Unraveling Isobel (5 page)

“My mom is still dead set against me getting a degree in art.”

“You don't have to do what your mom says at that point. You'll be eighteen.”

“Eighteen with about a hundred and fifty bucks to my name. I'm pretty sure college tuition is going to cost me more than that.”

“That's why they have student aid, to aid students. Have faith that the universe will provide, but you have to be willing to do your part. You can't expect fate to carry the whole load.
Take steps toward your goal to show your commitment. The universe needs to know you're not screwing around. A portfolio demonstrates to the universe that you're serious. Draw some pictures, suck in all that island air and inspiration.”

“That assumes living in an old, broken-down house will inspire me.”

As if in protest to my statement, a burst of static blared, and I yanked the phone away from my ear. I could hear Anita call out my name, but her voice was distant. It sounded like we were talking on one of those tin can string phones.

“Anita? Can you hear me?”

The phone gave a blare of static in return. I called her name again, but the call went dead with a click and then silence. The lights flickered, and then they went out completely. A second later they were back on, but it was long enough without power to make my clock radio blink 12:00 at me.

I knew the storm outside, combined with the poor cell service, was to blame, but for an instant it felt like the house was mad I'd insulted it.

I shivered and then shook off the feeling. I checked my phone, but there was zero reception. Annoyed, I tossed the phone into my bag. Well, if I couldn't finish my conversation with Anita, at least I could take her advice. I pulled my sketchbook off the shelf and flipped through it until I found a clean page. Anita was flakey, but she was also right a lot of the time. I had my heart set on being accepted into the art program at U-Dub, which meant
I had to have a portfolio ready to show by the time I sent in my application, especially if I wanted any kind of scholarship. I was going to need some money to pay the bills, because when my mom found out I wanted to major in art, she was going to freak out. “Freak out” being an understatement.

My mom blamed my dad's passion for art for everything. She often pointed out that van Gogh cut off his own ear and you never heard of accountants doing something like that. She wasn't sure which came first, the crazy or the art, but she wasn't taking any chances with me. As far as my mom was concerned, I should go to school and study nursing or accounting. I think she thought she was being supermom for giving me a choice at all. The fact that I got a D in tenth-grade biology and couldn't stand math didn't faze her. Art was the one thing that I was really good at. Sometimes drawing felt like the only thing keeping me sane. It was like my pencil could figure things out before the rest of me.

There was no point worrying about it right now, though. I got myself settled on my bed and started sketching the room, trying to catch the angle of the walls and the deep-set windows. I smudged a pencil line with my little finger to give the corner the feeling of piled shadows. I felt my focus narrow down to the point where my pencil met the paper. The wind outside picked up speed. I got lost in the picture, trying to make it work.

Somewhere along the way, I must have fallen asleep.

That's when I saw her.

Chapter 5

I
woke up to a loud bang. I sat up in bed, confused. The lights were out. For a second I didn't know where I was. I felt ungrounded, like I was floating in the darkness. The sensation made me dizzy. I put my feet down on the floor. If it worked for bed spins, it would work for this. When my feet touched the ice-cold floorboards, I was instantly alert.

Another bang.

I spun around and saw the window frame bounce against the wall. The latch must not have been secured, and the wind had blown it open. Another blast of freezing wind rushed in, and the curtain billowed out. For a second I felt a wave of relief. It was just the storm. Then there was a crack of lightning and the room lit up. And there she was.

She was young, that age between chubby baby cheeks and
gangly arms and legs. Her eyes were wide and she was staring at me. She seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see her. She was soaking wet. Her dark hair was slicked down on her head, and a piece of seaweed was glued to one cheek. She reached out, her hands opening and closing into tight fists. I yanked my feet back into bed and scrambled back until I was pressing against the headboard.

Her eyes were blank and dark, like a black marker had colored them in. She took a step forward and opened her mouth wide. I couldn't hear over my own scream if she made any noise at all. There was another crack of lightning, and then she wasn't there. I closed my eyes and screamed again.

The bedroom door crashed open and the overhead light came on. Nathaniel burst in wearing only his boxer shorts and breathing heavily. Even though I was terrified, I couldn't help but notice that Nathaniel had been hiding a nice body under his designer jeans and button-down shirts. Dick and my mom were just a few steps behind him, their bathrobes tied tight at the waist. Not that I wanted to notice, but it was also apparent that Dick looked better dressed than half undressed.

“What in the world?” Dick pushed past Nathaniel and latched the window shut.

“Are you okay?” My mom rushed to the bed and took my hand.

“There was a girl,” I said.

“A girl?” My mom looked over at Dick as if she expected him to explain.

I pointed to the spot where I'd seen her. “I woke up and she was there. Just standing there.”

“Sounds like someone had a bit too much cake for dessert,” Dick said with a chuckle, but his mouth was turned down. “Upset stomachs make for bad dreams. Most likely the window blew open and the curtain caught your eye. Since you were half awake, you saw something that wasn't there. New house must have given you the jitters.”

My mom's face registered relief, and she patted my arm reassuringly. Dick smiled as if he'd just gotten the correct answer on
Jeopardy!
I wasn't so sure. It hadn't felt like a Sara Lee–induced hallucination to me. Maybe I'd only been half awake at first, but once I touched my feet to the floor, I would have sworn I was wide awake.

Then I realized something else. “The lights were out. I didn't turn them out.”

“I did,” Nathaniel said. “I came up to talk to you a couple of hours ago, but you were already asleep. I pulled a blanket over you and left.”

I couldn't decide if the fact that Nathaniel had watched me when I was sleeping was creepy or sort of exciting. God, I hoped I hadn't been lying there with my mouth open and drooling.

My mom noticed my sketchbook on the floor and grabbed it. “Were you drawing?” she demanded.

“It's just a sketch, Mom.” She made it sound like she'd caught me rolling joints in my room or posting racy pictures of myself online. She wasn't prepared to say I wasn't allowed to draw, but she'd made it abundantly clear she would rather I take up just about any other hobby, up to and including recreational drug use. An addiction was something she could deal with, but in her opinion, art was nothing but trouble.

“I thought we talked about the fact that you need to focus on your schoolwork. Art isn't a practical or useful way to spend your time.”

“You think I should spend all my free time learning physics?”

“Don't be smart with me,” she warned, completely missing the irony.

“Now, now, let's not make a mountain out of a molehill,” Dick said. “Everyone's tense because it's the middle of the night. If Isobel likes to tinker about with pencils, then I think it's great. She doesn't start school here until Monday, so there's plenty of time for her to crack the books later. Let's call it a night and tackle this in the morning.”

I couldn't decide what was worse: that Dick was sticking up for me, or that he'd used the phrase “tinker with pencils.” He took the sketchbook from my mom and flipped through the pages. I felt a millimeter of tooth enamel grind down. Sketchbooks are private. You don't just flip through someone's work unless you've been invited. Dick stopped at the last page.
He made a strange sound in the back of his throat.

“What's this?” He held out the sketchbook and shook it like there was something incriminating about it. His mouth was pressed into a tight smile, but his eyes looked flat and angry. What happened to no harm being done with pencil tinkering?

“I was just drawing the room.”

His face looked like he'd discovered me doing pictures of animals in compromising positions. Dick tossed the sketchbook on the bed. I noticed then that something was wrong.

I picked up the book and took a closer look at my drawing. The room was done in strong black lines with the shadows in the corners, the way I remembered doing it, but now there were framed pictures hanging on the wall, and the shelves were stacked with kids' games, books, and stuffed animals. On the window seat at the center of the picture, my buddy the stuffed zebra leaned against a book; in the sketch, he still had both eyes. It was the same room, but from a different time, when it was someone else's room.

“I didn't do that,” I said. My mom raised one eyebrow and picked my hand up out of my lap, displaying the dark graphite still smudged on my fingers. “No, I mean, I drew part of the picture, but not all of it,” I tried to explain.

“If you didn't draw it, who did? Your imaginary friend?” My mom shook her head, unable to meet my eyes. “This is
why you should leave the art to someone else.”

I felt my throat close tight. I refused to cry. She made it sound like the fact that I had been drawing something was connected to the fact I'd seen something, as if, had I read a book instead, I never would have had a nightmare.

“Let me see.” Nathaniel stepped forward to take the sketchbook from my bed. Dick snatched it back before he could reach it. Before I knew what was happening, Dick had torn the page free and ripped it in two. Even my mom looked surprised. Dick folded the scraps of paper in half and tore them again.

“If you didn't draw the picture, then you won't miss it,” Dick said with a smile. He dropped the scraps into the trash can, where they fluttered to the bottom like broken butterflies. I stared at Dick, wondering if he'd lost his mind. “There's no sense in getting everyone riled up over something silly like a picture. Now there won't be any more nightmares.” Dick patted my shoulder like he was getting ready to tuck me in. He smiled at my mom. “Now, don't you get riled up either. She wouldn't be a normal teenager if she wasn't doing something to upset you.”

“I think we've had enough excitement for one day,” my mom said. She took Dick's hand and they left. I knew once they got back to their bedroom she was going to talk to him about how important it was to have a united front against my art. It made me want to scream.

But I couldn't. Nathaniel was still standing there awkwardly, looking as though he had just realized we were alone and that he was only wearing boxers. I could tell Nathaniel was one of those people who liked to be in control, and being stranded half naked in my room wasn't exactly in his comfort zone. I couldn't help enjoying the moment. It was nice to have him as the one who felt out of place for a change.

“Why did you come up to my room?” I asked.

“You were screaming.”

“I meant before, when you turned out the lights.”

“I came up to apologize.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I was out of line earlier. Being mad at you for any of this doesn't make sense.”

I hadn't been sure what he was going to say, but I hadn't been expecting an apology.

“It's okay. It's a weird situation.”

“Did you …” Nathaniel broke off what he was going to say. He chewed on his lower lip while he looked out the window. It was unbelievably sexy.

God, I would kill for him to chew on my lower lip like that. Yeah, right. That was about as likely as my mom gushing over my artwork. Still, I couldn't help admiring the muscles in his arms and chest while he was temporarily preoccupied. He was definitely hot enough to be a model, and the brooding look on his face didn't hurt a bit. I wondered what he was thinking about, staring off into the rainy night like that.

“Did I what?” I prompted.

He looked back at me as if he was surprised to see I was still there. Somehow, I doubted he'd been lost in a lip nibbling fantasy.

“Never mind. Good night.” He slipped out the doorway, and I could hear his bare feet slapping against the wooden stairs.

I was alone again.

Well, not completely alone. I still had Mr. Stripes, everyone's favorite zebra. He was sitting on the window seat, sort of flopped over like he was also exhausted by the events of the day.

I sat up straight. The last time I had seen Mr. Stripes was when I'd put him under the bed. What was he doing on the window seat? I swallowed and then leaned over slowly. I took a deep breath and yanked up the bed skirt. Nothing. Just a couple of dust bunnies. I must have moved him before I fell asleep. I looked back over at the zebra.