Shadow Man (12 page)

Authors: Cynthia D. Grant

BOOK: Shadow Man

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My mouth fills with Gabriel's blood.

I'm choking and gagging. I spit it out. Everything I swallowed is coming back up. The bottle explodes against a rock.

If I was man enough, I'd blow my head off. Make everybody happy. They'd all be glad. But I'm too scared I'll go to hell, a special hell for men who kill their babies.

God, I'm sorry! God, please help me. I've thrown away the bottle. I've kept my vow. I've got to stay sober. I've got to find Jennie. I've got to help my wife, but I don't know how.

We used to lie on the beach and look up at the sky and plan how our life was going to be. I'd make lots of money and we'd buy a big house, and have a bunch of kids, and do some traveling.

The farthest I've ever been is Las Vegas. There was never enough money. We got bogged down. And by the time I figured out that the boys really loved me, they didn't even like me anymore.

Once when Gabe was little we went to the beach. We were on our way home from somewhere, him and me.

I took him to my and Katherine's favorite place, this pretty little cove where we made Timmy. It's hidden from the road. We had to climb down the path. It was real steep. Gabe was holding my hand.

We must've stayed down there for a couple of hours. I showed him how you could walk out across the water, to a rock that looked like a throne.

“We're the kings, Daddy!” Gabe loved that place. We had a picnic: a bag of potato chips and a bottle of Pepsi-Cola. Then we had to get off because the tide was coming in. We stood on shore and watched the throne disappear. Gabe started crying. “Don't worry,” I said. “It's still there, you just can't see it.”

All the way up the path, Gabe kept asking, “Can we come back, Daddy? When can we come back?”

“Soon,” I said, but we never did. There was always too much going on.

Gabe didn't forget; he had a memory like an elephant. He'd say, Daddy, can we go back to that special place?

And then I realize that he'd found it on his own.

I start the truck and roar south down the highway. The turnout is just where I saw it in my mind, hidden behind blackberry bushes gone wild. There's a set of tire tracks in the sand. Another truck was here not long ago.

I run down the highway to the nick in the cliffs. The path's worn deep and feels familiar to my feet, like I'd walked it every night in my dreams.

When I get to the last turn, I look down on the beach. My heart starts pounding like the waves.

The rock has almost disappeared. It looks like Jennie and the dog are standing on the water.

Jennie Harding

The waves suck at my feet. Jack fell, but I grabbed him. He's soaked and shivering, pressed against my skirt. I'm fighting to keep my balance.

Why? If I wanted to die, I could let go right now and let the water claim me. What would it proveâthat life is painful and pointless? More pointless than this?

How strange it would've been, on Tuesday night, if we could've looked ahead and seen all this coming. There were so many things I counted on, Gabe. This wasn't one of them.

I wanted to make the world a better place; to do something helpful, like be a good teacher. Ignorance breeds fear and fear breeds cruelty, and don't tell me that's not true, Gabe. Just take a good look at your father.

I wish I could see that man again. I'd say: Look what you've done. You destroyed your family. He wasn't alone. Gabe's mother helped him. Everybody talks like, Oh, poor Katherine, but she could've stopped him, she could've left. I'd never stay with someone who hurt my children. You can't love somebody you fear.

And look at you, Gabe. You ran away from yourself until you couldn't run anymore, until you dropped with exhaustion. All you wanted was to be unconscious.

You must be in heaven now. Gabe, can you see me? What would you tell me, if you could?

The waves are so high. The water is rising. Soon we'll be eye to eye. Why am I so afraid to die when it takes more courage to live?

If I choose death, I'm giving up. I'm leaving and taking my baby with me. I'll also take a part of all the people who love me. Their lives will never be the same again.

Could I be a good mother? Will my daughter love me? Will she end up on a rock like this someday? I can only give her life; I can't give her paradise. I can't even give this child her daddy.

Gabriel, I don't want to leave you behind. Time will carry me far away. But I don't want to die. I want to break the chain of sadness. I'll miss you so much. It will be so painful. Maybe being alive is like having a baby; it hurts a lot, but it's worth it.

I've waited too long. The sea surrounds me. The steps leading back to the beach are gone. Jack is whimpering. I say, “Don't be afraid,” and wrap my fingers around his collar. We can make it back to shore. If I have to die, Lord, I want to die trying to live.

Movement draws my eye to the side of the cliff. I know those shoulders, that rangy build. Nobody else could've found this place. It was all a mistake. Gabe is here!

My vision clears. The man's face ages. Gabriel's father is plunging down the path, waving his arms and shouting. The path's too steep, he doesn't know the way, he's going to fall.

The waves are roaring. I'm raging at him: “Why did you come here? It's too late! You killed your son! I hate you!”

Then Jack and I leap into the water.

Francis McCloud

Jennie and the dog were facing the horizon. They didn't hear me shouting.

The path was slick. I kept slipping and sliding. The drop to the rocks below made me feel sick, but I had to keep going, I had to save her, even though I didn't know how. The tide would be too strong to fight. The steps were underwater. It's been too long; I don't remember where they are.

I am waving my arms. I am screaming her name. The waves break like thunder on Jennie's rock. Any second they'll pull her under.

Jennie turns around. She sees me. The look on her face almost makes me fall. I can see it plain, across the water. Her eyes are like Katherine's. They're awful.

She's shouting something I can't make out. Then she grabs the dog and jumps into the water.

The sight shoots inside my eyes and brands my brain. This is the hell that God has made me: Everything I touch dies, but I stay alive.

I search the waves, but Jennie is gone.

Too late. I've been too late all my life. My heart is bursting, I'm letting go, the sea reaches for me, I'm falling.

Jennie grabs my arm and pulls me back. I can't stand up, my legs don't work. Her eyes are as blue as the ocean. The dog runs up beside her and shakes himself. Water shoots off him like sparks of fire. Jennie's eyebrow is cut, she's crying blood. Beneath her wet dress, Jennie's belly is round.

I can't look in her eyes. I'm too ashamed. I know what she's thinking. She hates me.

Her hand comes down and gently touches my head.

“Don't worry, Mr. McCloud,” she says. “I'll help you.”

Jennie Harding

He drove me back to town. We didn't talk much. At one point he had to stop the truck. He was sobbing.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I was just so glad to see you.”

“It's okay,” I said, patting his arm. There was no room for hate inside me anymore. I was too full of Gabe. I was too full of sadness.

We had to stop for gas when we got to town.

“You'd think at a time like this â¦,” he said, embarrassed.

“There's no rush,” I said. Jack was in the back, like a sack of wet laundry, his ears folded down, looking mournful.

My parents will expect me to be ashamed about the baby. They'll want me to put it up for adoption.

This is my baby and I'm going to keep it. I'll try to be a good mother. I know I'll make mistakes, but I'll always love her, and I'll tell her I love her every day of her life. Maybe the baby is the son that Gabriel wanted. A son would be fine. I'll tell my little boy: Being a man doesn't mean being big and tough. It means being big enough to be kind.

The past isn't going to go away. I'll always be connected to the McClouds. This child I'm carrying will be a member of their family. They'll love Gabe's baby as much as they know how; probably more than they could ever love each other.

It won't be perfect. I can't fix everything. I'm not a magician.

“We should get you to the doctor,” Mr. McCloud said. “You're pretty banged up and that cut's still bleeding.”

“I want to go home first.” I knew I was okay. It would take more than death to kill me.

As we got near my house, Mr. McCloud slowed down. He said, “We want to help out with the baby. My wife and Iâshe always wanted to be a grandma. It's all we got left of Gabe.”

“That's fine,” I said.

He parked in front of my house. “I'll go in there with you, if you want me to.”

“Thanks, but I can handle it,” I told him.

He said, “I guess I better get home.” I got out of the truck and he drove away.

I went up the front walk to the house I'd left that morning. That seemed like a million years ago. My childhood was over. And so was Gabe's. But I would survive and I would teach our child well. Our daughter or son will sing and laugh and play, and run along the beach, racing the waves. So will I, someday.

I opened the door.

About the Author

Cynthia D. Grant has published twelve young adult fiction novels since 1980. In 1991 she won the first PEN/Norma Klein Award, for “an emerging voice among American writers of children's fiction.” Over the years, Grant has received numerous other distinctions. Unfortunately, her Massachusetts upbringing prohibits her from showing off. She lives in the mountains outside Cloverdale, California, and has one husband, Eric Neel; two sons, Morgan Heatley-Grant and Forest Neel-Grant; two cats, Kelsey, an orange tom, and Billie, a barn catâbarracuda mix; and Mike the Wonder Dog, who packs two-hundred-plus pounds of personality into a seven-pound body.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Liz Connor

ISBN: 978-1-5040-1359-8

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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New York, NY 10014

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