m working, I have to choke back tears each time I run across something of Dad’s—one of his socks I missed the last time I did laundry, clinging to the back of the dryer; his toothbrush and beard trimmer in the downstairs bathroom; his work boots on his side of their bed.
On Saturday, Mom stays home while I take Cookie to the vet. She’s lost interest in everything, even whatever it was she was doing in Dad’s shop for so many days and nights.
When I arrive at the veterinary clinic, I’m surprised to see Ty’s shabby blue sports car across the street. He’s pacing the sidewalk, talking on his phone with his head down, so he doesn’t se
e me. Suddenly, he throws the phone, and when it breaks, he kicks his front tire hard.
I park, climb out of the Blazer, and turn toward the street, calling out to him and waving until I catch his attention. Ty waves back, then bends and grabs his phone off the ground, snapping the pieces back together.
Jogging over, he calls out, “Hey. I remembered you said Cookie had an appointment this morning. I thought you might want some company.”
“How did you know my mom didn’t come?” I ask, closing the door.
“I didn’t.” No trace of his anger from a few minutes ago shows on his face as he stops in front of me. “I took a chance. I’ve missed you.”
“You just saw me the day before yesterday.”
“For half an hour at lunch. That’s not enough.” While I’m waiting for my pulse to settle down, he adds, “I’m sorry I had to cancel our plans to go out.”
“Is something wrong?” I ask. “I saw you throw your phone.”
Humiliation flashes across his features. “I was talking to my dad.” He holds out his free hand to show me his cell phone. The back cover is cracked.
“Oh, no . . . does it work?”
Ty pushes a button, then lifts the phone to his ear. “Yeah. That’s surprising.” He shoves it into his front jeans pocket, out of sight, but doesn’t have as much success hiding the distress on his face.
“Is everything okay at home?” I ask.
“As good as can be expected, I guess.” His mouth crooks up at the corner and his face brightens. “Anyway, you’re here now, so everything’s better.”
Psyched by his compliment, I open the Blazer’s back door and look in at Cookie. “I’m glad you came,” I say to Ty. “You can help me get him inside.”
Cookie doesn’t even complain when Ty lifts him from the seat and carries him into the clinic. The receptionist tells us that Dr. Trujillo had an emergency and he’s running a half hour late, so we take Cookie back outside and sit on the lawn beneath a cottonwood tree.
Because it stays warmer in town than on the mountain, the trees bud earlier in the season here. Pale green leaves flicker in the cottonwood tree, and the cool air dances with sunshine. A bluebird sings in the branches, and Iris joins in the song. My fingertips pulse with her trilled melody as I slide them up and down Cookie’s spine, and I catch myself wondering if he feels the vibration. If so, he doesn’t show it. Cookie doesn’t even have the energy to lift his head.
“How’s it looking for our hike tomorrow?” Ty asks.
“We’re good to go,” I say. I slide him a mock-serious look. “I hope you’ve been working out. I don’t want to have to carry you back down the mountain.”
Squinting in a way that turns me inside out, Ty leans back on his elbows, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “We’ll see who’s carrying who. In fact, if you want to race to the top and down, you’re on.”
“I’ll pass.” I fake a yawn.
“I think you’re afraid,” Ty says, looking superior.
“No, I just don’t want to embarrass you when I win.” He laughs, and after a minute, I ask, “So what’s going on at home?”
Sobering, Ty lifts a shoulder. “Mom and Dad are pretty upset with me right now. They don’t get what I’m doing here.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask on impulse. When he doesn’t answer right away, I say quickly, “Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s okay.” He tilts his head back, stares up at the cottonwood’s sun-spangled leaves. “My little brother, Kyle, was in a car accident over the Christmas holidays. Kyle wasn’t wearing his seat belt. His head hit the windshield, and he’s been in a coma ever since.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper, my fingers curling into Cookie’s coat.
Ty exhales loudly. “My parents told me yesterday that the doctors are saying he won’t ever get better. They’re talking about turning off the machines he’s hooked up to. Mom and Dad want me there to discuss it as a family.”
In the silence that follows, sorrow creeps over us, as dense as fog. I take a shuddery breath. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s okay. That’s why I took off on this road trip. I couldn’t stand seeing my brother like that.” He shakes his head. “Pretty weak, huh? But I can’t believe they’ve given up on him so soon. The doctors aren’t giving him a chance.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him.
Watching me, he says, “Spending time with you . . . talking. It helps.”
“I’m glad. Being with you has helped me, too.” My throat closes as I reach for his hand. I want to hug him, but hold myself back. “Please don’t get mad at me for saying this, but as much as I don’t want you to leave, maybe you should be with Kyle right now.”
“It wouldn’t make any difference. He wouldn’t even know I was in the room. I can’t help him by being there.”
“But maybe it would help you. I mean, I wish I’d had more time with my dad. To say good-bye. Even if he might not have been able to hear me.”
Ty shakes his head. “I can’t do it, Lily. I can’t stand seeing my brother lying in that bed. He’s only thirteen. He should be playing computer games and hanging out with his friends. I call to check on him every day, but—” Ty drops his chin to his chest. “I’m not running away. It’s just—there was only one way I could help him, and now I can’t even do that.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was just a stupid, desperate idea I had that was a long shot, anyway.” He slips his hand from mine, pulls a hank of grass from the ground, and tosses it, watching it scatter. After a minute, he says, “About the hike. I don’t want to do anything to get you in trouble with your mom. I shouldn’t have asked you to sneak off and meet me the other day, either.”
“I’m glad I went,” I say.
“Me, too.” He looks up and smiles.
Relieved to see the glint return to his eyes, I add, “And don’t think you’re getting out of the hike. I know you’re afraid I’ll show you up, but you promised me a race, and I’m not letting you off the hook.”
“You want a race? Fine.” He reaches up and gently tugs a lock of my hair. “I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“Oooh . . . I’m shaking,” I say with a laugh.
Just then, the receptionist pokes her head out of the door of the clinic to call us in. “Ready, Cookie?” I say. But he doesn’t budge.
Ty picks Cookie up again and carries him inside.
Early the next morning, I place two lunches and a few snacks in my backpack, make sure Cookie is comfortable, then look in on Mom in her bedroom. “Hey, I’m leaving. Call my cell if you need me.”
“I’ll be fine. Go have some fun for a change.”
I’m completely bewildered. One day she’s overly watchful, the next she seems completely disinterested in what I do. I don’t know what to expect from her anymore.
“Don’t forget to check on Cookie,” I say.
The vet confirmed my suspicions—Cookie is physically better and pain-free. So whatever is going on with him now probably is depression. Dr. Trujillo said he might be having trouble getting over the trauma of the accident. And he really might be missing Dad, too.
“Don’t worry about Cookie,” Mom says. “I’ll get up in a while and take him outside.” I go over and hug her, and as I step away from the bed, she rolls toward the window, her back to me. “You and Wyatt be safe,” she murmurs.
It’s always colder in the forest, so I tug a gray stocking cap over my hair and head for the door, feeling guilty for lying. But if I tell Mom the truth—that I’m meeting Ty instead of Wyatt—I’m afraid she’ll say I can’t go. And I know she wouldn’t let me hike the peak alone.
A few minutes later at the trailhead, I park next to Ty’s car in a small clearing at the side of the road. The driver’s door opens and Ty climbs out. Every guilty feeling I had flies from my head as he crosses to me, slinging a backpack over his
shoulder. Ty’s wearing faded jeans and a blue flannel shirt left unbuttoned over a threadbare white T-shirt that hugs his chest in a way that transforms my legs to string cheese.
I cut the engine and slide off my four-wheeler. “You ready to hit it?” I ask as I lift my pack from the rack behind my seat.
“Lead the way,” he says.
“You brought a jacket, right? And rain gear just in case?”
“Yes, Mother. And I put on sunblock.” He grins.
I make a face at him, slip the straps of my backpack over my shoulders, and take off at a brisk pace, calling, “Do your best to keep up.”
Ty falls quickly into step beside me. “I thought we were racing.”
“Let’s just say the one who makes it down in one piece without whining wins.”
He laughs. “I’ll take that deal.”
We walk on without speaking for a while. My mind wanders and I relax as we draw deeper into the cool, musky shade of the forest, following the upward incline of the trail. Sunlight blinks through gently swaying tree limbs above. Lacy shadows dance across the ground, dodging our feet. Iris hums a catchy tune, and I realize I’m watching for her silhouette. I’m not three years old anymore; I know it’s only my shadow I’m seeing, not her. But sometimes I still gasp whenever I glimpse the dusky stain of my own shape.
Last night, I asked Iris again about her odd snatches of memory and what she had meant about everything being tied to the music. And again, she told me she didn’t understand what she was sensing. A tremor started deep in my core, and for the first time, I realized how upset Iris is. Does she think she’s failing me?
“It’s so quiet here,” Ty says in a low voice, interrupting my thoughts.
“Not really. You’re just not paying attention.” Stopping midstride, I grasp his arm. “Close your eyes and listen.”
I shut my own eyes and zone in on the orchestra tuning up around me. Aspen branches rasping as the breeze rubs them together like a bow against a string. The trill of birdsong. Water tinkling over rock in the nearby stream. The tap-tap-tap of a woodpecker.
“Amazing,” says Ty, and I open my eyes to find him watching me.
The Shadow Girl Page 11
