The Shadow Girl

11




Wyatt is busy with school on Friday, so we aren’t able to get together. I don’t see Ty, either. He calls early in the morning to say that he’s not coming to work since it’s raining and not supposed to let up all day. He sounds sad and edgy. I ask if he’s okay, and he claims he’s only tired because he didn’t sleep much last night. He asks if we can postpone our date tonight, too, and the moment we hang up, I start imagining all kinds of things. Mainly, that he’s decided to leave Silver Lake earlier than he’d planned. I can’t believe how much that possibility upsets me.

I spend the day searching the internet for more sites about Winterhaven and doing chores while Mom watches television and Cookie sleeps. Mom hasn’t cleaned the cabin since the accident, and it shows. I’ve been neglecting my chores, too. As I’m working, I have to choke back tears each time I run across something of Dad’s—one of his socks I missed the last time I did laundry, clinging to the back of the dryer; his toothbrush and beard trimmer in the downstairs bathroom; his work boots on his side of their bed.

On Saturday, Mom stays home while I take Cookie to the vet. She’s lost interest in everything, even whatever it was she was doing in Dad’s shop for so many days and nights.

When I arrive at the veterinary clinic, I’m surprised to see Ty’s shabby blue sports car across the street. He’s pacing the sidewalk, talking on his phone with his head down, so he doesn’t see me. Suddenly, he throws the phone, and when it breaks, he kicks his front tire hard.

I park, climb out of the Blazer, and turn toward the street, calling out to him and waving until I catch his attention. Ty waves back, then bends and grabs his phone off the ground, snapping the pieces back together.

Jogging over, he calls out, “Hey. I remembered you said Cookie had an appointment this morning. I thought you might want some company.”

“How did you know my mom didn’t come?” I ask, closing the door.

“I didn’t.” No trace of his anger from a few minutes ago shows on his face as he stops in front of me. “I took a chance. I’ve missed you.”

“You just saw me the day before yesterday.”

“For half an hour at lunch. That’s not enough.” While I’m waiting for my pulse to settle down, he adds, “I’m sorry I had to cancel our plans to go out.”

“Is something wrong?” I ask. “I saw you throw your phone.”

Humiliation flashes across his features. “I was talking to my dad.” He holds out his free hand to show me his cell phone. The back cover is cracked.

“Oh, no . . . does it work?”

Ty pushes a button, then lifts the phone to his ear. “Yeah. That’s surprising.” He shoves it into his front jeans pocket, out of sight, but doesn’t have as much success hiding the distress on his face.

“Is everything okay at home?” I ask.

“As good as can be expected, I guess.” His mouth crooks up at the corner and his face brightens. “Anyway, you’re here now, so everything’s better.”

Psyched by his compliment, I open the Blazer’s back door and look in at Cookie. “I’m glad you came,” I say to Ty. “You can help me get him inside.”

Cookie doesn’t even complain when Ty lifts him from the seat and carries him into the clinic. The receptionist tells us that Dr. Trujillo had an emergency and he’s running a half hour late, so we take Cookie back outside and sit on the lawn beneath a cottonwood tree.

Because it stays warmer in town than on the mountain, the trees bud earlier in the season here. Pale green leaves flicker in the cottonwood tree, and the cool air dances with sunshine. A bluebird sings in the branches, and Iris joins in the song. My fingertips pulse with her trilled melody as I slide them up and down Cookie’s spine, and I catch myself wondering if he feels the vibration. If so, he doesn’t show it. Cookie doesn’t even have the energy to lift his head.

“How’s it looking for our hike tomorrow?” Ty asks.

“We’re good to go,” I say. I slide him a mock-serious look. “I hope you’ve been working out. I don’t want to have to carry you back down the mountain.”

Squinting in a way that turns me inside out, Ty leans back on his elbows, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “We’ll see who’s carrying who. In fact, if you want to race to the top and down, you’re on.”

“I’ll pass.” I fake a yawn.

“I think you’re afraid,” Ty says, looking superior.

“No, I just don’t want to embarrass you when I win.” He laughs, and after a minute, I ask, “So what’s going on at home?”

Sobering, Ty lifts a shoulder. “Mom and Dad are pretty upset with me right now. They don’t get what I’m doing here.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask on impulse. When he doesn’t answer right away, I say quickly, “Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s okay.” He tilts his head back, stares up at the cottonwood’s sun-spangled leaves. “My little brother, Kyle, was in a car accident over the Christmas holidays. Kyle wasn’t wearing his seat belt. His head hit the windshield, and he’s been in a coma ever since.”

“Oh my god,” I whisper, my fingers curling into Cookie’s coat.

Ty exhales loudly. “My parents told me yesterday that the doctors are saying he won’t ever get better. They’re talking about turning off the machines he’s hooked up to. Mom and Dad want me there to discuss it as a family.”

In the silence that follows, sorrow creeps over us, as dense as fog. I take a shuddery breath. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay. That’s why I took off on this road trip. I couldn’t stand seeing my brother like that.” He shakes his head. “Pretty weak, huh? But I can’t believe they’ve given up on him so soon. The doctors aren’t giving him a chance.”

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him.

Watching me, he says, “Spending time with you . . . talking. It helps.”

“I’m glad. Being with you has helped me, too.” My throat closes as I reach for his hand. I want to hug him, but hold myself back. “Please don’t get mad at me for saying this, but as much as I don’t want you to leave, maybe you should be with Kyle right now.”

“It wouldn’t make any difference. He wouldn’t even know I was in the room. I can’t help him by being there.”

“But maybe it would help you. I mean, I wish I’d had more time with my dad. To say good-bye. Even if he might not have been able to hear me.”

Ty shakes his head. “I can’t do it, Lily. I can’t stand seeing my brother lying in that bed. He’s only thirteen. He should be playing computer games and hanging out with his friends. I call to check on him every day, but—” Ty drops his chin to his chest. “I’m not running away. It’s just—there was only one way I could help him, and now I can’t even do that.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was just a stupid, desperate idea I had that was a long shot, anyway.” He slips his hand from mine, pulls a hank of grass from the ground, and tosses it, watching it scatter. After a minute, he says, “About the hike. I don’t want to do anything to get you in trouble with your mom. I shouldn’t have asked you to sneak off and meet me the other day, either.”

“I’m glad I went,” I say.

“Me, too.” He looks up and smiles.

Relieved to see the glint return to his eyes, I add, “And don’t think you’re getting out of the hike. I know you’re afraid I’ll show you up, but you promised me a race, and I’m not letting you off the hook.”

“You want a race? Fine.” He reaches up and gently tugs a lock of my hair. “I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Oooh . . . I’m shaking,” I say with a laugh.

Just then, the receptionist pokes her head out of the door of the clinic to call us in. “Ready, Cookie?” I say. But he doesn’t budge.

Ty picks Cookie up again and carries him inside.



Early the next morning, I place two lunches and a few snacks in my backpack, make sure Cookie is comfortable, then look in on Mom in her bedroom. “Hey, I’m leaving. Call my cell if you need me.”

“I’ll be fine. Go have some fun for a change.”

I’m completely bewildered. One day she’s overly watchful, the next she seems completely disinterested in what I do. I don’t know what to expect from her anymore.

“Don’t forget to check on Cookie,” I say.

The vet confirmed my suspicions—Cookie is physically better and pain-free. So whatever is going on with him now probably is depression. Dr. Trujillo said he might be having trouble getting over the trauma of the accident. And he really might be missing Dad, too.

“Don’t worry about Cookie,” Mom says. “I’ll get up in a while and take him outside.” I go over and hug her, and as I step away from the bed, she rolls toward the window, her back to me. “You and Wyatt be safe,” she murmurs.

It’s always colder in the forest, so I tug a gray stocking cap over my hair and head for the door, feeling guilty for lying. But if I tell Mom the truth—that I’m meeting Ty instead of Wyatt—I’m afraid she’ll say I can’t go. And I know she wouldn’t let me hike the peak alone.

A few minutes later at the trailhead, I park next to Ty’s car in a small clearing at the side of the road. The driver’s door opens and Ty climbs out. Every guilty feeling I had flies from my head as he crosses to me, slinging a backpack over his shoulder. Ty’s wearing faded jeans and a blue flannel shirt left unbuttoned over a threadbare white T-shirt that hugs his chest in a way that transforms my legs to string cheese.

I cut the engine and slide off my four-wheeler. “You ready to hit it?” I ask as I lift my pack from the rack behind my seat.

“Lead the way,” he says.

“You brought a jacket, right? And rain gear just in case?”

“Yes, Mother. And I put on sunblock.” He grins.

I make a face at him, slip the straps of my backpack over my shoulders, and take off at a brisk pace, calling, “Do your best to keep up.”

Ty falls quickly into step beside me. “I thought we were racing.”

“Let’s just say the one who makes it down in one piece without whining wins.”

He laughs. “I’ll take that deal.”

We walk on without speaking for a while. My mind wanders and I relax as we draw deeper into the cool, musky shade of the forest, following the upward incline of the trail. Sunlight blinks through gently swaying tree limbs above. Lacy shadows dance across the ground, dodging our feet. Iris hums a catchy tune, and I realize I’m watching for her silhouette. I’m not three years old anymore; I know it’s only my shadow I’m seeing, not her. But sometimes I still gasp whenever I glimpse the dusky stain of my own shape.

Last night, I asked Iris again about her odd snatches of memory and what she had meant about everything being tied to the music. And again, she told me she didn’t understand what she was sensing. A tremor started deep in my core, and for the first time, I realized how upset Iris is. Does she think she’s failing me?

“It’s so quiet here,” Ty says in a low voice, interrupting my thoughts.

“Not really. You’re just not paying attention.” Stopping midstride, I grasp his arm. “Close your eyes and listen.”

I shut my own eyes and zone in on the orchestra tuning up around me. Aspen branches rasping as the breeze rubs them together like a bow against a string. The trill of birdsong. Water tinkling over rock in the nearby stream. The tap-tap-tap of a woodpecker.

“Amazing,” says Ty, and I open my eyes to find him watching me.

“What?” I ask, afraid to hope that he heard what I did—what I always do when I’m out here.

“I did hear something.”

“Really?”

Ty guides my hand to his chest, presses my palm against it. “My heartbeat,” he says. “It’s all I can ever hear when we’re together.” He winces. “How cheesy did that sound? Sorry. You make me nervous.”

“I make you nervous?” I ask, caught up in his stare.

Ty’s head lowers and his breath feathers against my mouth before his lips catch mine. I taste his tongue, warm and wet, soft and rough at once. Standing in the middle of the trail, we kiss for a long time, and when we stop, every nerve in my body is electrified.

I keep my hands on his shoulders, and Ty’s arms stay around my waist as he looks up into the trees. “The wind in the limbs sounds like cards in the spokes of a bicycle wheel,” he says.

“I’ve never heard that noise.”

“You’re kidding.” He draws back slightly and scowls. “What kid never attached cards to their bicycle wheels?”

“A kid who was fishing and hiking and playing hockey.”

“Yeah, right. You play hockey?” He gives me a measuring look of disbelief.

“Ice and roller hockey, as a matter of fact,” I say proudly. “Why does that surprise you?”

He shrugs. “You don’t look like the sort of girl who’d play such a rough sport.”

“Meaning, what? That I don’t have broad shoulders or tree trunk legs?”

“Well, yeah. Or a mustache.” One corner of his mouth quirks up as he pulls the edge of my stocking cap down to the tip of my nose.

I giggle and shove him away, then push my cap up again. We step apart and resume the hike. I spot a familiar wall of granite rising up the mountain side of the trail. Pointing, I tell him, “That’s part of one of the dikes that wind through this area. Have you seen them?”

He nods. “They look like the ridged sail on the back of a spinosaurus.”

“They do sort of look like that,” I say with a laugh. “If you believe in the legend, the wall captured the spirits of the Indians who used to live here, and if you lay your hands on the surface of the rock you can feel their energy inside. The legend also says that if you press your ear against the wall, you can hear the Indians beating drums and chanting.”

“My mother believes in all of that metaphysical stuff,” Ty says as we stop beside the wall. He places both palms against the rock and goes very still, then suddenly wails and his body starts jerking like he’s being electrocuted.

“Very funny,” I say, crossing my arms and smirking at him.

He pushes away from the wall, laughing hysterically. “I couldn’t help myself. Sorry. I didn’t feel anything. It just feels cold.” Leaning forward, he presses his ear to the spot above his hands and feigns a serious expression.

“Well?” I ask.

Ty steps back. “I guess my mom’s the only one in the family with an ear for music.”

“Your mother likes music?”

“It’s her life. She’s teaches high school orchestra and gives private lessons. She plays all of the stringed instruments. The cello. The violin.”

“That’s a coincidence.” I think of the violin in Dad’s workshop. “My mom used to play the violin, too. She doesn’t anymore, though. I’ve never even heard her.”

“What about you?” Ty asks with a curious glance and a flicker of something in his voice I can’t identify. “Are you a musician, too?”

“No. I asked for piano lessons when I was little, but Mom and Dad said we didn’t have room for a piano in the cabin.”

We start off again, leaving the rock wall behind. As we climb, the trail becomes steeper and rougher and dotted with patches of lingering snow. We step around large rocks and over the occasional felled tree blocking our path. When we reach an outcropping of rock that offers a view that seems to stretch all the way to the next dimension, we stop to rest. Sitting side by side, we stare out over a sea of evergreen treetops broken only by scraps of pale green meadow.

I take an apple out of my pack and offer it to Ty. He shakes his head, and I’m about to bite into it when I hear a noise on the trail. “Someone’s coming,” I say, setting the apple aside.

Frowning, he looks in the direction we came. “I don’t hear anything.”

“No, I’m sure of it.” I push to my feet when I see movement in the trees and a patch of blue coming closer. Wyatt appears from around the curve, pausing when he spots us.

“Hey!” I wave and jog to meet him. “What’s up?”

“Gran went by your house. Your mom mentioned our hike.” He glances at Ty and makes a huffing sound. “Gran was worried about you going up the peak alone. So was I. Stupid me, huh?”

“Don’t be mad,” I say in just above a whisper, hoping Ty won’t hear. “Ty wanted to climb the peak, so I offered to take him, that’s all. I knew Mom would make a big deal of it, so I didn’t tell her.” I gesture toward Ty with a tilt of my head. “Come on. Meet him. He’s a nice guy.”

As if on cue, Ty stands and comes over. “Hey,” he says, offering his hand to Wyatt. “I’m Ty Collier.”

The tops of Wyatt’s ears turn red as he shakes hands with Ty. Shifting his attention back to me, he says, “Could we talk?”

I look at Ty and wince. “We’ll just be a minute, okay?” He nods, and I follow Wyatt to the outcropping of rock where our backpacks lie. “What’s going on?”

“Gran’s not happy about you lying to your mom. She said for me to find you and if we aren’t back in a couple of hours she’s going back to your cabin to tell her.”

“She’d do that?” I ask hesitantly.

“You know my grandmother. What do you think?”

Frustrated, I make my way back over to Ty. “I need to go home.”

He frowns. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, but we’ll have to save the hike for another day.”

Ty pretends not to care, but I can tell he does. I wouldn’t blame him if he decided that trying to spend time with me isn’t worth the effort.

The return walk down the peak to the trailhead is pure torture, for me at least. Being with Ty and Wyatt at the same time makes me nervous so I start to babble. I tell funny stories about things Wyatt and I did together as kids, but Wyatt remains focused on the path ahead, not amused. He doesn’t look up until we reach the trailhead where his four-wheeler is parked next to mine.

Ty draws me aside for a second, saying, “I hope everything’s okay at home. I’ll call you later, okay?”

I nod. “I’m really sorry about the hike.”

“We’ll do it another time.”

He starts off toward his car, and when he passes Wyatt, they mumble good-bye to each other.

As Ty drives away in his car, Wyatt climbs onto his four-wheeler, stares down at the seat for a minute, then turns to me. “You coming?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told Mom I was with you and put you in the middle of this. But she has such a weird cautious streak when it comes to Ty.”

His brows lift briefly. “Maybe she’s smart to, Lil. I mean, what’s he doing here?”

“In Silver Lake? Working for Mom, for one thing. Putting a roof on the cabin.”

“Yeah, your mom told Gran he’s working dirt cheap. She isn’t thinking straight or she’d wonder just why he’d do that.” He squints at me. “Why do you think he’s willing to work for next to nothing?”

I shrug. “Because he needs the money?”

“Or wants to be close to you.” Wyatt blinks and looks away, his jawline tight.

I cross to him. Take a breath. “We need to talk about things.” He turns to me, and his green eyes don’t hide anything. I see all of his feelings for me. I’m so afraid of hurting him, but he deserves my honesty. “I’m really confused about us right now,” I say. “What happened between you and me—I never expected it, and—”

“What about Collier?” he interrupts, his chin lifting.

I lay my hand on his arm. “I’m confused about him, too. I need some time to think about everything that’s happened to me in the past couple of weeks. To figure it all out.”

Wyatt pushes a loose strand of hair off my cheek, his fingers lingering beneath my ear. “You don’t have to be confused about me, Lil. You know me. I’ll always be someone you can count on.”

He’s being so sweet, I want to cry. Lowering my head, I say, “I’m afraid of ruining things—of ruining us—the way we’ve always been.”

After what seems like forever, Wyatt bumps me with his elbow, and I look up at him. “I don’t like you hanging out with him,” he says, “but no matter what, I’m never going to stop tormenting you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” His cheek twitches.

“Yeah, I live for that,” I say with a laugh, pushing the words past the lump in my throat. I nod toward the road. “Let’s go home before your grandmother ruins my life.”

“Okay.”

I climb onto my four-wheeler and start the engine.

Wyatt and I take off, riding side by side, just like we have more than a hundred times before.