The Shadow Girl

10




Mom wanders into the kitchen, leaning on her cane and yawning. I’m sitting on the rug in the living room trying to coax Cookie to play tug-of-war with a toy, but he’s not interested.

“Did you have a nice nap?” I ask Mom, hoping she didn’t hear me pull up a few minutes ago.

“Yes, just not long enough.” She takes a glass from the cabinet over the sink.

I tell myself to stop being so skittish, but I keep imagining that she can read the truth on my face like a flashing neon sign: LILY’S BEEN MAKING OUT WITH TY.

Mom glances over her shoulder as she fills her glass with water from the faucet. “Your hair is damp.”

“I washed it.” I cringe inside at the lie. But I won’t risk saying anything that might ruin my chances of seeing Ty again. I can’t remember when I’ve had as much fun as I did with him today.

Mom shuts the water off and walks to my side. Peering down at Cookie, she asks, “How is he?”

“I think he’s depressed. Is that possible?” I scratch the satiny spot between his ears and watch his eyes drift shut.

“He could be,” says Mom. “I’m convinced that dogs have feelings just like we do.”

“He misses Dad,” I say quietly.

“Maybe he does, sweetheart.” Mom squeezes my shoulder. “He’ll feel better with time.” Her slippers make a shuffling sound as she starts off, and the cane taps with a dull inevitability as it hits the floor.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Back to bed. I’m not feeling well.”

“Do you want me to call your doctor?”

“I don’t think it’s the lupus,” she says. “I might be getting the flu.”

I know it’s not the flu. Eager to cheer Mom up, I say, “I think I’ll go into town and pick up that old movie you were talking about earlier. Would you watch it with me tonight?”

“We’ll see how I’m feeling,” she says a moment before her bedroom door closes.

Thoughts of this afternoon at the waterfall distract my worries about Mom as I change the bedding in Cookie’s pen. I settle him on the soft, clean pallet, replaying in my mind each moment with Ty. I’m so giddy I feel like I could jump out of my skin as I go upstairs to grab my wallet, keys, and phone. Before heading down again, I text Sylvie: Going 2 video store. meet me? I hope she can. I want to tell her what happened today.

I’m backing the Blazer out of the driveway when she texts back: there in 30. merry mushroom after? need pizza fix.

Braking, I type: k. see u there.

Iris is restless during the drive, insisting I’m wasting time. She thinks I should be pumping Mom for more information about the Big Secret, or poking around the workshop some more while she naps. But I can only deal with so much at once, and right now I’m obsessing about Ty. And Wyatt. How I feel tugged toward one, then the other. It’s so strange to be thinking about them at the same time. I feel guilty comparing them, but I can’t stop.

Soon, I’m pulling into Silver Lake. The only place to rent movies—Play It Again Flicks—is on Main, between Snowflake Bakery and The Pine Shed bar. The Merry Mushroom is across the street. I parallel park at the end of the block behind a mud-splattered truck.

Downtown is usually pretty busy, and this evening is no exception. High school kids and students from the community college shop in the stores and hang out in the cafés, coffee shops, and bars along Main. I walk toward the video store, and through the window, catch sight of Sylvie browsing the aisle in the horror section. She loves low-budget slasher movies, and is especially partial to anything with dead in the title. Throw in a zombie or two and she’ll even stay home on a Saturday night.

A few minutes later, after the guy behind the counter informs me that they don’t have the movie Mom mentioned, Sylvie and I cross the street to the Merry Mushroom.

“I’ll split a pizza with you,” she says. “I don’t eat anything that once had a mother, though, so you’ll have to settle for veggie.”

“How about sausage on half?” I ask, thinking I’ll take some home to Mom.

She wrinkles her nose. “As long as it doesn’t touch my half.”

We sit in a booth at the front window, and I breathe in the yeast-and-spice-scented air, my mouth watering. Sylvie’s black hair is streaked with purple today. She’s wearing a leather vest and arm warmers that look like black spiderwebs. Even so, our waitress makes Sylvie look like a Girl Scout. She’s emo to the extreme, the makeup around her eyes so dark she looks bruised.

“Keep the sausage far left of center, okay?” Sylvie tells her.

I quietly tap my foot to the beat of the impatient tune Iris hums and stare out the window as Sylvie places our order.

When the waitress leaves, Sylvie’s raspy voice cuts into my thoughts. “How are you and your mom doing?”

I turn away from the window to face her. “We miss Dad.”

“Yeah,” she says, looking sympathetic. “Maybe we could do a movie night? Get your minds on something else? I pop an awesome bag of Orville Redenbacher.”

Recalling the blood-splattered scene on her movie’s cover, I say, “Thanks, but I’m not sure we’re up for it. There’s something else that I need your advice about, though.”

“Someone wants my advice?” Sylvie laughs. “I’ll help if I can. Spill.”

I glance around the café and lower my voice. “It’s guy stuff.”

Sylvie’s eyes widen. “Okay, who’s the a*shole?”

“Nobody. It’s just . . . I, um, sort of kissed Wyatt.”

“You kissed the Goob?” She laughs, then shrugs and says, “Hey, he is sort of cute. Totally not my type but he’s got his own thing going on, you know? Part dork, part jock.” She studies me in a way that makes me think she’s trying to picture Wyatt and me together, then nods her head slowly. “You and the Goob. I sort of dig it, actually. If you want to hook up with him, I say go for it.”

Heat shoots up my neck like a rocket. I nibble my thumbnail.

“Uh-oh.” The silver stud in Sylvie’s eyebrow catches a beam from the overhead light and winks. “That bad of a kisser, huh?”

“No! I mean it’s just . . . Wyatt and I have always been friends. Just friends.”

Grabbing a glass container next to the napkin holder, Sylvie sprinkles Parmesan cheese onto her palm then licks it off. “If you’re confused about it, kiss him again and see how you feel.”

“Won’t that just make it worse if the person I really want to kiss is someone else?” I draw my lower lip between my teeth.

Sylvie lights up. “Whoa. Who are we talking about?”

“The guy at Dad’s memorial,” I say.

“No shit. Mr. Intense?”

“Ty.” Just saying his name makes me feel as if my whole body is smiling. “Ohmygod, Sylvie! Mom hired him to shingle our roof and I can’t think straight when he’s there. Today I met him at the creek behind the springhouse. We had so much fun and—I don’t know. I mean, Wyatt’s making me crazy, too. He—”

The emo waitress brings our pizza and saves me from having to say more.

When we’re alone again, Sylvie says, “Hello? Are you listening to yourself?” She turns the pizza so that the sausage side is nearest me, then lifts a slice of veggie. “Judging from the way you just gushed all over yourself, I think I know the answer to this, but who are you really jazzed to kiss again, Ty or the Goob? And by jazzed, I mean your toenails catch fire just thinking about it.”

The peppery aroma of the pizza suddenly makes me queasy. I lean back, my appetite gone. “I don’t know. Whenever Wyatt and I are together, I notice things about him I never did before, and I start wondering how it would be if we were more than friends.” I tell her about the cupcakes. “He’s so sweet, and nobody makes me laugh like he does. Plus, we know pretty much everything about each other, so I don’t have to worry what he thinks.”

“He’s safe, you mean.” Sylvie looks disappointed in me. “Safe is a cop-out reason for being with someone.”

A little defensively, I say, “But Ty is only going to be here a couple more weeks at most, then I’ll probably never see him again.”

“So, you’re saying you’re going to settle for Wyatt?”

“No! Is that how it sounded?” I slump back in the booth. “God, I’m so messed up.”

“I don’t know what to tell ya,” Sylvie says around a mouthful of pizza. “But if you ask me, this side trip with Wyatt was inevitable. I’ve never known a guy who can stay friends-only with a girl forever. They always end up wanting to get their hot little hands in—”

“Hey, Sylvie!” A guy tuning a guitar in the far corner of the café waves her over.

She waves back and says to me, “Speaking of hot hands, I need to make amends with the entertainment. Jonesy called last night and I never called back.”

“Sure, go on.”

As she leaves the booth, I bite into a pizza slice and stare out the window, disappointed that Sylvie didn’t offer any easy solutions to my dilemma about Wyatt and Ty. But it’s not her fault. I don’t think any exist.

Later, Wyatt calls while I’m driving home. When I tell him I struck out at the video store, he says, “I’ll loan you Superbad.”

I laugh. “That’s not exactly the sort of movie I had in mind for Mom.”

“What? You loved it. You wet your pants you were laughing so hard.”

“I did not wet my pants.”

“Almost. You knocked over Gram’s favorite vase trying to get to the bathroom.”

“You are so lame,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“It’s true! I caught it before it hit the floor. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“Yeah, right. Embarrassing me is your favorite pastime.”

We laugh, then grow silent. Five seconds pass. Ten. I notice that the late-to-leaf cottonwood trees along the county road are finally budding. Wyatt and I will be graduating soon. Everything’s changing.

“You should stop by,” Wyatt says.

“I need to work on my paper. And Mom still hasn’t called Dad’s clients, so I’m going to do it tonight. I don’t think she can handle talking to them right now.”

“Doesn’t sound like a fun job. I’ll be thinking about you.” Wyatt pauses, then adds in a softer voice, “Of course, I’ve been thinking about you all day anyway.”

“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” I say, wondering if our friendship has been leading us to this new place all along, and our getting closer was meant to be.

“I should go since I’m driving,” I tell him.

“Yeah, be safe. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

I put the phone in the cup holder, oddly flattered by the change in Wyatt’s voice when he said he’d been thinking about me. But out of nowhere, Ty pops into my thoughts, and I’m confused all over again.

After I get home, I devote a couple hours to my paper, then start calling Dad’s clients to tell them that his friend Sal will be in touch about finishing their projects. Sal called Mom yesterday and was nice enough to volunteer to do the work without taking any of the fee. I’m on the phone until close to ten o’clock, and Wyatt was right; it isn’t fun. By the time I make the last call, I’m so drained that I can’t muster the energy or enthusiasm to go out to the workshop. I know Iris is disappointed, but I can’t handle any more stress. I fall asleep curled up on the couch with my clothes still on and Cookie in his pen nearby, whining in his sleep again.



Iris doesn’t pester me to go out to the workshop the next morning while I’m working on my paper. I guess she’s finally figured out that I won’t be able to give my full attention to anything else until I’m finished. I work nonstop until after one o’clock, then slip out of the cabin and take a sandwich to Ty.

When I call out to him from the deck, he starts down from the roof to meet me. I saw him earlier when he arrived and we said hello, but Mom was with me. It’s the first time we’ve been alone since we left the springhouse yesterday, and I feel a rush of anticipation at the thought of seeing him again. I keep remembering Sylvie’s question about who I’m more “jazzed” to kiss: Wyatt or Ty? One thing I know—I’d let Ty kiss me right now in a heartbeat if he tried.

Midway down the ladder, he jumps to the deck and turns to me, looking dusty, sweaty, and gorgeous in his torn flannel shirt and holey jeans. His dark hair just misses brushing his shoulders.

“I’ve been waiting all morning for this,” he says.

“I didn’t know my sandwiches are that good.”

“I was talking about seeing you.” The smile he flashes is so dazzling it blinds me.

Feeling shy, I give him a sandwich and say, “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with schoolwork.”

“No problem. I understand. I’m sort of jealous that Plato gets to spend more time with you than I do, but I’ll get over it.” His eyes sparkle as he takes a bite.

“Plato and I are through.” Embarrassed, I quickly change the subject before he can comment. Motioning toward the roof, I say, “How’s it going?”

“Okay, but it’s warm today.” He tugs at his collar. “I was actually roasting up there.”

“I’m sure it’s warmer if you’re working,” I say.

“Yeah. It’s hard to believe it was snowing just over a week ago.” He takes another bite of his sandwich, chews, and swallows. Narrowing his eyes, Ty says, “What did you mean about Plato?”

In a smug voice, I say, “I finished. You are looking at a high school graduate.”

His eyes widen. “Just like that? You don’t have to take a test or anything?”

“Nope. Just like that.” I snap my fingers, feeling different—free.

He beams. “What are you doing this weekend to celebrate?”

“Does taking Cookie to the vet first thing Saturday morning qualify as a celebration?”

“You and your mom don’t have plans?” Ty asks, frowning.

“No.” I glance away, certain my voice revealed my pathetic disappointment about Mom’s apparent indifference.

“Come here.” Ty sets his sandwich on the patio table, takes my hand, and draws me nearer to the cabin where Mom can’t see us. I back up to the wall, and he kisses me. “I’d like to take you out tomorrow night, graduate,” he says, the low vibration of his voice scattering goose bumps up my arms.

“I’d like that.” I wipe a smudge of dirt off his cheekbone with my finger and smile. “I hope you’ll clean up first, though,” I tease.

Ty’s lunch break ends too soon. He goes back to work, and I go inside. Late in the afternoon when he leaves, Mom surprises me by heading for the couch instead of the workshop. She curls up under a blanket and stares blankly at the television until it’s time for dinner. I offer to bring her a bowl of soup, but she doesn’t want anything. She hasn’t eaten all day.

Iris comes out of hiding and nudges me. I don’t need any persuading, though. If I’m ever going to ask Mom about Winterhaven, it may as well be now. There’s not ever going to be a good time, and I’m tired of waiting.

“Mom?” Bringing my own bowl of soup into the living room, I set it on the coffee table and sit down on the floor with my legs crossed. “Have we ever been to Winterhaven, Massachusetts?”

She pushes onto her elbow. “Winterhaven? Why do you ask?”

“I found a slip of paper in Dad’s workshop with Winterhaven, Massachusetts, written on it.” Which isn’t entirely a lie. She doesn’t need to know that I wrote it.

“What were you doing in the workshop?” she asks, the accusatory tone back.

Scrambling for a reason, I say, “Ty needed a tool.”

“I had him take your father’s tool chest out of the workshop his first day here. He’s supposed to be keeping it in the storage shed.”

“He is, but whatever he needed wasn’t in there.” I can tell by Mom’s expression that she doesn’t believe me, but I don’t care. I won’t let her suspicions distract me. “Have we been to Winterhaven?” I ask again.

She hesitates, then says, “We flew to Massachusetts once when you were a baby. To Boston. We were on vacation and rented a car. We might’ve driven through Winterhaven—we passed through a lot of small towns.”

I wonder if the memory I have of the dock and the lake could have taken place on that trip. I start to question her further about it, but I can’t do it when I notice that her hands are shaking as she pulls the quilt higher to cover her shoulders. I have a feeling it’s fear making them tremble. The same fear I see in her face.

Mom moves from the couch to her bedroom at ten o’clock when the news comes on. I wait until Cookie falls asleep, then go to my sock drawer and take out the spare keys Wyatt made me. Rubbing the metal of one key between my forefinger and thumb, I try to talk myself into going out to the workshop.

Of course, Iris is all for it, encouraging me with tantalizing words: Everything’s tied to the violin. To the music. I feel it.

The music? I don’t understand, I tell her.

But I know by now that Iris doesn’t understand, either. Whatever she’s channeling, it’s only arriving in snatches.

I press the key into my palm. If more clues to the mystery are hidden in the workshop, what will they tell me about my parents? In my mind, I see Mom’s gnarled hands trembling as she pulled the blanket higher. That splash of icy blue fear in her eyes. What is she afraid I’ll find out? What did Dad want me to know?

Go out to the workshop and see, breathes Iris.

I nibble my lip. What if the truth is something I’d rather not know?

Do it for me.

For her? I shove aside the curtain over my window, look out at the moon-bathed peaks, startled and shaken by Iris’s plea. I’ve been assuming she wants to solve this puzzle for me, but she sounds like she has a personal stake in putting it all together. What could she possibly stand to gain from learning about my tie to Winterhaven or who Jake is? Iris isn’t even human. She isn’t alive. She’s . . . I go still.

What are you, Iris?

Shaken, I stare at the shadowy east peak. A silent and brooding presence. Always standing guard. The few times I’ve asked myself about Iris’s existence, I’ve always dismissed my questions before they could take hold. What am I afraid of? That I’m insane? Or that there might be more to Iris than I ever dreamed?

Something I’ve never dared to let myself consider pushes to the front of my mind now, refusing to be ignored. “Who are you?” I whisper. “Were you ever alive?”

I don’t know. Help me remember.

Rain strikes the bedroom window and taps on the roof. A few drops, then dozens, then hundreds. The wind kicks up, and the cabin logs creak, as if complaining. Seems Mom was wrong when she told Ty we’d be having dry weather for the next several days.

I put the keys back in the drawer, anxiety gnawing at the pit of my stomach. Maybe it’s not the shop we should be searching, I tell Iris. Returning to the bed, I open my laptop.

For the next hour, I browse the Winterhaven website with thoughts of Ty, of Wyatt and Iris, of my parents and the items in the chest, coiling together like a braid in my mind.