Apparition (29 page)

“Ethan! What the hell is going on?” We’re both yelling. I run to the sink, elbowing him out of my way, and turn on the faucet, grabbing the hose attachment and spraying the curtains. The flames are out fast but the curtains are ruined. The hems are curled and black. With the smoke alarm still blaring, I turn on Ethan.

“Are you going completely mad?” He doesn’t answer. “Joyce is going to kill you when she gets home. Psycho!”

He gives me this fixed stare. Almost makes me miss his facial tic.

“Really, Ethan,” Jack says in this big-brother tone, “you can’t go around acting careless like that. It’s not like you. Snap out of it before something happens that you really regret.” Ethan just smiles at him like he’s some kind of stranger. He’s lucky Jack’s so kind-hearted. He could squash Ethan into the ground if he wanted to.

When I finally get back on my computer, I find an e-mail from Kip.

Hey kiddo. You around this weekend? I’m thinking of heading north for a little family reunion
.

I
manage to pull myself together, more or less, before he arrives. I’m wearing my new makeup and a new top Joyce got me for Christmas. I did some deep-breathing exercises to try to calm down. Waiting for him, looking out the living-room window, watching for his car in the driveway, the excitement is unbearable. At the sight of it I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.

Ever since the e-mail, I’ve been thinking of nothing else but this weekend. The rest of the week was a writeoff. I just don’t remember it. When I got home from school this afternoon, and Kip phoned to say he’d arrived and to ask if I wanted to go for a drive, I was so nervous I could barely breathe. He said he’d swing around in an hour or so. Just like that. For a minute after we hung up, I stood there by the phone holding my hands to my face, my mouth open like an idiot. Thank God no one was around to see me.

I’ve been trying so hard to hold it together this past month. To lower all my expectations and accept the hard reality that Kip was back with his friends in Chicago and had probably forgotten I ever
existed. I knew I was lucky I’d even met him. Lucky he’d passed through my town—passed through my life—at all. But the hardest part was always the thought that I’d never see him again. I could never quite go there. Too painful.

When I finally open the door to his smiling face and those to-die-for baby blues, he gives me a big hug and a quick smack on the cheek. And this time I kiss him back. Kind of. I think I catch him off guard—maybe because I’m wearing lip gloss—but he covers it well and everything seems okay. I start to relax.

He always has made me feel more relaxed, somehow. There’s something gentle and amusing about him, and it calms me, even though I realize he must be like that with all the girls. He just seems perfectly happy to be hanging out with me, after everything we’ve been through, and it makes me feel so lucky.

Anyway, he’s never been to Inglis Falls, and it seems like the perfect place to go for a Sunday drive. I hope he likes it.

I’ve always had a thing for Inglis Falls in the winter. It’s the most amazing waterfall in the county, but you have to see it when it’s half-frozen. It’s like an ice sculpture carved out of the water roaring down the rock face. And today is a brilliant winter day. The fields and trees have a fresh blanket of snow, and there’s a bright blue sky. The snow-plows have been out and the roads are clear. Everything sparkles.

There’s a little white skeleton dangling from Kip’s rear-view mirror. A Mexican souvenir he brought back for Morris. He tells me he bought one for me too. Skeletons are very big in Mexico, apparently. I look across at him in the driver’s seat of Morris’s car and it feels like ages since I took in his face. He looks beautiful. He’s still a bit tanned from his holiday, and he’s chatty and in a good mood, full of stories about Mexico. He’s switched his major to history, he says—almost like he’s embarrassed to admit it—and while he doesn’t know
what he’ll do with a history degree, he thinks it’ll be interesting to study. I’m listening but I’m also looking at him.

“Morris must be pleased about that,” I say.

Kip rolls his eyes at me, then says, “So what’s going on with you? How have you been? How is everyone?”

“Everyone’s okay. Joyce is the same. Jack’s back at school full time. Still walking with his braces and canes, but moving faster now. It’s still a shock to see him coming down the hall, I have to admit. I don’t know if it will ever sink in, what happened to him. I’m just hoping he recovers so completely that it won’t matter. And Ethan … well, Ethan’s going through an anti-social phase. His teacher called Joyce to complain about him last week. And he’s becoming a bit of a pyromaniac—oh, I’ll tell you about all that later.”

“And how about you?”

“Well, I’m … I’m okay. Surviving. Fine, actually. Right now I’m trying not to think too much about everything that happened this fall. I’m trying to think about the future.”

Kip looks surprised. “That sounds very good,” he says.

We drive for a while in silence. Maybe it’s because Kip is only an arm’s length from me, but I do have a rare feeling of hopefulness today, like I really have survived something after all. That’s good. I don’t ever want to go back to the way I used to be, especially after Mom died and before I met Morris. When I felt crazy. Matthew helped me endure those years, but when I think back, I know I was still miserable a lot of the time. Everything’s a little different now. At least I don’t feel like I suffer from hallucinations anymore—and that’s huge, believe me.

I feel like I’m starting to accept a few things, as well. I understand now that the Matthew I used to know is never coming back. What happened to him was freakish and unjust and tragic, but it will never change. Things will never be the way they once were. Meanwhile,
the farm is still up for sale, and I’m sure the barn will be torn down before any new owners move in. What happens to Matthew then is something I don’t want to consider.

“For the first time, just about, I’ve been wondering what I should do after high school next year,” I tell Kip. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll go to university too.” Not something I’d given any thought to before Morris mentioned it, but I’ve thought about it a lot ever since.

He laughs. “Dad’ll have you doing a Ph.D. in paranormal activity. You’re the protegée he always wanted.”

We find an empty spot in the parking lot and get out of the car. I take hold of his arm and pull him toward the falls. Kip’s face lights up when we get to the railing. The view is amazing, as always. The icy water is roaring over the limestone ledge, and the drop is wild; the waterfall is half-wrapped in a frozen blanket, a gravity-defying structure that juts out over the river below. The water crashes into a deep ravine cut into the sides of the escarpment, with pines and spruce trees leaning in along the slopes. I knew he’d like it. Everybody does.

“Impressive, eh?”

“Wow, that’s very cool. And friggin’ cold, I’ll bet.” We look in silence for a bit. Then he leans over and looks way down into the ravine. “Can we get down there?”

“Well, there is a trail—there are steps leading down to it over there—but I doubt people use them at this time of year. Slippery.”

“What am I going to do with you?” He takes my hand and pulls me along the railing toward the steps. “You worry too much. I’m checking it out, and I think you should come too.”

“Then watch your step. That’s all I’m saying.”

“You watch
your
step, Ms. Mackenzie,” he says, mocking me.

When we get to the bottom, which is tricky because the stairs really are slippery, he stops and looks around. The trailhead is just in
front of us, the trail cutting into the forest away from the river’s edge. I have to admit that I’m starting to feel worried. I’d kind of imagined staying up top, overlooking that beautiful view, and I’m not sure how we ended up down here, surrounded by dark forest and staring up a bunch of snow-covered steps.

“Um, I’m not sure I’m up for a hike right now,” I say, seeing him eyeing the trail. “The sun’s going to go down in an hour or so, and I’m not really dressed for this. I mean, it’s kind of cold, and”—I point to my head—“no hat.”

He turns to me and puts an arm around my shoulder. “Homicidal ghosts you can handle, but cold ears, now that’s scary.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not much of an adventuress, like your bigcity friends.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute, that’s all I can say, ’cause you’re not much fun.” He’s standing close and tapping my chin. “You mean you want to climb back up all those steps so soon?”

“Okay, fine. Whatever.” I pull away and head along the path into the forest. “Let’s go for a hike.”

He catches up to me, grinning. “Five minutes,” he says, “then we can turn around, I promise. I’ll have you home all snug and warm before dark.”

We walk single file along the path, which is stamped with the tracks of hikers’ boots and snowshoes from earlier in the day. But apart from the roar of the falls behind us, the forest is quiet. No one in sight. The trees grow thicker, the canopy of branches blocking out the sun. I trudge along, watching where I step, ducking the odd bough that reaches across the trail.

We’ve walked for about fifteen minutes when Kip, who’s following close behind me, asks if I’ve had enough and would like to turn around.

“I don’t want to push you too far or anything,” he says teasingly.

We stop and listen to the forest for a moment, breathing deeply, looking through the trees on either side of the trail. That’s something you can’t do in the summer, when it’s thick with bushes and leaves and undergrowth. Now I can see animal tracks in the snow thirty feet away. But apart from some birds overhead, everything is still. Heaven.

“We
are
alone, right?” he asks, watching me looking into the woods. “You’d tell me if there was an army of ghosts standing over there, wouldn’t you?”

I laugh. “I’m not seeing any,” I say lightly over my shoulder. “I guess we should head back. But this was nice. Thanks for pushing me. I mean it, thank you.”

I turn around to head back the way we came, but Kip isn’t moving and we stand face to face. His hands come up and rest on my shoulders.

“Will you do me a favour first?” he asks. “Make eye contact?”

Oh. This is embarrassing, but I force myself to look up at him, holding myself steady. We lock eyes and I feel such a surge of happiness being this close to him that I’m about to burst. “I’m so glad to see you,” I finally whisper. Then I look away quickly, saying, “How was that?” and begin to push gently past him.

“Amelia.” He seems about to add something, but then he doesn’t. He drops one arm and wraps the other around my back, facing the two of us in the direction we came from, and we begin to walk back together, slowly.

I wish he would say something. Finally he breaks the silence. “Don’t you find it odd that I’ve come back to see you so soon? Don’t you wonder why? Aren’t you even a tiny bit curious?”

“To be honest, I’m trying not to analyze it. I don’t want to … um, expect anything.”

He takes a deep breath. “It’s because I wanted to see you again. Thinking about you practically ruined my vacation, you know.”

“Really?” I can’t believe this. I’m trying to keep my head clear, trying to stay on my feet. “The point is, you’ve moved back to Chicago. And I … I can’t keep you here. And missing you sucks. You don’t know …” He smiles. “I’m serious,” I say, trying not to smile with him. “I’ve been trying to stop wanting to be with you so badly. It’s worse than you know.” Wow. I’ve admitted it.

“Do you always make decisions about what to feel and what not to feel?”

“If I possibly can. Yes.”

“Ah.”

“Besides, I can’t compete with your Chicago girlfriends.”

He laughs softly. “Ah yes, those imaginary Chicago girlfriends. Well, if I’m willing to compete with a bloody ghost, couldn’t you at least give it a try?”

God, I’m suddenly feeling emotional. I will kill myself if I get teary.

“The problem is, I don’t know how to compete. Happy now?”

I hear him let out a kind of sigh. We continue along the trail, his arm loosely around me. When we reach the steps leading up out of the ravine, he turns to me again.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asks. “You know you had me in the Bob Marley mask.” And he wraps his arms around me and gives me a hug. With his face buried in my hair, he says, “Amelia, I … I tried to fight it, believe me, but I lost. I think I’m in love.”

“You’re not sure?”

“You know I am.”

A shiver goes through me. “You’re cold,” he says, and starts undoing the buttons of his coat. Opening it up, he wraps both sides around me, pulling me close to him, my face against his shirt. “Warm up.”

I slip my hands around his waist, wrap my arms tightly around his back, hold myself against his chest. He’s holding the front of his coat closed around my back, enveloping me. I shut my eyes. I press closer.

“Warmer?”

I nod and shudder, but not from the cold.

“An old arctic tradition,” he says. “Body heat.” He pulls away and slowly slides down the zipper on my jacket from under my chin to the hem. I look up at him in surprise. “Trust me,” he says, opening my jacket up and pulling me toward him, our clothing suddenly thin between us, our bodies together, hearts pounding. “Inuit science.”

He kisses the top of my head and I feel his warm breath, the heat of his body pressing against me, the rough shadow of his beard moving against my cheek. Our lips touch and then our mouths press together, hot and moist in the cold air.

Whatever it is, Kip, it’s working
.

Miles away, I hear the muffled ring of my cellphone.
No, go away
. I’m reeling, light-headed. I look up at Kip, feeling flushed and overwhelmed and weak and happier than I’ve ever felt. It’s still ringing. Keeping my eyes on his face, his chest, I struggle to remember how to answer my phone.

“Hello?”

“Amelia, where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to reach you for fifteen minutes.” It’s Jack, whispering hoarsely. He sounds angry, panicked.

“Jack? Sorry, my cellphone must have been out of range. What’s wrong? Are you all right?”