Lucy stood above her, and in the darkness the wrinkles lining her face caught the light, making her cheeks look caved in, hollow.
“I’m so sorry, Lucy!” She sprang to her feet, wiped the wetness from her face, and checked the clock. Her eyes widened; she’d slept for a couple of hours. “I’ll pull dinner together for you now. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes and no,” Lucy said, and began to pace the kitchen, walking in a small circle, checking the calendar with each pass she made. She picked up her crossword puzzle from a pile under the phone, squinted down at it. “The problem is that it’s too close. I can’t see when it’s too close.”
Jess set a full plate on the table, handed Lucy her glasses. “Here, come and eat. It’s been hours since lunch.”
The chair scraped across the floor when Lucy sat down. She slid her glasses on and read, “Nine letters, a confirmed habit.”
That damned crossword puzzle seemed more like Lucy’s tool for evading conversation. Jess sighed and set a napkin with silverware beside the plate. “Iced tea?”
“Yes, dear. Hmmm, one covering tracks, perhaps.”
“Excuse me?”
Lucy pursed her lips, studied Jess over her glasses. “Four letters. Come now, I thought you’d gotten better at this.”
The ice cracked when she poured the tea, making a popping sound. Sometimes it was also good policy to ignore what she couldn’t answer. She stirred in a couple of heaping teaspoons of sugar and returned to the table, handing it to Lucy. “Star told Ben the truth.” She hoped the change of subject would help.
Lucy’s eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”
“Yes, and I think it was the right thing to do. I know you like to help people, and what you’ve done with her is so great, but I think . . .” She swallowed, thinking of Star’s face when she’d asked if Jess would adopt her. “She needs a home, Lucy.”
The tip of the older woman’s pencil rested against her cheek, and her eyes moved across the puzzle, widened, and then she scribbled something across a row of boxes. “She has one,” she said without looking up from the paper.
A flush spread up her neck at Lucy’s stubbornness. “This is not a permanent home, and you know it.”
Lucy’s pencil hovered over the squares of the crossword puzzle, and her mouth turned down at the corners. “Six-letter word.” She brought the paper closer to her face. “A clock.” Her eyes finally met Jess’s over the edge of the newspaper. “Do you know the answer?”
Jess rubbed at her temples. “We’re talking about Star,” she said.
“About Star.” Lucy sat back in her chair, tapped the table with the pointed end of the pencil. “I don’t like loose ends.” Her words were clipped, businesslike. “You of all people should know that.”
Something snapped in her then. “God dammit, Lucy!” Anger boiled in her gut. She breathed deeply. “With all due respect, I think you’ve let this idea of yours get in the way of seeing things clearly. Like Star. That girl”—she brought her fist down onto the table with a thump—“she’s the one who gets hurt when your games are over.”
Lucy’s attention had drifted back to the puzzle in front of her.
Jess continued anyway, speaking as much to convince herself as Lucy. “She wants to stay. Did you know that? She thinks you’ll adopt her.” Jess laughed shrilly. “Or me. She thinks that this house, this town, you and me, that we’re her new family. You’re promising her something she can’t have, Lucy. Loose end or not, there’s nothing more cruel than that.” She finished in a whisper, like her words had been the helium, her body a balloon. And now she was empty.
The scratch of graphite on paper was loud in the stillness that followed.
Jess closed her eyes, covered her face with both hands. With a sigh she pushed up from the table and began to clean the kitchen.
The crinkle of newsprint sounded from behind her. “A six-letter word for an unnatural ending,” Lucy said. “It’s time for answers, Jess.”
Jess hung her head, inhaled through her nose; she was on her own. Tomorrow she would talk with Star, help her to understand that while she cared deeply for her, this situation wasn’t right. She needed a home with a mom and a dad who could love her the way she deserved.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
STAR
Star lay against the headboard of her bed with her knees drawn up, trying to remember the girl she’d been before. But all that came to her was the sadness and the filth. Slogging through each day like a zombie, numb and single minded, keeping her heart hard. Like her father.
Maybe they hadn’t been so different after all.
She shifted on the bed and noticed the drawer to her bedside table was partially open. She pulled it out all the way. The rock lay inside, on top of Lucy’s note. She stared at it, thinking. When Chance had first given it to her, she’d taken it as a sign that her mother was watching over her.
She picked up the stone and closed her fist around it until the bones of her palm hurt and the skin around her knuckles turned white. Her fist opened, and she let it drop onto the bed. She opened the note, reread the first line. You watched your best friend die. The words blurred, and her hands crumpled the worn paper into a ball. She’d been such a fool. She didn’t deserve to be here. Chance probably hated her for living.
She curled up on her side as hot tears fell down her cheeks. She’d leave tomorrow. Screw Lucy and her loose ends and Jess and her stupid face. Star didn’t need them. And screw Chance. She’d never asked him to save her stupid, worthless life in the first place.
Her eyes grew dry and heavy, and she climbed under the covers, thinking about the next day. Jeremy and the other half of his siblings were sick now, and Mrs. Foster had canceled school again tomorrow. Then she thought of the pity that had welled in Jess’s eyes when she asked if she’d adopt her, and Star felt her body ache like she had a fever. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Lucy was too old; Jess didn’t want her. What was the point in staying around?
She pulled the sheet up and over her head. Lucy and Jess were going over to Ebee’s house tomorrow. As soon as they were gone, she’d pack her bag and leave.
Her eyes closed, and she pushed away thoughts of where she’d be sleeping tomorrow night.
A cool breeze tickled her face, bringing with it the woodsy scent of pine trees and earth and pushing the folds of her nightgown around her ankles. Star opened her eyes to a glowing black night and felt a jolt that tingled her fingertips. She stood outside the front door. How had she gotten here? The moon shed a clean white light over everything. Her heart raced. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep; the conversation with Jess had played a constant loop in her mind and unsettled her dreams.
A child’s laughter echoed from behind the house and sent chills racing up her spine. She tried the door, but it was locked. Was this a dream? No, the cold air that wrapped itself around her bare ankles felt too real, made her shiver.
More laughter floated on the breeze, accompanied by the crunch of grass. A dark form flitted behind the trunk of a thick tree. She yanked at the door with both hands, whimpering as she fought against a rising hysteria.
“Let me in, let me in,” she whispered.
But the house was dark and silent. Nobody could hear her. She turned around, pressing her back against the door, her hand still grasping the curved handle. There was nowhere to hide, no curtains to close, no lights to turn on. The figure slipped around the tree and walked toward her. In the shadows, she could just make out the tint of red in his sweatshirt. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. She tried the door again, but her fingers slipped from the handle.
She rested her forehead against the door, wrapped her arms across her belly, and turned to face him. The darkness surrounding his small form rippled like a wave, and he disappeared around the side of the house.
She balanced on the balls of her feet and followed, wincing at the panicked huff of her breath. When she reached the stone patio, her back tensed. Empty. The library window towered
above the patio, reflecting the glare of the moon.
A feathery breath tickled the bare skin of her neck. Her hands clenched into fists, and she whirled around. Gnarled branches of a young aspen tree reached for her like fingers. She let out a muted groan.
Boyish laughter seemed to come from all around her, but when she covered her ears it didn’t stop. There was a flash of red in the night, and she looked up to where an old shed sat on a small rise behind the house.
He wanted her to follow. A bead of sweat coursed down her neck. She wiped it off and started on the overgrown trail that led up the hill. Rocks and small pinecones dug into the soft skin of her feet. The crooked trail rose above the house and passed through a weed patch of purple thistle, and the tall stalks nipped at her nightgown with thorny teeth. She quickened her pace.
The shed was before her, rusted metal walls sloped inward, grass stretching waist high up the sides. Brown vines twisted through the ridges of corrugated metal and over the sagging roof, making it look as though the earth itself wanted to swallow the shed whole.
A metallic scratch sounded from inside, and as she watched, the door swung open. Her breath stuck in her chest, and she gasped for air, wishing she could wake up from this nightmare. Nothing but darkness waited for her inside the shed, and more than anything she wanted to be in her room with her head buried under a pillow.
“What do you want, Chance?” Her voice sounded pathetic and small.
The door swung in the night breeze, hitting hard against the metal walls.
She felt cold all over. With one hand pressed against the rough metal doorframe, she peered inside.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
JESS
Sleep refused to come, and Jess tossed and turned, her wrist aching, her dreams tormented. She dreamed of Star as a baby in the arms of her mother. Star as a small girl carrying a bonsai tree in her arms. As a kid with haunted eyes watching her father pierce his skin with a needle. A teen, huddled under a city bench, her legs drawn up and into her belly.
When she woke up, her pillow was wet from her tears. She sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the dreams to fade, but all she could think about was Star. She cried out suddenly, smothering it with her hand. How could she have let Star leave the kitchen like that? She slipped on her thin cotton robe and opened the door. A cold draft shot into her room, raising the hair on her arms.
Star’s door was open, and from inside came the soft creak of the floorboards. Good, she was awake too. Jess hesitated when she stepped into the hallway. The look on Star’s face when she’d fled the kitchen had been one of naked vulnerability and hurt. What promises could Jess make her? The girl deserved to be loved and cared for, and that wasn’t something Jess could give her. Her calves hardened with a desire to turn away. Don’t be ridiculous. Go and talk to her before it’s too late.
But when she peered inside, she gasped. The room was empty. She gritted her teeth. The sound had probably been from that mouse she’d seen under Lucy’s bed. Or another just like it. The traps hadn’t caught anything yet, and the critters most likely had a whole network of holes in this house. She searched the empty room, checked the corners for signs of droppings. Nothing. Bright moonlight poured through the window, lying across the floor in a white rectangle. She stared at the moon; it stared back.
She was halfway out the door when she noticed the drawer to Star’s bedside table lay open, nearly falling off the rails. When she bent to close it, she saw the note. The one that Jess had delivered from Lucy. But it wasn’t the note that dried her mouth. It was the rock sitting beside it—painted red, the color faded and flaking off so that chunks of the black stone beneath it showed through.
Her legs wobbled, and she sank onto the bed, bracing her hands on her knees and breathing hard. It couldn’t be the same rock.
She snatched the note from the drawer, opened it. The paper was soft and limp. Star had read it often. Jess’s heart pounded loudly in her ears. She shouldn’t be in here. This was Star’s room. This was her note. Her eyes darted to the stone, then back to the paper. All she had to read were the first few lines:
Dear Girl,
Here is what I know:
You watched your best friend die.
The paper shook, and the rest of the note blurred. She let it fall back into the drawer and clasped her hands together, squeezing her eyes shut. It couldn’t be. But when she opened her eyes, all she saw was the rock. And his small hands with dimples on the knuckles drawing the tiny gold stars that were almost all rubbed off now. Her own hands holding the rock steady when he wrote his initials on the back.
Her fingertips pinched the stone, turned it over, and Chance was there, right beside her, the memory of that moment washing over her, when they’d stood in front of the Lancaster, Chance holding her hand, their meager possessions packed in a black duffel bag at their feet. They’d stared up at the five-story low-income housing complex before them, the sky gray against the drab brown of the building’s exterior.
Is this our new home, Mama? Her son’s voice was sweet and small.
For now.
The Lancaster catered to single moms like her, along with addicts and dealers. It was the best she could do on her meager salary.
What do you think, buddy?
He tilted his head to look up at her with soft brown eyes. It’s not a car, and it’s not a couch.
It’s better than that. Police sirens sounded in the distance, growing louder as they approached the Lancaster. The sirens stopped, but the rotating lights painted the sides of the building red and blue.
Do we have our own room?
She nodded. And our own kitchen.
And our own bathroom?
Only the best, right, buddy? She tweaked his nose, and they both laughed. He understood how bad things had gotten, but he was an unflagging optimist. She adored that about him.
Hey, look at that. He knelt to the pavement. His small fingers dug into a crack, rooting around in the dirt beneath until he extracted something small and dark gray. Cool!
What is it?
He held out his hand. Lying in the center was an ordinary rock, small and dull.
A rock?
Not just any rock, Mama. Look.
As she squinted the sun shifted, peeking out from behind a building. In its soft golden light, the small rock shimmered. It’s pretty, she said.
Can’t you see it? He shot her an impatient look before turning back to his prize.
See what?
It’s a heart. He pointed to a slight indentation.
She studied it again and could almost make out the faint outline of a heart. But the sun disappeared behind the next tall building, turning the rock a flat black, and it was gone. I don’t see it. But that doesn’t mean you don’t. I think you’re just better at seeing things for what they could be.
His shoulders slumped in disappointment. I thought it was special.
It is! She picked up their bag and slung it over her shoulder. Put it in your pocket. I bet it brings you good luck.
He brightened immediately. Like for meeting a friend here?
Well, that wouldn’t surprise me one bit. You’re the best at making friends.
Can I paint it?
Of course. How do you want to paint it?
He rubbed the rock and thought for a moment. She reached out and touched the curls that clung close to his head. Red with stars. He looked up at her with an excited smile. And I’ll give it to the first friend I make here.
She held the rock to her chest and dug up another memory, so vague that at first it was only the outline of one. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to let it grow richer, darker, like a Polaroid, and when it did her tears made small wet spots on her robe.
Chance had sat at the kitchen table, drinking milk and eating a chocolate chip cookie. He dunked the cookie in the milk, making puddles of white liquid and crumbs on the place mat. I met my friend today, Mama. And we’re gonna meet in my fort on Saturdays. She remembered how t
he cookie crumbs had stuck to the milk mustache above his lips.
But Jess had been distracted and missed what he was telling her because she’d noticed the way the hem of his pants rose to his calves. She’d already let the hem out on this pair of pants once. A knot formed in her stomach like it always did when the bills were due—maybe she could find something at a secondhand shop. Then she noticed the rubber sole of his shoe had come away from the side. Shoes first.
What’s his name? Her attention had returned to the electric bill, the total higher than she’d expected.
She’s Star.
She’d written out the check while he talked, knowing there wasn’t enough in the bank to cover it. But she had to hide her worry from him—he didn’t need to know how tight it was. So she’d smiled vaguely. A girl, huh? I’m sure she is a star, buddy. Just like you.
Her head hung, and her hands sat lifeless in her lap. Star had been Chance’s best friend. The one he met in the fort. Her mind turned back to the day she’d found Star staring at the picture of Chance, and she felt a jolt rush through her chest. Star had lied to her about knowing her son. Why?
A familiar sound outside made her heart beat faster. She hurried to the window. Star’s room faced the side patio, and from here Jess had a clear view of the overgrown path leading up to the shed. The structure’s metal door was open, flapping against its frame as though caught in a gust of wind. Movement below the window. Her nails bit into her palms. A small figure picked her way through the patch of thistles. The moon made her billowing white nightgown glow against the grayness of everything else. Star.
She hurried through the weeds, her nightgown rippling when it caught on the thorns, stumbling when she reached the top. And her eyes never seemed to leave the shed. Jess inhaled sharply. What was Star doing?
The Secrets of Lost Stones Page 25
