The Shadow Girl (6 page)

7

Early the next morning, I wake to pounding above me. My first thought is that Dad is on the roof, nailing down shingles, continuing the project he started before my birthday. But then I remember, and the pain of losing him crashes down around me.

Cookie’s whining in his pen. I sit up on the couch. Is he in pain? He slept through the night—maybe he’s just desperate to go outside. I reach for my cell phone on the coffee table and check the time. Ten fifteen. I can’t believe I slept so late.

As I tuck my phone into the pocket of my baggy pajama pants, the weird things that happened in the workshop last night come back to me. The first time I played the jewelry box, I kissed Wyatt. The second time, I wrote on the note. Does the music throw me into some sort of trance?

Pushing my worries to the back of my mind, I get up and go to the door where I left my boots last night before I tiptoed to Mom’s room to return her keys. As I put them on, the pounding overhead continues.

Entering the pen, I try to coax Cookie out, but he won’t budge. He yelps when I lift him to his feet. I stay beside him as he limps into the room, then makes his way onto the porch. When he hesitates at the top of the stairs, I carry him down into the yard and set him in the grass. He does his business, then hobbles over to a patch of shade and plops down with a groan, his head on his paws.

Concerned about him, I say, “What’s wrong, boy? Why are you so sad? Does it still hurt that much?” I don’t understand. Dr. Trujillo said that Cookie should get a little better every day.

It’s warmer than it’s been all spring, with only a slight breeze blowing. Wyatt’s truck is parked behind Mom’s Blazer in the driveway. Knowing Cookie won’t go anywhere, I walk to the side of the cabin where I find Mom shielding the sun from her face with one hand as she looks up to where Wyatt is perched on his knees, hammering away at the roof. Wondering if we’re back on speaking terms, I try to gauge her frame of mind as I pause beside her.

“Morning,” I say.

She glances at me. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“I slept okay.” I follow her gaze to the roof. “How’d you manage to bribe Wyatt to do manual labor?”

“He volunteered, free of charge. You’re too hard on him. Wyatt’s always been a good worker.”

“Yeah, but usually for a price. And he takes Sunday being a day of rest to the extreme.”

Mom smiles. “Maybe he’s maturing.”

I snort a laugh, but then I remember the way he looked at me yesterday after that kiss. I didn’t recognize
that
Wyatt. Maybe he has changed.

Wyatt’s wearing a ball cap with the bill to the back and a short-sleeved T-shirt. The muscles in his arm flex each time he swings the hammer. Crazy questions start knocking around in my mind as I watch him work: What if Wyatt and I hadn’t grown up together? What if we were meeting for the very first time?

He lifts his head, catches sight of me, and stops hammering. “Hey.” Wyatt sits back on his heels, squinting in the sunlight.

“Hey,” I say back.

He flashes a grin, and I cross my arms, embarrassed that my hair is a mess and I’m not wearing a bra. Weird. Wyatt has seen me looking worse than this more times than I can count and I was never self-conscious. Suddenly, I wish that I could remember every detail of our kiss, and that wish startles me so much, I quickly shift my eyes to the ground.

“Come on down whenever you’re ready, Wyatt,” Mom calls. “I’m sure you have chores to do at home.”

“I’ll just finish this row,” he answers. “If you want me to come back later, I will.”

As Wyatt starts hammering again, Mom says to me, “He’s nice to offer, but I can’t ask him to finish the roof.” She sighs. “I don’t know how we’ll afford to hire someone else to do it, though.”

I flash back to Dad’s memorial. “I met someone who might be willing to do it,” I say, and tell Mom about Ty Collier.

She frowns. “I don’t know, Lily. I don’t like the idea of hiring a stranger.”

“He helped me with Dad and Cookie.”

Reluctantly, Mom says, “I’d want to meet him before I decide. And I’d need references.” She hesitates another moment, then smiles, adding, “I guess you can call him.”

I send her a cautious smile back, relieved that she’s more like her old self today. I consider asking about Jake and Winterhaven, Massachusetts—if she’s ever heard of it, if we’ve ever been there. But something tells me that Jake and Winterhaven are connected to the secret Dad wanted to tell me, and that both might be touchy subjects, like the red flannel shirt. I don’t want to spoil Mom’s good mood.

When Wyatt finally comes down from the roof, he carries Cookie into the house for me. Placing him in his pen, Wyatt asks, “Do you have plans today, Lil?”

“Not really,” I say.

“Me, either.”

“Could I keep Lily until after lunch, Wyatt?” Mom asks, sitting on the couch. “We need to call Adam’s clients and look over some paperwork. He had several projects under way.”

“Sure.” Wyatt starts toward the door. “I’ll call you later, Lil.”

“Thanks for your help today, Wyatt,” says Mom. “With the roof and with Cookie.”

“Anytime.” He steps onto the porch and closes the door.

Mom calls me over to the couch, and I’m surprised to see tears in her eyes. “Your father would hate letting down his clients.”

“How can I help?” I ask, my eyes filling, too. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing right now. I just needed an excuse to steal you away from Wyatt for a while.” A tear clings to her lashes, and as she swipes it away, the shadow of a smile curves her lips. “We have some other unfinished business.” Reaching beneath the coffee table, she slides out the package with the yellow bow. It’s been sitting there on the floor ever since the morning of my birthday, and I completely forgot about it. Holding the gift out to me, she says, “I hope you like it.”

I press my lips together and shake my head. “I don’t know if I can open it, Mom. Dad should be here with us. Me and my stupid birthday tradition. We should’ve stayed home that morning.”

Mom sets the package on the coffee table. “Come here, Lily.” As I settle in next to her, she says, “Your father is still here in so many ways.” She gestures around the room, at the view outside the window. “Everywhere I look, I see him. Don’t you? He’s a part of this cabin and the mountains and meadows he loved so much.” She lifts the present from the table. “And he’s very much a part of this.”

I taste tears on my lips as I unwrap the package. Inside, I find a smaller wrapped box. It’s something Dad would do and I’m suddenly laughing as I unwrap it, too. Tingling with excitement, I lift the lid. A ring sits on a black velvet cushion. Symbols are etched into the silver around the band—antelope and stick people, pyramids and spiraling circles. “Oh my gosh! These look like the Indian petroglyphs we saw at Picture Canyon,” I exclaim, referring to a day trip we took last year to see the ancient rock art carved into the canyon walls.

“I designed it from the photographs we took.” Mom’s eyes shine, and I can tell that she’s pleased by my reaction. “I know you’ve never cared much for jewelry, but now that you’re older, we thought you might like it. Your father made the band and I did the etching. We took advantage of your afternoon hikes.”

I slip the ring onto my right pointer finger. “It’s perfect. I’ll never take it off.” I hug Mom tightly.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she murmurs into my hair.

“I’m sorry, too,” I say.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Wyatt asks when I step onto the porch late in the afternoon, dressed to ride.

“Positive.” I take the steps down into the gravel driveway where the four-wheelers sit behind Mom’s Blazer. The truth is, I’m
not
sure. Not about riding again so soon. Not about taking the same trail that Dad and I took. Or visiting the scene of the wreck. I’m also not sure that I’m ready to be alone with Wyatt again. But I have to do this. One thing Dad taught me: Postpone facing a fear and it’s sure to grow bigger with each passing day.

As I’m climbing onto the seat of my ATV, Wyatt asks, “Did you and your mom get the paperwork done?”

“Not all of it, but we got started.” Which is true. We went through everything and made a list of clients to call, invoices we need to pay, and balances due on accounts receivable. In a few hours, I learned more about Dad’s business than I’ve known all my life.

Removing my glove, I hold out my hand to Wyatt so he can see my ring. “Look what Mom gave me for my birthday. She and Dad made it.”

Wyatt comes over and slips his hand beneath my fingers for a closer inspection. “It’s amazing,” he says.

Two days ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about Wyatt holding my hand. But now I’m totally tuned in to how warm his skin is against mine, the rough texture of his callused fingers, how close we’re standing. It’s unnerving. Confusing. My instincts tell me to break contact and back away
now
, but I can’t move. I catch myself wondering what would happen if I leaned in and kissed Wyatt again, but I’m not sure I want our relationship to change. What if it didn’t work out and I lost my best friend?

I slip my hand from his, and Wyatt backs up a step as I tug on my glove then twist the key in the ignition. The four-wheeler’s engine roars to life.

Seconds later, as we take off, all my apprehensions about riding disappear. One fear down, three to go. Doing something normal feels fantastic. Like so many times in the past, Wyatt follows me down the road, while Iris whistles a tune in my ear.

We move deeper into the forest and the temperature drops at least ten degrees. When the curve in the trail where the accident occurred appears ahead, I slow the vehicle, pull off toward the trees at the trail’s edge, and cut the engine. Wyatt stops beside me. We tug off our helmets and hang them on our handlebars.

“This is the place,” I murmur.

Wyatt narrows his eyes on mine. “You okay?”

I nod, but every muscle in my body clenches. I take a deep breath and draw in the musk of the forest, remembering it all.
Blink
. I rounded the curve.
Blink
. I saw a deer in the road.
Blink
.

I walk over to the aspen tree Dad hit, sorrow and anger crowding my throat as I run my fingers over a scraped section of bark. It’s a small wound compared to what Dad suffered, and that fact makes me want to punch the tree trunk until my knuckles bleed.

I turn and find Wyatt beside me. “It’s crazy how one second can change everything,” I say, remembering when Mom told Dad that, and later, Iris told me. “It’s like my seventeenth birthday triggered something. Like it set some monstrous wheel in motion that I can’t stop.”

Wyatt’s expression spills worry and affection.

“Mom knows I went through that toolbox in Dad’s shop,” I say, then go on to explain that I forgot to take off the flannel shirt and how strange she acted when she noticed me wearing it.

He frowns. “Why do you think it bothered her?”

I shrug. “I wish I knew.”

Wyatt reaches into his jacket pocket, retrieving Dad’s workshop keys and an extra set. “Here. I had these spares made for you like you asked.”

“Thanks.” I put them into my pocket.

“What else did your mom say?”

“She told me I should cut my hair short, that long hair doesn’t
suit
me.”

“What’s that all about?” Wyatt asks.

“Who knows? You should’ve seen her expression. It was so weird.”

Hoping he’ll have an open mind, I tell him about my return visit to the workshop last night and what happened. That is, everything other than Iris’s insistence that Mom is hiding something. I’ve never told Wyatt about Iris.

“Winterhaven and Jake must have something to do with what Dad was planning to tell me,” I say. “I’m going to ask Mom and see how she reacts. I want to ask her about the violin and other stuff, too. I’m just waiting for the right time. I don’t want to freak her out again.”

Wyatt blinks and shifts uneasily. Stooping, he scoops a rock off the ground and tosses it down the road.

“What?” I say. “You think Winterhaven’s just some random place I scribbled down on paper for no reason? Why wouldn’t I remember doing it?”

“I don’t know, Lil.” He stands. “It is kind of freaky. I mean, you really think something led you to write that down?”

“Do you have a better explanation?”

“Not really. But I’m creeped out by that one, aren’t you?”

A burst of cool wind rattles the treetops. Iris’s shiver is like a ripple on a lake. Creepy is my normal, I think, wondering what he’d say if I told him about her. “Yes, I’m creeped out,” I say instead. “It was completely eerie, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

Looking down, he pokes a tree root with the toe of his boot, muttering, “I wish you wouldn’t go out there alone.”

“I’m not having some kind of wigged-out emotional response to Dad’s death,” I say softly. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I didn’t say I was.”

“But you are, and it’s okay.” I duck my head to capture his attention, and smile. “It’s nice that you care. I know this all sounds crazy, but I can show you the note. I’ve never even heard of Winterhaven, Massachusetts. Why would I just pull it out of thin air? And what about how I reacted to the music box song?”