The Shadow Girl (2 page)

“I know, Mom. We do this every year, remember?”

The things she said to Dad earlier replay through my mind. What are they going to tell me after we come home that could possibly make me hate them? I want to ask, but something holds me back. Maybe the look of weariness and pain that I saw on Mom’s face when I first came down.

Returning to the living room, I let Cookie inside again, then wrap a scarf around my neck, slip into my coat, and pull on my stocking cap and gloves. From the kitchen, Dad calls out, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” I say, and silently ask Iris,
What’s happening?

Not sure,
she whispers
. Be careful. She’s right—everything can change in an instant.

A chill skitters through me.
What do you mean?

I listen for an answer, but hear only the steady white noise of her silence.

2

Cookie rides in a crate on the back of Dad’s four-wheeler. I follow behind, my headlights illuminating them. Every so often, Cookie turns to glance back at me. His ears flap in the wind, and his teeth are bared like he’s grinning.

The lake appears ahead, the water a glossy black ink stain. The sight of it takes me back to the winter I was seven, when I first met Wyatt. His mom had just decided she had better things to do than raise a kid and sent him here from Dallas to live with his grandparents. A couple of days after we met, I taught Wyatt to skate on this lake. He’d never ice-skated before, but when I tried to give him a few tips, he cut me off. He knew what to do, he said. He was a Rollerblader and ice-skating couldn’t be much different. He’d show me every trick he knew.

But when Wyatt and I stepped onto the ice, the only trick he did was the splits, and not on purpose. The seat of his pants tore right up the seam, and as he struggled to stand, I caught a glimpse of his Star Wars long underwear. Falling served him right for being such a show-off, so I laughed. But I also offered him a hand. At first he wouldn’t take it, but then he laughed, too, and let me help him up. From that day on, Wyatt and I were best friends.

I wish he could’ve come with us to the lookout point this morning. I’m going to have a lot to tell him when he comes over after school. What’s in the box with the big yellow bow, for one thing. Dad’s reaction to my college news. And my parents’ Big Secret. I shove that last one from my mind, determined to enjoy the ride.

We turn onto the trail that runs along the creek, and aspen trees press in, towering over me, standing guard. I breathe in their spicy scent while listening to the song that Iris hums in my head. It’s a favorite of hers, the tempo urgent and powerful.

The trail climbs, becoming narrower and rougher as it winds through the forest. Patches of snow at the side of the road flash by, icy blue in the moonlight. Ragged swatches of purple sky flicker between the branches above. Ahead, the rock dike that snakes through these mountains rises on the left side of the road, while the right side drops into a deep ravine. Soon my headlights expose a place where the edge arcs out to a rocky ledge wide enough to sit on.

Dad slows and pulls in. I follow, easing up on the gas and stopping beside him. We cut our engines, take off our helmets, and hang them on our handlebars.

“Made it just in time, Doodlebug,” Dad says, nodding toward the pink hem of the eastern horizon.

Cookie whines, and I help him out of his crate. “Stay close, boy,” I say as we follow Dad to the ledge and sit down to watch the sunrise.

“What’s on your mind, Lily?” Dad asks. “You’re so quiet I can hear the wheels turning in your head.”

Wrapping my arms around my knees, I say, “Remember last August when I talked to you and Mom about going to the University of Oklahoma this fall with Wyatt?”

“Of course I remember,” he answers. “I should’ve been more supportive about that. In fact, I’m starting to think that going away to a four-year school might’ve been the best option for you.” Dad frowns. “But now it’s too late, isn’t it? I’m sorry.”

I shake my head. “It’s not too late. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I applied anyway. I hoped that if I got accepted, I could persuade you and Mom to let me go.”

His brows lift. “And?”

“I got an acceptance letter last month,” I say.

“You’ve been accepted?” He hugs me. “Congratulations, sweetheart!”

“You’re not upset?”

“Upset? No. I’ll worry about you,” says Dad with a chuckle, sitting back. “I’ll miss you, too. But it’s time for you to go. You should be around people your own age. I know it hasn’t been easy for you, living out here so isolated.”

Something Mom said to him earlier comes back to me:
Is this life we’re living really enough for you?
Anger rises up in me. Anger at her. Feeling defensive, I say, “I love our cabin. And I love Silver Lake. You know that, Dad. But I feel like I have to go away for a while. I can’t explain it.”

“You don’t have to. You’ve grown up.” Dad loops his arm through mine. “Why OU? I hope you’re not just following Wyatt there. You should go to a school that’s right for
you
.”

“OU
is
right for me,” I say. “It’s right for both of us. Wyatt and I want to go to another state—just for a change, you know? But it’s still close enough that we can drive home if we want to.”

“That would be a long drive,” he says.

“It’s only 491.94 miles. We could make it in eight hours.”

“Is that all?” says Dad, sounding amused, his breath a white plume on the cold morning air.

“Not exactly.” I grin. “Eight hours and two minutes.”

“You really have done your research.”

“MapQuest,” I say.

“Just so long as Wyatt didn’t influence you.” He winks.

A laugh bursts out of me. “
Dad
. You know it’s not like that with Wyatt and me. We’re just friends.”

“So you say. But I wonder if Wyatt feels the same.”

I bump my shoulder against him. “Wyatt’s chasing after a different girl every week. He doesn’t think of me like that.”

“Okay, okay!” Sighing heavily, he mutters, “Oklahoma. I’ve never been. It might be a good place for you. . . .” His voice trails, and the humor on his face fades, leaving behind an expression I can’t identify.

“Mom won’t be as easy to persuade as you were,” I say.

“Don’t worry about your mother. I’ll talk to her.”

Gathering my nerve, I stroke Cookie’s silky ear and say, “I heard the two of you talking this morning. You said something about the truth protecting me and needing to prepare me for something. What did you mean?”

Dad tenses and inhales sharply. “I’m sorry you heard that, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“But Mom said the two of you had to give up everything for me.”

“Lily . . .” He hugs me tightly. “Nothing could be more important than you. You can’t even imagine what a miracle you are to us. When you were born . . .” Leaning back, he cups my chin in his gloved hand. “You saved us, Lily.”

“Dad, you’re freaking me out,” I say. “What are you planning to tell me when we get home?”

“We’ll talk about it later, okay? Everything’s fine, and right now, I just want to enjoy the sunrise.” He nods toward the sky. “Look.”

On the horizon, light erupts, setting the east peak’s snowcap on fire. I try to relax as Dad drapes an arm across my shoulder. But for the first time in my life, his nearness isn’t enough to make me feel safe.

The trail becomes steeper as I lead the way down the mountain past blue spruce trees, green firs, and towering white aspen, their branches shivering in the wind. Dad follows on his four-wheeler close behind me. The sun is bright enough now that we don’t need our headlights.

As I round a curve, a deer darts across the snowy path a few feet ahead. I don’t have time to react, but out of nowhere the four-wheeler seizes up, as if someone slammed a foot down hard on the brake. My head whips forward, then back again with the sudden jerk, and the ATV skids sideways, blocking the trail.
Iris
, I think, feeling her terror spike up inside of me. She pressed the brake to keep me from hitting the deer. I’m sure of it, even though she’s never done anything like that before.

The roar of Dad’s engine drowns out every other noise around me, and a warning catches in my throat as I turn to see him come around the curve. Time slows down. My ears ring and my skin prickles as he yanks his handlebars hard to the right to keep from ramming into me. His four-wheeler tilts onto the two right tires, teeters toward the sharp incline that drops into the ravine at the side of the road, then slams into a boulder. Dad hurtles off the seat toward the trees. Behind him, Cookie flies from the crate and lands in a mound of snow as Dad smashes into an aspen tree at the edge of the slope. The four-wheeler rolls on top of him.

“Dad!” I scream, my boots pounding the ground as I run to him, passing Cookie whose yelps prick me like needle-sharp icicles. I round the overturned four-wheeler and find Dad facedown on the ground, the six-hundred-pound vehicle crushing him. As I drop to my knees beside him, he lifts his head enough for me to see a red gash above his temple where he hit the aspen’s trunk. Blood oozes from the wound, soaking a patch of snow beneath his head.

“Lily,” he rasps.

“I’m here, Dad.”

His face twitches as he lowers his cheek to the cold, hard ground.

“Hold on. I’ll get you out,” I say, my body shaking.

“No! Don’t move anything,” he gasps. “My back . . .”

He doesn’t have to say more. If I try to move the four-wheeler off him, I could hurt him worse. Panicked, I ask, “What should I do?”

“Get Mom. Call for help.”

Cookie’s frantic wails shred the last thin thread of my self-control. Sobbing, I say, “I didn’t bring my phone.”

“My front pocket,” Dad says weakly.

I scoot closer and look for a space to slip my hand beneath him. “I’ll find it. Don’t worry, I—”

“Don’t!” Pain and panic flash across his face when I touch him. “It’s— Can’t reach it,” he says, each word a struggle. “Go . . . get Mom.”

I swipe at the tears on my face. “I can’t leave you and Cookie here.”

“Don’t cry. Cookie and I—we’ll be fine. Please, sweetheart . . . hurry.”

Desperate for another way to help him, I squeeze my eyes shut. The scents of the forest fill my senses—moss and pine and rich, damp earth. I hear the tense hiss of Iris’s essence. The rattle of tree limbs. Then in the distance, the crunch of snow beneath hooves . . . or boots.

Opening my eyes, I scan the forest in every direction, praying it’s a person I hear, not an animal. “Help!” I scream. “Over here! Help us!”

I wait a few seconds for a reply, but know if I stay any longer, I’ll risk Dad’s life. “I’ll be right back. Everything will be okay,” I promise him, desperately hoping that’s true.

A few feet away, Cookie wails and Dad gasps, “Can you . . . bring him . . . ?”

I run to Cookie and kneel down. He doesn’t appear to have any outer wounds, but I have no idea if that’s the case internally. I shouldn’t move him, but he and Dad need each other, and I can’t bring myself to leave him crying in the road. “I’m sorry, boy,” I say, lifting him despite his wails. He seems weightless as I carry him to Dad and place him on the ground.

“Lily . . . ,” Dad says when I start to turn away. His eyes are closed, the lids quivering like moth wings. “If I don’t—”

“No!” I drop to my knees and sweep locks of silver hair off his forehead with trembling fingers. “You’ll be okay,” I whisper.

“Your mother . . . loves you . . . try to understand. She can’t lose you, too.”

“She’s not going to lose either one of us, Dad. You’re going to be okay.”

“Trust Mom,” he says in a strained whisper. “No one else.”

“What?”

“Promise me,” he says.

“I promise, but—oh, Dad,” I sob, lowering my face close to his.

“We thought we did . . . the right thing.” He clutches my wrist. “It was right, wasn’t it? You’re happy? You’re all right?”

Confusion grips me, but before I can answer him or ask any questions, Dad loses consciousness and a voice calls out from the forest on the opposite side of the trail. Turning, I see a hiker emerge from the trees.

Pushing to my feet, I run toward him.

3

“Your mother is finally sleeping,” Wyatt’s grandmother says as she sits on the edge of the couch beside me. “Won’t you let me give you a sedative, too?”

“I want to stay awake until we hear about Cookie.” A tear trickles down my cheek. “God, will I ever stop crying?”

Addie’s fingers are dry and cool as she wipes the tear away. “It’s good to let it all out, sugar.”

“Wyatt hasn’t called?”

“Not yet,” Addie says.

Wyatt volunteered to stay at the animal clinic in Silver Lake and bring Cookie home when the vet says it’s okay. Dr. Trujillo called it a miracle that Cookie appears to have survived the wreck with only a few bumps and bruises. But he still wanted to watch him for a while, just in case.

Embers crackle and glow in the hearth across the room. The fire is dying. Addie glances at it, and I know that soon she’ll stoke the flames back to life and add another log or two. I hope I’m like her when I’m old. Although she’s in her seventies, tiny and thin, with a short cap of snow-white hair, there’s nothing frail about Wyatt’s grandmother. Her husband had a fatal heart attack in his vegetable garden two years after Wyatt came to live with them, and although a lot of women Addie’s age would’ve moved to town, she didn’t budge. She and Wyatt stayed out here alone, practically in the middle of nowhere. I wonder if Mom will stay, too, now that Dad’s gone. I can’t see it. She isn’t that strong.

“You need your rest,” Addie insists. “I’ll wake you up when Wyatt calls.”

“When I close my eyes, I see it happen again,” I whisper. I see the deer. My four-wheeler skidding. Dad rounding the corner behind me. He and Cookie sailing through the air in slow motion. I always open my eyes before they land. Then I hear the warning that Iris whispered early this morning:
Be careful
.
Everything can change in an instant.

Did she know what was going to happen? She must have. What else could her warning have meant? But then why didn’t she tell me?

For the first time in my life, I’m furious with Iris—so angry I want to hurt her. I want her to ache as badly as I do.

Dad died because of you, Iris.
Cookie is hurt because of your silence.

I didn’t know.
 . . .

Then why did you tell me to be careful? And what did you mean when you said everything can change?

I remembered something. . . .

What?
I demand. I’ve had enough of her cryptic statements.

A feeling . . . fear. I was happy
, says Iris.
And then something terrible happened and I wasn’t anymore.
 . . .

What are you talking about? Nothing terrible has ever happened to us until today.

She’s quiet for a minute, and when she finally speaks, I hear more than her words, I hear her frustration.
Help me remember, Lily. Please . . .

Before I can press her to explain, the kettle whistles in the kitchen, and Iris startles and curls up inside of me, burying herself deep.

“Will you drink some tea?” Addie asks as she takes the kettle off the stove, silencing its shriek.

“No, but thanks.”

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“My iPod,” I tell her. “It’s upstairs on my nightstand.”

“I’ll bring it down.”

As Addie climbs the stairs to the loft, I tug the blanket over my shoulders and shift to stare out the windows overlooking the deck. The dusk sky is a dingy slate gray. Fat flakes drift on the air slowly—almost cautiously—as if out of respect for my grief, they don’t want to bother me.

My mind drifts back to this morning. The hiker who came out of the woods and called 911 was a guy not much older than I am. I don’t know his name, but even if I never see him again, I’ll always remember his kind, dark eyes, and how they kept me from sinking during those long minutes while we waited for the rescue helicopter to arrive. When I was about to hyperventilate, he made me look at him and told me to take deep breaths. He let me clutch his hand while he talked to me in a soothing voice. His strength flowed into me, and I started to believe that he had the power to make everything all right.

After they took Dad to the hospital in Pueblo, the sheriff drove me to meet Mom, Addie, and Wyatt there. I don’t know what happened to the hiker.

The stairs creak, and a moment later Addie stands beside me holding my iPod. I take it and thank her, putting the buds in my ears. I find a soft country playlist and push the button to start it, hoping the music will drown my memories of the accident so I can sleep. Soon Iris begins to sing softly along with the song, so I make the music louder. I wish she’d go somewhere far away and stay there. I’m not sure I believe that she didn’t know what was going to happen. Her strange excuse about warning me doesn’t make sense.

I close my eyes to shut out the world. And close my heart to Iris. But sometime later, as I’m finally nodding off, Dad’s voice comes to me, his words woven into the melody that drifts through my ears.
We thought we did the right thing.
 . . .

When I awake the next morning on the couch, every muscle in my body is sore, and there’s no sign of Addie or Mom. Anxious to check on Cookie, I take a quick shower, then throw on a pair of jeans and an old long-sleeved T-shirt with a pointing finger and the words
You Need a Lobotomy
on it that I stole from Wyatt. Without bothering to dry my hair, I hurry downstairs again and, this time, find Addie sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper.

She glances up. “Morning, sugar.” Folding the paper, she places it on the table beside her and motions toward the coffeemaker on the kitchen counter. “Coffee’s hot. Can I get you some?”

“I’ll get it.”

“Did you sleep?”

I take a mug from the cabinet. “I didn’t wake up once all night.” Wondering why I’m still so exhausted, I pour coffee into the mug, then add half-and-half and two packets of sweetener. “Has Dr. Trujillo called?”

“No. Wyatt stopped by a minute ago on his way to school. He said Dr. Trujillo wants you to call the clinic at eight.” She glances at her watch. “Just five more minutes.”

I sit in the chair next to her. “Where’s Mom? She isn’t still sleeping, is she?”

“She’s outside in your dad’s workshop.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m not sure. She was up making coffee at five thirty so I got up, too. She took her cup and said she was heading out there. She seemed skittish as a colt, so I didn’t question her.” Addie shakes her head. “Poor thing.”

“I’ll check on her after I call the vet,” I say. Setting my mug down, I push back from the table and reach for the phone book on the counter behind me.

“Will you eat some breakfast?” Addie asks.

“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

She catches my attention and holds it as I’m opening the phone book in my lap. “I’m not going to tell you that you’ll get over this, because you won’t,” Addie says softly. “I still miss Dave like crazy, every single day. And even though it’s been more than twenty years since my folks passed, I still miss them, too. But with time, the pain will ease up and you’ll find yourself remembering the good times with your dad instead of the accident.”

I prop an elbow on the table and cover my face. “It shouldn’t have happened,” I cry. “It didn’t have to. I could’ve stopped it if—”

“Don’t, Lily.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Blaming yourself won’t change a thing. The accident wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known what was going to happen.”

She’s wrong, but I can’t tell her that. If only Iris had given me a clearer idea of the danger ahead before we left, I would’ve told Dad that I didn’t want to go. “Thank you for being here, Addie,” I say, wiping tears from my cheeks. “You’re the best.”

I find Dr. Trujillo’s number and call him while Addie busies herself in the kitchen. When I’m off the phone, she asks, “Is everything okay?”

“Cookie was in a lot of pain last night. He’s doped up and resting now. Dr. Trujillo wants to keep him another day or two for observation.” My voice wavers. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Addie folds a cup towel and lays it on the counter. “I know you’re disappointed.”

I press my lips together and nod. Putting the phone book away, I cross the room, and take my coat from the rack beside the door.

“Lily.” Her solemn voice stops me. “I hate to bring this up, but the funeral home called. You and your mother will need to let them know what to do. If you want to have a service, and—”

“I’ll tell her,” I whisper.

A cool breeze blows through my damp hair, causing me to shiver as I step outside. The sky is a bright blue. The sun is shining, the thin rays slowly melting the snow away.

I start across the small meadow at the back of the cabin, headed for Dad’s shop. It’s so strange that nothing looks any different out here. Dad is gone, yet his blue van is still parked at the side of the shop, waiting for him to load it with the cabinets he was supposed to deliver to someone in Pueblo next week.

I pause in front of the building. On the other side of the double garage door that serves as the shop entrance, I hear a scraping noise that makes me think Mom’s dragging something heavy across the floor. Wondering what she could possibly be doing, I try to pull the door up, but it’s locked. Knocking, I call out, “Mom? Open up.”

In a muffled voice, she says, “I need some time alone, okay?”

“What are you doing?”

“Sketching.”

I stop tugging on the door handle. Because of her arthritis, Mom hasn’t painted or sketched in more than a year. It’s a weird day for her to decide she should start again. “Can we talk?” I ask.

“Not now, Lily.”

Confused, I walk to the side of the shop. The building only has a couple of small windows up high on each side. Several cinder blocks are stacked against the outside wall. I lift one from the top of the pile and set it on the ground beneath a window, then step onto it and look inside the shop.

Mom’s sitting on the floor with her back to me. A long, wide box is open in front of her. The big metal chest Dad used to store his tools. He kept it locked up in the shop’s storage closet because he was afraid that someone might break in and steal his tools. I can’t imagine why Mom would want to go through it, especially today.

Several items lie scattered on the floor around her. I can’t make out what they are, but they don’t look like tools. Wondering why she lied to me, I tap on the window, causing Mom to startle and glance over her shoulder. She turns back around and scrambles to gather up the items and return them to the chest.

“Mom!” I call out, my patience dwindling. “Can I just come in for a second? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay.” Pushing to her feet, she closes the lid on the chest, then crosses to the door.

I jump down from the cinder blocks and I’m rounding the corner as Mom comes outside. A breeze blows her silver curls into her face, but she doesn’t bother to push them back. “Is something wrong?” she asks, turning to pull the garage door down.

“Yes, something’s wrong, Mom. Dad died yesterday. Did you forget?”

Mom flinches. She stares at the door for a moment, still as a statue, and when she finally turns to me, her expression is fixed and unreadable.

“I’m sorry I said that, Mom,” I say, my face burning.

She takes my hand and pulls me to her, wrapping her arms around me. “Oh, Lily,” she breathes.

Sobs shake my body. “What are we going to do without him?”

“I don’t know, darling.” She rubs her palms up and down my back. “We’re going to miss him, but we’ll be okay.”

I have a feeling that she’s trying to convince herself more than me. “It hurts so much,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“And Cookie . . . the vet said he can’t come home yet. Maybe we can visit him after we go to the funeral home to make arrangements for Dad’s—” I can’t even say the word. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. We need to plan his service. And write his obituary.”

Mom goes rigid and pulls away from me. “Your father wanted to be cremated.”

Wary of the sudden change in her, I say, “Okay. But the service—”

“There won’t be a service. Or an obituary, for that matter.” Her voice is flat. “Your father and I have always been private people. He wouldn’t want any of that, and neither do I.”

“We should do
something
,”
I say, bewildered by her attitude. “Maybe an informal gathering with his friends, at least. They’ll want to say good-bye.”

“I mean it, Lily. No ceremony.”

“But why?”

“I told you.” She rubs her hands up and down her thin arms. “I’m going for a walk, okay?” Turning, she starts off toward the road.

Confusion and anger slam into me so hard I have to pause to catch my breath before yelling, “We can’t just do nothing and forget about him! Don’t
you
even want to say good-bye to Dad?”

“I already have,” she answers without looking back at me, her voice firm and final. But I hear her sobbing.

I turn and start running, my boots pounding the ground as I pass Dad’s shop. Stumbling down the hill on the opposite side, I run until my lungs ache and my cheeks sting from the cool air. Until the cabin and Dad’s shop disappear behind me. Until I’m surrounded by trees so tall that they block out the white spring sun. When I finally stop, I’m panting. I bend forward at the waist, my hands on my knees.