The Shadow Girl (8 page)

“Oh, Lily! Your jeans!”

Addie’s voice breaks my trance. I startle and glance down. I’m still stooping, still clasping the rag in one hand, the paintbrush in the other, but now purple droplets dot one knee of my jeans. “Ohmygosh, I’m sorry! I’ve made a mess all over your baseboard, too.”

Setting the brush in the pan beside me, I rub the rag across the wood, my hand shaking.
Iris, you’re freaking me out. What are you trying to tell me?

I think I’m channeling your memories
.

Coldness sinks into my bones.
They aren’t mine.

I’m at the door of the Blazer ready to drive home, when Wyatt steps onto the porch holding a box stamped with Snowflake Bakery’s logo.

“I’m almost a week late, but here you go.” He comes down the steps and hands it to me. “Happy birthday, Lil.”

Inside are a half-dozen red velvet cupcakes—my favorite—the white icing covered with sprinkles. I flash back to my text-message conversation with Wyatt on the morning of my birthday, before my world fell apart. Looking up at him, I blink back tears.

“Double sprinkles,” he says quietly. “Just like you ordered.”

“You only promised me one.” I manage to smile.

“You don’t really think I’m going to let you eat cupcakes without me, do you?”

Raindrops suddenly start to fall. We run to the covered porch and sit on the top step beneath the eave, side by side. The rain comes down softly, clearing the air, making everything fresh and new again. “This is a much better gift than the minnow bucket you gave me last year,” I say with a laugh, biting into a cupcake.

Wyatt licks icing off his finger and sends me a sideward glance. “You know you loved it.”

“Yeah, right. Just what every girl wants.”

“You aren’t like other girls.” His voice drops as he says the words, stroking intimate awareness through me. Holding my gaze, Wyatt lifts the box. “You want another one?”

I laugh at him, my heart pattering like the rain. “You’re kidding.”

“I never kid about food, Lil, you know that.”

Shrugging, I say, “They
are
my birthday present, and I don’t want to be rude.” I smile and reach into the box.

Just as quickly as it appeared, the awkwardness between us subsides, and as dusk creeps in, Wyatt and I eat another cupcake, knowing that Addie will scold us for ruining our dinner if she catches us. Laughing and whispering like we used to when everything was easy.

I don’t tell Wyatt that Ty came to work for us, or that I found Winterhaven, Massachusetts, on the internet. I don’t mention the vision that gripped me less than two hours ago while we were painting. I let all of that go. I want to enjoy being just
us
. Right now, that’s enough.

Mom has enchiladas in the oven when I arrive home, but I’m not hungry after the cupcakes. She eats only a few bites herself before walking toward the door using her cane, explaining that she’s working on a sketch.

“You’ve been sketching a lot,” I say, anxious to stop her, to keep her here. “I’m glad your hands are feeling better. It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to do your artwork. More than a year, right?”

She opens the door and looks back at me, blinking too fast. “Something like that.”

“It’s weird that the arthritis either bothers your hands or your hips, but not both at once, isn’t it?”

She lifts a shoulder. “There’s no rhyme or reason to this damn disease.”

Crossing to her quickly, I say, “Can’t you sketch in here? You’ve been spending so much time out there alone. I miss you.”

“I don’t want to move my things,” she says. “I won’t be long.” Mom gives me a brief hug before stepping out onto the porch and closing the door.

Discouraged, I give Cookie his medicine, then watch television for a while, sitting on the floor and stroking his head. After he goes to sleep, I go up to my room, turn on my laptop, and look at the pictures on the Winterhaven website until I can’t hold my eyes open. I fall asleep curled up on my bed, strangely at peace as the images of Winterhaven flicker on the backs of my eyelids like a slideshow.

Sometime after midnight, I awaken to the sensation of Iris shuddering through me, as if she’s trying to shake me to consciousness.
Your mother
, she whispers. Something squeaks downstairs—a floorboard or a door—and I realize that I’m hearing Mom creeping into the cabin.
She’s back. You can go to the workshop now
.

But the thought of going out there in the dark and possibly falling into another trance disturbs me too much. I’ll find a way to sneak out to the workshop again tomorrow. Maybe I can figure out what’s going on then.

I try to fall back to sleep, but can’t. Instead, I lie awake for a long time, worrying about Mom and pondering the vision I had when I was at Wyatt’s today—how it seemed like I was the one playing the violin, not my mother. Of course, that’s impossible, in spite of Iris’s insistence that she’s channeling my memories. I’ve never played a violin in my life.

9

On Wednesday morning, I try to get Cookie to go outside, but he nips at me. Cookie’s never nipped at anyone before, least of all me. I don’t think he hurts physically that much anymore; he’s been walking easier on his own. It’s his state of mind I’m more worried about. It’s as if he and Mom are slowly dropping into the same dark pit.

Cookie circles the interior of the pen like he can’t find a comfortable spot. I wish I knew how to help him.

Sing him the lullaby,
Iris suggests.
It used to calm you when you were out of sorts.

I begin humming, but the sound of my voice doesn’t soothe Cookie.

It’s not enough. Something’s missing . . . the violin,
says Iris.

Her words tap a clogged vein in me, and the music flows free, streaming through me again—the lullaby played on a violin. Soothing. Powerful.

When the sound in my head fades away, I’m left shaken.

With a groan, Cookie finally lies down on the soft pallet in his pen. I pet him for a while, trying to understand what I just heard and what Iris meant. But minutes later, when his breathing steadies, I still don’t have any answers.

At a loss, I go into the kitchen and sit down at the table, hoping my studies will take my mind off everything else for a while. As I’m opening my textbook, I hear Ty drive up, and a few minutes later his hammering starts. Mom drags herself out of her room still in her pajamas, looking groggy and pale. She’s rubbing the knuckles on her right hand, her fists cradled close to her body.

A heaviness fills my chest. She seems as bad off as Cookie. It’s more than her lupus. Dad died exactly a week ago, and I’m having a hard time today, too. I push aside the book on Greek philosophers and the paper Mom assigned before the accident and tell her, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” she mumbles.

I push my chair back. “Let me get you some coffee, Mom.”

“I can get it,” she says with a strained smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She pours herself a cup, then turns to me.

I lift my book. “You want to talk to me about this or read over my paper?”

“No, that’s okay. When you’re through, let me know. That’ll be good enough.” She shuffles past me to the couch.

I take a breath. “I’m really missing Dad this morning.”

“I know, honey. Me, too.” Mom sits down, clenching the mug between her hands, as if its warmth relieves the pain in her fingers.

“I’ve been thinking about him so much. His life, I mean. There’s so much I don’t know. Not just about him, but about you, too.” Sending her a cautious smile, I continue, “What were the two of you like when you were dating? You’ve never talked about it.”

She lowers the mug to her lap. “I don’t know, honey. It was so long ago.”

“Did your parents like him?”

“Yes.” Her eye twitches.

“Did his parents like you?”

“We got along well enough.”

I sigh. “It’s so weird. I don’t even know what my grandparents looked like. Do you have pictures?”

“We never took many pictures,” she says, the words rushing out.

“Surely you have wedding photos. I’ve never even seen them.”

Mom’s body tenses, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement, like she’s been pinched. She shakes her head, takes a sip, and says, “There aren’t any. We eloped.”

I know I’m pushing, but I can’t stop myself. “You don’t even have any from when you were kids? It’d be fun to see what you and Dad looked like back then.”

“We never got into photography. I’m sorry.” Impatience gives her voice an edge.

I scoot back my chair. “There’s not even an old school picture?”

“I’m sure we have a few somewhere, but do we have to look for them right now?” Mom sets the mug down on the coffee table a little too hard. “I’m really not up to it, Lily. Okay?”

It’s clear that the subject is closed, as far as she’s concerned. Reluctantly, I return to my studies.

Soon the sounds of Ty working lift my mood—and kill my concentration. Each time he walks across the roof, I look up at the ceiling. Whenever he climbs down and passes by a window, I hear the tune he’s whistling, then catch myself humming along and tapping my toe to the beat. It’s not the noise that distracts me from studying as much as his presence. I can’t stop wondering if he’s thinking about me, too.

I’d go out and keep him company if I thought Mom wouldn’t interfere. I don’t want to give her an excuse to fire him, and paying attention to me instead of his work would make it easy for her. Yesterday, she warned me about watching out for “older guys,” as if Ty were in his twenties instead of only a year ahead of me. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s already had a semester of college that bothers her. She’s always been overprotective to the extreme. She and Dad both, really.

At noon, Mom and I are making ham sandwiches at the kitchen counter when Ty’s hammering stops. A second later, I hear his car door slam. “We should offer Ty a sandwich. He’s going to get sick of eating lunch at the Blue Spirit Inn every day,” I say, referring to the only restaurant nearby.

“He’s just working here for another few days, Lily. I doubt he’ll get tired of the Blue Spirit Inn,” says Mom wearily. “Besides, he could bring his lunch. Maybe he did.”

“I’ll go check.” Deserting the tomato I was slicing—and Mom’s scowl—I hurry toward the door.

Ty is leaning against his car eating a strip of beef jerky. A folded red bandanna is tied around his forehead, to keep his hair out of his eyes while he works. “Hey,” I call to him from the porch.

“There you are,” he says, a wide smile spreading across his face. “I thought maybe you were allergic to sunshine or something.”

“Schoolwork,” I say. “Greek philosophy. Plato is kicking my butt.”

Ty tilts his head to one side. “‘He is unworthy of the name of man who is ignorant of the fact that the diagonal of a square is incommensurable with its side.’”

“Impressive. Maybe I should hire you as a tutor.” I’m only half teasing when I add, “What do you charge?”

“I’d do it for free,” he says.

I fall into his gaze and wish I could stay there forever, lost in all that soft, dark heat. Blushing, I open the screen door wider and glance down at the strip of beef jerky in his hand. “That’s not much of a lunch.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it. It’s not bad, but you might lose a tooth.”

Grinning, I ask, “Do you like ham and Swiss? Mom and I are making sandwiches. We can eat on the deck since it’s warm out.”

Ty pushes away from the car. “Sure.”

Five minutes later, I bring a tray filled with sandwiches, potato chips, and soft drinks out to the deck where Mom and Ty are already sitting at the patio table.

Ty stands abruptly to help, his knuckles bumping against mine as he reaches for the tray. We smile at each other as he sits in the chair across the table from Mom and I sit beside her.

“Looks like you’re making good progress on the roof, Ty,” Mom says.

“I should finish the middle of next week at the latest.”

“That long?” She frowns. “Seems like you’re moving faster than that.”

“He’s just one person, Mom,” I say in his defense.

“I want to do a good job for you, Mrs. Winston,” says Ty, adding, “You’re short on a few supplies. If it’s okay, I’ll quit early this afternoon and go to the hardware store.”

Mom takes a soft drink off the tray. “Whatever you need to do. The weather is supposed to stay dry for a while, so I guess there’s no real hurry. Adam had an account there. Just have them call if they need an okay.”

He nods at Mom, saying, “This looks great,” when I hand him his plate.

Mom opens the potato chip bag and shakes out a few. “I thought we might go into town, too, Lily. I’m in the mood for a movie. We could rent one and watch it tonight.”

“Okay.” I nibble on a crust of bread, encouraged that she wants to do something besides hide in the workshop or sleep.

She lifts her sandwich, then lays it down again and pushes her plate aside. She’s hardly eaten in the past couple of days. “What do you say we rent that romantic comedy you used to love so much? Gosh, I can’t remember the title. It was your favorite when you were thirteen or so. You watched it so much I’m surprised you don’t have every line memorized.”

Drawing a blank, I say, “I guess I’ve forgotten it.”

“Forgotten it?” She sends me a disbelieving frown, and I notice for the first time how bloodshot and puffy her eyes are. “How? You almost wore out the VCR you watched that tape so often.”

Tape? VCR? What is she talking about?

Anxious to change the subject, I turn my attention to Ty. “How is it that you can quote Plato? Are you a philosophy major?”

“No, biology.”

“Lily was obsessed with that young actor in the movie,” Mom says to him, as if she didn’t hear us. Her brows shoot up, and she snaps her fingers. “John Cusack.
Say Anything
! That’s it. He won an award for his role a few years ago. Most promising new actor or something like that.”

Iris flutters, tremulous and fleeting, as if she senses the tension building.

“Mom, John Cusack isn’t young. He’s been around forever,” I murmur, embarrassed by her insistence that I remember some film that I’m sure I’ve never seen. “I don’t remember that movie at all.”

“Good grief, Lily, how can you say—” Mom breaks off, her face going slack, paling. “Never mind. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Biting into her sandwich, she stares off into the trees beyond the deck.

I can’t bring myself to look at Ty. If Mom had to wig out, why couldn’t she have waited until he was gone? He starts making small talk about the weather, about how beautiful Colorado is and how much he’s enjoying his time here. Filling the silence. Smoothing the ragged edges of strain between Mom and me. Just like Dad used to do.

After a few minutes, Mom pushes away from the table and stands. “Another soft drink?” she asks us.

Ty and I both decline, and she walks around the corner onto the porch. I hear the front door open and slam as she goes inside.

“Make an excuse so you don’t have to go to town with her,” Ty says, speaking quickly.

“What?” I sit straighter.

“Drive your four-wheeler to the lake. Meet me there.”

His sudden invitation zings a thrill straight through me, all the way to my toes. “She’ll see your car parked there when she goes to get the movie.”

“So she
does
care if you spend time with me.” His mouth curves up.

“You’ve noticed?” I say sarcastically. I start to tell him to meet me at Ponderosa Pond instead of the lake. It’s secluded, tucked away in a grove of trees that surround it completely. But it’s also been Wyatt’s and my secret place ever since we were kids, and I don’t feel right about meeting Ty there. What if Wyatt showed up? “Do you know where the springhouse is?” I ask Ty, determined to find the perfect place.

“Yeah, I’ve seen it off the road by the lake.”

“Park behind it,” I say, hardly able to believe this is happening. “You’ll see a footpath. Follow it past the waterfall. You’ll come to a little clearing.”

“Okay. I’ll wait for you there.”

Listening for the sound of the front door opening, I ask, “What time?”

“Two thirty?”

“If I can, I’ll be there,” I say, knowing I’ll find a way to go, no matter what. There’s no possibility I’ll pass up this chance to be with him.

The front door slams. Ty and I smile at each other, then look away as Mom rounds the corner.

Mom decides not to go into town after all. She says she’s tired and just wants to take a nap. I’m worried about her, but not so much that I don’t rush out the door the second I hear her snoring. I push my four-wheeler to the road so I won’t wake her when I start it.

For the first time since I was twelve and got into trouble for not wearing a helmet, I forget to put one on. Wind tugs wisps of hair from my ponytail and whips them about my head as I speed along the road. I’m not sure if it’s the cool air or the thought of seeing Ty that raises goose bumps on my skin. It’s not even two o’clock, and I told him to meet me at two thirty. I think I’ll get to the springhouse before him and surprise him, but instead he surprises me. His car is already parked behind it when I arrive. I pull up next to it and cut my engine, then walk the narrow rocky pathway that crosses beneath a small waterfall.

When I reach the clearing, I see Ty throwing rocks across the creek, his back to me. I pause in the shelter of the trees to watch him. It’s as if he’s trying to torture the opposite bank, pummeling it with stones in rapid succession, bruising the sodden carpet of moss, the fallen leaves.

After a few seconds, he stops chunking rocks and sits down on a boulder at the creek’s edge, his forearms crossing his knees. He’s not wearing the bandanna now, and as he stares into the trickling water, his hair falls over his forehead, gleaming in the sun. He seems so lost in thought that I almost don’t want to disturb him. But the wind does it for me. A gust rushes past me, clattering the tree limbs above.

Ty turns as if startled by the sound, and when he spots me his face lights up and he grins. “Hey!” He pushes to his feet. “You’re early.”

Starting toward him, I say, “So are you.”