“What?” I ask, afraid to hope that he heard what I did—what I always do when I’m out here.
“I did hear something.”
“Really?”
Ty guides my hand to his chest, presses my palm against it. “My heartbeat,” he says. “It’s all I can ever hear when we’re together.” He winces. “How cheesy did that sound? Sorry. You make me nervous.”
“I make you nervous?” I ask, caught up in his stare.
Ty’s head lowers and his breath feathers against my mouth before his lips catch mine. I taste his tongue, warm and wet, soft and rough at once. Standing in the middle of the trail, we kiss for a long time, and when we stop, every nerve in my body is electrified.
I keep my hands on his shoulders, and Ty’s arms stay around my waist as he looks up into the trees. “The wind in the limbs sounds like cards in the spokes of a bicycle wheel,” he says.
“I’ve never heard that noise.”
“You’re kidding.” He draws back slightly and scowls. “What kid never attached cards to their bicycle wheels?”
“A kid who was fishing and hiking and playing hockey.”
“Yeah, right. You play hockey?” He gives me a measuring look of disbelief.
“Ice and roller hockey, as a matter of fact,” I say proudly. “Why does that surprise you?”
He shrugs. “You don’t look like the sort of girl who’d play such a rough sport.”
“Meaning, what? That I don’t have broad shoulders or tree trunk legs?”
“Well, yeah. Or a mustache.” One corner of his mouth quirks up as he pulls the edge of my stocking cap down to the tip of my nose.
I giggle and shove him away, then push my cap up again. We step apart and resume the hike. I spot a familiar wall of granite rising up the mountain side of the trail. Pointing, I tell him, “That’s part of one of the dikes that wind through this area. Have you seen them?”
He nods. “They look like the ridged sail on the back of a spinosaurus.”
“They do sort of look like that,” I say with a laugh. “If you believe in the legend, the wall captured the spirits of the Indians who used to live here, and if you lay your hands on the surface of the rock you can feel their energy inside. The legend also says that if you press your ear against the wall, you can hear the Indians beating drums and chanting.”
“My mother believes in all of that metaphysical stuff,” Ty says as we stop beside the wall. He places both palms against the rock and goes very still, then suddenly wails and his body starts jerking like he’s being electrocuted.
“Very funny,” I say, crossing my arms and smirking at him.
He pushes away from the wall, laughing hysterically. “I couldn’t help myself. Sorry. I didn’t feel anything. It just feels cold.” Leaning forward, he presses his ear to the spot above his hands and feigns a serious expression.
“Well?” I ask.
Ty steps back. “I guess my mom’s the only one in the family with an ear for music.”
“Your mother likes music?”
“It’s her life. She’s teaches high school orchestra and gives private lessons. She plays all of the stringed instruments. The cello. The violin.”
“That’s a coincidence.” I think of the violin in Dad’s workshop. “My mom used to play the violin, too. She doesn’t anymore, though. I’ve never even heard her.”
“What about you?” Ty asks with a curious glance and a flicker of something in his voice I can’t identify. “Are you a musician, too?”
“No. I asked for piano lessons when I was little, but Mom and Dad said we didn’t have room for a piano in the cabin.”
We start off again, leaving the rock wall behind. As we climb, the trail becomes steeper and rougher and dotted with patches of lingering snow. We step around large rocks and over the occasional felled tree blocking our path. When we reach an outcropping of rock that offers a view that seems to stretch all the way to the next dimension, we stop to rest. Sitting side by side, we stare out over a sea of evergreen treetops broken only by scraps of pale green meadow.
I take an apple out of my pack and offer it to Ty. He shakes his head, and I’m about to bite into it when I hear a noise on the trail. “Someone’s coming,” I say, setting the apple aside.
Frowning, he looks in the direction we came. “I don’t hear anything.”
“No, I’m sure of it.” I push to my feet when I see movement in the trees and a patch of blue coming closer. Wyatt appears from around the curve, pausing when he spots us.
“Hey!” I wave and jog to meet him. “What’s up?”
“Gran went by your house. Your mom mentioned our hike.” He glances at Ty and makes a huffing sound. “Gran was worried about you going up the peak alone. So was I. Stupid me, huh?”
“Don’t be mad,” I say in just above a whisper, hoping Ty won’t hear. “Ty wanted to climb the peak, so I offered to take him, that’s all. I knew Mom would make a big deal of it, so I didn’t tell her.” I gesture toward Ty with a tilt of my head. “Come on. Meet him. He’s a nice guy.”
As if on cue, Ty stands and comes over. “Hey,” he says, offering his hand to Wyatt. “I’m Ty Collier.”
The tops of Wyatt’s ears turn red as he shakes hands with Ty. Shifting his attention back to me, he says, “Could we talk?”
I look at Ty and wince. “We’ll just be a minute, okay?” He nods, and I follow Wyatt to the outcropping of rock where our backpacks lie. “What’s going on?”
“Gran’s not happy about you lying to your mom. She said for me to find you and if we aren’t back in a couple of hours she’s going back to your cabin to tell her.”
“She’d do that?” I ask hesitantly.
“You know my grandmother. What do you think?”
Frustrated, I make my way back over to Ty. “I need to go home.”
He frowns. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, but we’ll have to save the hike for another day.”
Ty pretends not to care, but I can tell he does. I wouldn’t blame him if he decided that trying to spend time with me isn’t worth the effort.
The return walk down the peak to the trailhead is pure torture, for me at least. Being with Ty and Wyatt at the same time makes me nervous so I start to babble. I tell funny stories about things Wyatt and I did together as kids, but Wyatt remains focused on the path ahead, not amused. He doesn’t look up until we reach the trailhead where his four-wheeler is parked next to mine.
Ty draws me aside for a second, saying, “I hope everything’s okay at home. I’ll call you later, okay?”
I nod. “I’m really sorry about the hike.”
“We’ll do it another time.”
He starts off toward his car, and when he passes Wyatt, they mumble good-bye to each other.
As Ty drives away in his car, Wyatt climbs onto his four-wheeler, stares down at the seat for a minute, then turns to me. “You coming?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told Mom I was with you and put you in the middle of this. But she has such a weird cautious streak when it comes to Ty.”
His brows lift briefly. “Maybe she’s smart to, Lil. I mean, what’s he doing here?”
“In Silver Lake? Working for Mom, for one thing. Putting a roof on the cabin.”
“Yeah, your mom told Gran he’s working dirt cheap. She isn’t thinking straight or she’d wonder just why he’d do that.” He squints at me. “Why do you think he’s willing to work for next to nothing?”
I shrug. “Because he needs the money?”
“Or wants to be close to you.” Wyatt blinks and looks away, his jawline tight.
I cross to him. Take a breath. “We need to talk about things.” He turns to me, and his green eyes don’t hide anything. I see all of his feelings for me. I’m so afraid of hurting him, but he deserves my honesty. “I’m really confused about us right now,” I say. “What happened between you and me—I never expected it, and—”
“What about Collier?” he interrupts, his c
hin lifting.
I lay my hand on his arm. “I’m confused about him, too. I need some time to think about everything that’s happened to me in the past couple of weeks. To figure it all out.”
Wyatt pushes a loose strand of hair off my cheek, his fingers lingering beneath my ear. “You don’t have to be confused about me, Lil. You know me. I’ll always be someone you can count on.”
He’s being so sweet, I want to cry. Lowering my head, I say, “I’m afraid of ruining things—of ruining us—the way we’ve always been.”
After what seems like forever, Wyatt bumps me with his elbow, and I look up at him. “I don’t like you hanging out with him,” he says, “but no matter what, I’m never going to stop tormenting you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” His cheek twitches.
“Yeah, I live for that,” I say with a laugh, pushing the words past the lump in my throat. I nod toward the road. “Let’s go home before your grandmother ruins my life.”
“Okay.”
I climb onto my four-wheeler and start the engine.
Wyatt and I take off, riding side by side, just like we have more than a hundred times before.
12
Mom drives into town for a dentist appointment on Monday morning. Ty calls shortly after she leaves to say he’s going to be late coming to work. He has to make another trip to the hardware store.
I curl up on the rug next to Cookie’s bed. It hurts to see him so unhappy. He didn’t eat his breakfast, and he growled at me when I made him get up and go outside. I know he didn’t mean it, but that didn’t stop me from crying. Nothing seems right anymore. Cookie isn’t himself, and Dad is gone. Mom is like a ghost. I don’t trust my emotions when I’m with Wyatt.
Sometime later, I hear a car outside. Hoping it’s Ty, I go to the door. Instead, I see Dad’s friend Mack Sturdivant climbing out of his white Ford truck.
“Morning, Lily,” he calls, slamming the truck door, then moving slowly toward the porch, one hand pressed against the small of his back. He’s as stiff, thin, and leathery as the strips of beef jerky Ty eats.
“Hey, Mack,” I say, walking down the steps to meet him in the yard.
Wearing a sad expression, he pulls off his cap, and peers at me through his glasses. “Sorry about your daddy. Janie and me were up in Montana visiting the grandkids when Tony called and told us. It just about did me in. Your dad was a good friend.” Mack’s face reddens and crumples, and all of my emotions from the memorial come flooding back. “You and your mama doing okay, honey?” he asks, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and blowing his nose.
“We’re getting by,” I say, choking out the words.
“She here?”
“No, she went into town.”
Shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand, Mack looks up at the roof. “Addie’s boy finishing that for you?”
“No, sir. Mom hired someone. He’s not from around here.”
Mack scratches his beard and meets my gaze. “He a kid about your age? Shaggy dark hair?”
“Yes,” I say, surprised that he might know Ty.
“I think I met him at the coffee shop last time Tony and I were there with your dad. Apparently, someone had told him Adam might have work. I don’t know what was said between the two, but your dad left in a tailspin. I didn’t think anything of it until I called him later, and he said the boy threatened him.”
I flinch. “What?”
“He didn’t want to get into details, so I didn’t push,” Mack says, looking grim. “I just figured the kid might’ve been a little desperate and lost his cool when Adam didn’t hire him.”
“Dad didn’t mention anything about that,” I say, not willing to believe Ty could be the person Mack’s talking about. But I’m uneasy all the same. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, if it’s the same kid.” His brows tug together. “One thing I do know, from the way your dad talked about him, he wouldn’t want that boy out here alone with you and your mother.”
“It must’ve been someone else,” I insist. “Ty’s really nice. And anyway, you said Tony was with you at the coffee shop, right?” When Mack nods, I continue, “Tony saw Ty at Dad’s memorial and left me alone with him. He wouldn’t have done that if Ty was the guy who threatened Dad.”
Putting his cap on and frowning, Mack says, “Could be that Tony didn’t notice your dad’s reaction to the kid. Like I said, it didn’t register with me until later when we talked on the phone.” He pulls a toothpick from his pocket and rolls it between his fingers. “I don’t know, honey. You could be right, but I’d feel better if your mom knew about this. Tell her to give me a call, okay?”
“Okay,” I say, not sure that I will. I refuse to believe Mack’s suspicions. He definitely has Ty confused with someone else, and I don’t want him telling Mom any of this. She’s already so wary of Ty, if she heard Mack’s story she’d fire him on the spot and forbid me to see him without even giving him a chance to defend himself.
After Mack leaves, I use my new keys to get into the workshop. There’s an expectant hush in the air that sets my nerves on edge. Leaving the door open, I make my way to the storage closet. I drag the shiny toolbox to the middle of the room, then drop to my knees and open it. I lift out the jewelry box, the hairbrush, and the stacks of clothing.
What am I looking for, Iris? I ask. If this was Mom’s stuff, I don’t see how it relates to you or me. Do you see something that looks familiar?
The violin, she breathes.
I reach for the case at the very bottom of the chest, set it on the floor, then replace everything else and put the chest back where I found it. Certain Mom will be gone for a while, I take the violin back to the cabin.
It’s warmer today, so I leave the door ajar. I lay the violin case on the couch, then check on Cookie sleeping steps away on his bed. He moans low in his throat when I touch him. Upset over his sadness, I return to the couch.
When I open the violin case, my breath catches. The instrument is beautiful, with its golden wood and smooth, graceful curves. I remove it from the case, and Iris sighs, Oh . . . , as a tingle radiates up my arm.
Shaken by emotions I don’t understand, I lift the bow, prop the violin on my shoulder, and settle my chin on the chin rest. I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, then exhale slowly.
Everything except the instrument in my hands disappears. I no longer smell the scent of this morning’s bacon or hear the tick of the wall clock or feel the softness of the couch cushion beneath my thighs. A rush of noise that sounds like applause surrounds me, then slowly fades to an expectant hush as one exquisite note—a quiet plea—stretches into a sweet cry of longing. The music swells until it’s all-consuming. White-hot and bright, it fills me up, spills out of my pores, and wraps around me.
The sound of my whispered name brings the world crashing back. I blink. Ty stands inside the doorway, his widened eyes darker than ever against his pale, shocked face. Surprised to see him, I set the violin inside the case and try to stand, but my legs are rubbery, so I slump back onto the couch. “I didn’t hear you come in,” I say.
He steps toward me. “Why didn’t you tell me you can play?”
“What are you talking about? I was messing around.”
Ty shakes his head, an amazed expression on his face. “You were incredible. Didn’t you hear yourself?”
I heard something. Breathtaking music in my imagination. Maybe a buried memory of Mom playing when I was very small, or some random orchestra performance I saw on TV once. “You’re teasing me,” I say with a laugh. “I must’ve been terrible.”
Sounding awestruck, Ty says, “You’re the one teasing. My mom’s best students don’t compare to you.”
“I’ve never touched a violin until today.” I close the case, nervous for some reason. “How could I pick up a violin for the first time and instinctively know how to play? That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know what I heard.” Reaching across my lap, he raises the lid on the case, takes the
violin out, and lays it on his knees. “This thing’s a piece of art.”
I look up at him. “I found it locked in the storage closet in Dad’s workshop. It’s almost like my parents were trying to hide it from me.”
The way Ty is watching me, like he’s sort of impressed but also a little freaked out, makes me feel self-conscious. Exposed.
I cross my arms. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m trying to understand how you can have such an amazing ability and not even know it.” He holds the violin out to me. “Once more, okay? Pay attention this time.”
My first instinct is to refuse. But then Iris’s heat permeates my skin and her breath tickles my eardrum as she whispers, Please try. I need to feel the music again.
I look down at the violin and I understand her request. I need to feel the music flow through me, too.
This time, I don’t drift away on the notes that bleed from my fingers, I weep along with them. Without even trying, I’m playing the music box song, the lullaby that Iris sang on nights during my childhood when I couldn’t sleep.
As the last note drifts into silence, Iris breathes, I remembered something. Help me . . . what did they do?
Panic as cold as windblown snow flutters through me. I open my eyes. Who is Iris talking about? What does she mean? She wouldn’t have memories separate from mine.
Unless she used to be alive . . .
I avoid Ty’s gaze as I stand, return the violin and bow to the case, then run my fingertips across the wood. I have the strongest urge to play it one more time, but I’m afraid to experience those powerful emotions again. I’m afraid of what Iris might be remembering.
I pull my hand back and close the lid, setting the case on the floor beside the couch. “Please take it out of here,” I say. “Put it in my dad’s workshop.”
Ty takes hold of my hand and doesn’t let go until I sit down beside him. “You have an amazing gift,” he says. “Don’t be afraid of it.”
“It’s not playing that scares me,” I say. “It’s the fact that I can. I must be a freak!”
“No.” Ty shakes his head, and his voice is tender as he says, “You’re a miracle.”
The Shadow Girl Page 12
