“How?”
“They just needed to be watered every day. And I’ve been trimming the new growth to give them back their shape. This one especially.” Star touched Chance’s tree and rubbed her fingers gently along the delicate trunk. “It had gotten really out of hand. I think we should repot it.”
Jess touched the shiny leaves, thought of Mr. Kim and how much he would have appreciated this. Thought of Chance and the friend she’d never met who’d given him a tiny tree for his birthday. Her eyes grew wet, and she coughed to hold back the tears. “How did you know what to do?”
“I used to watch my mom, and sometimes she’d let me try too.” She looked at the trees, shrugged. “I guess I just remembered.”
It was a gift, Jess knew, and she was touched by the sincerity in it. “Your mom sounds lovely.”
“She was.”
The skin around Star’s mouth had turned white, as though she wanted to say more but stopped herself. Jess pressed on, feeling like their losses gave them common ground. “Do you mind if I ask . . . what happened to your dad?”
“He was murdered,” Star said flatly.
Jess pressed a hand against her chest. “Oh, honey, I’m . . .” She trailed off, having no idea what to say. “How, er, no, um, what happened?”
Star looked at her for a long moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then she seemed to decide something, because she took in a deep breath and said, “It was just another night at the Lancaster.”
Jess felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Star had lived at the Lancaster too?
It wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility; she and Star came from similar backgrounds, and the Lancaster was a catchall for many people with little income and no savings. But Lucy’s voice echoed softly in her head. Loose ends. What were the odds, really? She tilted her head. Star was about Chance’s age. Jess’s heart skipped a beat. “I lived there too. Did you . . .” She swallowed. “Did you know a boy named Chance?” The idea that Star might have known her son was both painful and sobering. Why would it matter? Nothing would bring him back.
Star shook her head, and Jess exhaled. She’d been a fool to even ask, but one thing was for sure: Lucy was getting to her. “Thank you so much, Star, for making them better. It means more to me than you know. One of the trees, it belonged to my son.” Jess let the words rush out of her. After everything that had happened since Star arrived, it felt right to share something with the girl; even more than that, it felt good.
But the color seemed to drain from Star’s cheeks, and her eyes widened, shifting to the plants and back to Jess. She stepped close to Jess, her hands out, staring up at her with a look in her eyes that Jess couldn’t decipher. “Star?” she said.
As Star opened her mouth to speak, there was a knock at the door, and she jerked back, shaking her head. “That’s Jeremy. I—” She bolted from the room.
Jess followed her, feeling the crinkle form in her forehead at the girl’s odd behavior.
Jeremy stood in the doorway; he waved. “Hi, Jess.”
Jess gave him a smile, then trained her attention on Star. “Is everything okay?”
Star crouched on the ground next to him, shoving a book into her backpack. “Yeah, we just need to get going or we’re going to be late.”
“What are you up to this afternoon?” Jeremy’s mom held school only in the mornings, leaving the afternoons free for more studying or other activities.
Jeremy turned to show his backpack. “We’re going to the library to study like real students.”
Jess snorted. “You are real students.”
“Yeah, but like the real ones who go to school and stuff,” he said.
For the first time in many years, Jess’s laughter felt real, not the bland variety she forced out when it was expected. It bubbled up from someplace deep inside and spread warmly throughout her body. “Have fun being real students, then.” She smiled down at Star, who fiddled with the zipper of her bag. “And thanks again for saving my bonsai trees, Star.”
Star pushed to her feet, slung her backpack across one shoulder, and gave Jess a long look that made her think she was about to say something. Instead she shrugged and turned to leave, punching Jeremy in the shoulder as she did. “C’mon,” she said, and walked out the door.
Jess stood alone in the foyer, shaking her head, her smile fading, fingers running back and forth across her wrist.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
STAR
Jeremy and Star returned from the library that afternoon to find the house empty. A note from Jess had been stuck to the refrigerator.
At Ebee’s house, staying for dinner. Box of newspapers in basement.
The night before, Star had asked Lucy if she had any old newspapers lying around. Lucy had tilted her head to the side and jabbed the air with her finger. “That’s the right question, Star!” And then she left the room. Star had planned on asking her again today, but now she had her answer.
“In the basement,” Jeremy said in a deep voice. “Spooky.”
“We’ll bring it upstairs.” Star headed down the hallway, forcing herself to keep away from the sitting room and the bonsai trees. It had shocked her to hear that one of Jess’s bonsai trees was the one Star had given to Chance. Star had assumed they all came from the old guy Jess had taken care of in her nursing home job. Part of her had wanted to take back her mother’s bonsai and put it in her own room, but she hadn’t because it didn’t belong to her anymore. Besides, with Jess and Star together and the bonsai still alive, Star feared that too many things were falling into place, and she didn’t like how it was adding up, because she didn’t think it was in her favor. She rubbed her face with her hand, trying to stop thinking about it.
“Are you coming?” she said to Jeremy, and winced at the irritation in her voice. He didn’t deserve that. She tried to soften it with a smile.
He nodded, and she led him past the library to a short and narrow hallway behind the staircase. She took hold of the crystal knob, hesitated. Cool air drifted up from the crack beneath the door, tickling her ankles. Star had every reason to avoid the basement: the spirit of her dead friend was hanging out underneath Lucy’s bed, and she was a teenager who thought basements, period, were scary. But the thought that glued her feet to the floor was a growing certainty that Chance wanted her to go down there. She hung her head. Her whole life people had made decisions for her. This felt like more of the same, and she was powerless to change it.
Jeremy stood so close his toes clipped the backs of her heels, and she could feel his breath on her neck. She glared at him over her shoulder. “A little space, please.”
“Sorry,” he said, his eyebrows raised high. “Basements are scary.”
“Not to me,” she said, and, steeling herself, pulled open the door. It resisted at first and then opened with a whoosh, bringing up air that smelled damp and stale.
“Ew,” Jeremy said from behind her.
She squinted, trying to see beyond the second stair, but all that met her was darkness. She bit on a cuticle. Chance was down there too. She knew it in her bones.
“Can you find the lights?” Jeremy whispered.
She inched her fingers along the exposed studs of the wall until she found a plastic switch and flipped it up. Thin light stretched from a single bulb, bathing the stairs but leaving the basement floor in shadows. Star had been clinging to a hope that Chance wanted her to be happy, that he had brought her here for something good. She breathed through her teeth and walked down the stairs. Another switch for the basement lights was affixed to a stud at the bottom. But if he wanted her to be happy, then why had he waited so long? She’d been miserable since his death, lonely and angry and sad all the time. With a sinking feeling, she knew that he wanted something else. And once she found out what, Star believed that it would change everything she had come to love in Pine Lake.
In the dark, her foot missed the last stair, and she stumbled, landing on the basement floor. Dust motes coated her t
ongue, and she sneezed.
“Star?” Jeremy called.
She looked up. Jeremy had not moved from the top of the stairs. She frowned. “You wuss.”
“Hey, you’ve slept outside for the last six months. I’m soft, Tuesday, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.” He squinted down at her. “It’ll be easier to find the box if you turn the light on.”
“Great idea, genius, if I can find it.” She was reaching back to search for the switch when her shoe hit something small. It clattered across the cement floor, landing in the small crescent of light coming from the top of the stairs. She let out a strangled scream that she quickly muffled. Her rock. The one she knew for certain she’d left in her drawer with the note.
“Star?” came Jeremy’s voice from halfway down the stairs.
Her breath came in panicked huffs, and her skin prickled. What did he want? She was grasping the railing when the room exploded in a bright light that made purple spots dance in her eyes.
“And then there was light!” Jeremy stood at the bottom of the stairs, smiling. He peered past Star. “I don’t know why you’re so scared. This place isn’t so bad.” He looked down. “You already found the box?”
A large cardboard box lay at her feet with a yellow sticky note clinging to the water-stained top. In Lucy’s unmistakable handwriting, it read Old Newspapers. Star shoved the rock into her pocket. “Let’s bring it to the library,” she said quickly. “We can spread out in there.”
They walked with the box held between them, and when they reached the top of the stairs, the light was bright and reassuring, but the rock felt heavy in her pocket.
They settled on the thick rug in front of the couch and placed the box between them. Jeremy slipped his finger under the packing tape and brought it up in even strips. The top popped open, emitting the peppery smell of ink and paper.
Jeremy lifted a newspaper out. “This one is from January 5, 2001. Think that’s old enough for my mom?”
Her scalp tingled. “That’s my birthday,” she said, and began pulling the papers out one by one. Her fingertips turned black and shiny from the newsprint. A familiar yellow square was attached to almost every paper. “Lucy has notes on all of these.” She examined several squares. “But they’re all blank.”
Jeremy held out a Denver Post. “Not this one.”
“Loose end?” She met Jeremy’s eyes. “That’s what she said to me when I first met her.”
Lucy had scrawled the two words in thin black ink. The note teased her with its vagueness. Then she saw the date. May 1, 2008.
Her mouth went dry. It couldn’t be. She grabbed the paper and laid it flat on the floor in front of her, fumbling to open the pages. Her eyes scanned every page until there, she found it—a small headline in the middle of the page.
Eight-Year-Old Boy Killed by Hit-and-Run Driver
Knifelike pain twisted in her belly.
“Star? What’s wrong?” Jeremy’s voice sounded like it came from the end of a tunnel.
She pulled her legs up, laid her chin on her knees, and pointed to the article. “What does it say?”
The paper rustled when Jeremy picked it up. He scanned the article. “It’s about a kid who was killed outside some apartment complex in Denver.” His eyebrows wriggled together. “Oh man, that’s terrible. It was a hit-and-run. Nobody saw anything, except one person on the other side of the building who saw a small red car with a yellow hood speeding down the street, but the police never found it or any other witnesses . . .” He squinted, his eyes moving back and forth across the small columns until he paused and gave a soft gasp. “Oh my God. His mother was coming home from work when it happened.” He looked up, his face stricken. “She was the one who found him.”
The walls shifted inward, and Star couldn’t breathe. Jess had found him. She dragged her nails down her arms, leaving red trails deep in her flesh. “Oh, poor Jess,” she whispered.
“Poor Jess?” Jeremy said. The paper rustled again, and he said in a choked voice, “That was her son?”
Star nodded, unable to utter a word.
“His name was Chance,” she said. “We were best friends.”
Jeremy swallowed so hard she heard it as an audible gulp. “Oh, Star.”
The chandelier flickered, the light dimmed and then grew bright, and a rusty creak echoed from above them, like a wooden ship battered by waves.
“I think you should go,” she said.
Jeremy had turned white, his eyes wide as he looked above them. “Why?”
“Because Chance is here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
JESS
Ebee set a bowl of almonds and a plate of cookies on her square table. They’d eaten a hearty stew made with summer vegetables she’d canned from her garden, along with thick buttered slices of her homemade bread. It all tasted amazing, and Ebee promised to teach Jess how to can that summer. Her life in Pine Lake, which was how Jess had begun to think of it, had taken on an unfamiliar shape. One made up of friends and work and a life that hinted at deeper levels of connection. She found that it wasn’t only a job that kept her in Pine Lake—she wanted to stay because she liked the person she was becoming here.
Ben had shown up for dessert and, as Ebee put it, because we need a fourth to play euchre. Jess had never played euchre, but they were into their sixth round, and she’d caught on quickly, enjoying the banter and what Ben had already pointed out was blatant table talk between Ebee and Lucy.
“So they’re cheating,” Jess clarified, laying down the lead card, an ace of diamonds.
“Yup,” he said.
“I beg your pardon.” Lucy studied her cards, pulled one, hesitated.
“We don’t cheat.” Ebee popped an almond into her mouth. “We merely encourage each other to be nimble and quick and strong of heart,” she said, emphasizing the words in a way that made Jess narrow her eyes.
Lucy pushed back the card, pulled another one, and laid it down. A nine of diamonds. Jess tried to keep from smiling; she and Ben might actually win this round.
Ben tossed his card on the pile, a ten of hearts. Damn, she thought he had a jack or a trump at least. “They cheat,” he said.
Beside her, Ebee smiled and played the second-to-highest trump, a jack of hearts, making Lucy whoop and gather the cards. They’d won another round.
Jess wrinkled her forehead. “Wait a minute.”
Ben raised his eyebrows. “Told you.”
Ebee shuffled the deck, laughing. “So, Jess, Lucy told me about your little boy.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Jess had talked about him more in the last few days than she had since he died, but still, his absence was a sucking hole in her chest that never got smaller. And it seemed that Lucy was now telling everyone about him. She rubbed the back of her neck.
But maybe talking about him, sharing memories of him, would fill the hole with something other than pain and regret.
“His name was Chance.”
Ebee covered Jess’s hand with her palm, looked her directly in the eye. “I lost my niece when she was quite young too. There are some things that time can’t touch.”
Jess squeezed her hand, nodded, and Ebee let go, went back to shuffling the cards. “What was he like?” Ebee asked as she dealt.
Jess hesitated, her mouth hanging open. This was foreign ground to her, and she was afraid that if she answered, her heart might crack open. She breathed in and heard the echo of his laugh, the way it sounded like it started deep in his belly until he couldn’t hold it in anymore. She smiled and began to talk. “He was a terrible baby, colicky and cried all through the night. I was so young, and I had no idea what I was doing. Those were the hard days. But that only lasted for a little while. As a little boy, he was kind and sweet and stubborn as an ox—oh, but he was funny. I remember he used to tell this joke about an anteater.” She sniffed, smiled again. “I can’t remember the punch line. Just how much we laughed whenever he said ‘anteater.’”
Lucy ti
lted her head to the side, nodded like she remembered too.
Now that she’d started, she didn’t want to stop. “He was creative and fun and had an amazing imagination. He built this fort in the stairwell where he loved to play, and he spent every Saturday morning there.” Suddenly she was flooded with bits and pieces of those days that made her want to remember more. “When we first moved into the apartment, he was so worried about meeting a friend. I told him that if anybody could make a friend in a place like the Lancaster, then it would be him.” Her thoughts went to Star, and she rubbed her arms, wishing their paths had crossed. Star would have made him a nice friend.
The entire table jerked upward, sending the cards fluttering to the floor and upending the bowl of almonds. Lucy’s and Ben’s water glasses tumbled over, too, and water rushed under the cards and almonds, soaking everything. Ebee grabbed a towel and began to wipe the table down. “Sorry,” Ben mumbled.
“Benjamin!” Lucy admonished. “You’re too tall for your own good.”
Ben stood, looming over the table. He was a tall man and must have knocked the table with his knee by accident, Jess realized. “Sorry about that,” he said again.
“Are you okay?” Jess asked.
“Yeah, I’m sorry.” He wiped a hand across his forehead, looked at Lucy again. “I have the late shift tonight, covering for a buddy of mine, and in all the cheating fun I let the time get away from me.” He walked around the table, grabbed his coat by the door. “Thanks for dessert, Ebee, but we’ll have to finish this game another time.”
“Ha!” Ebee winked at Jess. “Are you sure it’s not because of the euchre ass kicking Lucy and I just gave you?”
“Ebee!” Lucy said. “Language.”
Ben smiled at Ebee, but the comfortable ease that had filled the kitchen all evening had disappeared. He stood in the doorway, his eyes glued to the back of Lucy’s head. “How did your son die?” he asked.
Jess sucked in a breath at the abrupt, almost rude question. She folded her arms, felt the warmth of the good memories fade from her skin, the blackness of that night rise up and turn her stomach. “Hit-and-run.”
The Secrets of Lost Stones Page 22
