The Shadow Girl

16




I leave Mom a note saying that Paula called from the Daily Grind and asked me to fill in for a sick employee. It’s something I do sometimes, since I worked there last summer, so I think she’ll buy it. I spent all night looking for the keys, but didn’t find them, so I walked to the main road and caught a ride on the six o’clock bus that shuttles county workers into town each day.

I arrive at the coffee shop before Ty and choose the table farthest from the counter. Other than Paula and her employee Rhonda, who are busy preparing for the morning rush, I’m the only person in the coffee shop. I order two hot chocolates and wait.

Minutes later, Ty arrives. I melt like the marshmallows in my mug when he steps inside the door and sees me and his mouth tilts up into a lopsided smile. There’s a part of me that can’t help being drawn to him, no matter what he has or hasn’t done.

He hurries over to the table and sits across from me. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Motioning toward the mug in front of him, I say, “I took a chance and ordered you a hot chocolate.”

“Thanks.” He lowers his head to blow into his mug.

Now that we’re alone, I’m self-conscious and off balance. I can’t stand to think of him leaving today. Watching him, I say, “So . . . tell me about my dad.”

Ty looks up. “Your dad was a genius,” he says without hesitation. “He was also ethical, but he’d bend the rules if it was the only way to help someone. Some people might have a problem with that, but not me. That’s why I was researching his work, and why I had to find him—for Kyle’s sake.”

“So you did have another reason for coming here.”

He nods. “The stem cell research he was doing in the early nineties? What he did for that boy? It had to do with healing brain injuries like Kyle’s.”

I take a moment to let that sink in. “Surely that sort of research has continued since then, hasn’t it? I mean, haven’t other scientists or doctors made even more progress? Why didn’t you go to one of them?”

“No one else has had the same level of success regenerating injured neurons in a human brain. They’ve transplanted brain cells from donors, but damaged brain tissue usually has poor blood supply, probably because of swelling and scar tissue. So the transplanted cells don’t get the nutrients they need to grow.”

I want to ask him to skip the science speak and get to the point, but I tell myself to be patient. I have a feeling he’s giving me the key to understanding my father and the choices he made.

“A lot of different studies have offered possible solutions, and animal testing has produced some good results,” Ty continues, “but the standard protocol is to wait a certain period—years, even—to make sure negative side effects don’t show up in rats or monkeys or whatever animal they’re testing before trying something on humans.”

“But Dad didn’t wait. That’s what got him into trouble, isn’t it?”

Ty nods.

I sink inside. “He experimented on that little boy before he knew it was safe.”

Watching me closely, Ty says, “Yes. But I believe he was right to do that. I mean, think about it . . . in certain situations, waiting could be a mistake.” He sits forward. “Some people don’t have time to wait around for a sure thing. Some people have nothing to lose and maybe everything to gain by trying whatever experimental procedures are available, even if there’s no proof there won’t be negative side effects or that the good results will last.”

“Some people like Kyle,” I say quietly.

“Yeah,” he says. “And that other little boy. Even though this was back in the early nineties, your dad achieved something scientists are just now coming close to repeating. The serum he developed was packed with chemicals and stem cells that stimulated blood flow at the site of the injury. It was infused into the damaged brain tissue, so after the donor cells were implanted, they were able to receive the nutrients they needed to replicate.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “This is my dad you’re talking about.”

Suddenly animated, Ty says, “It worked, Lily. It worked on rats and rhesus monkeys—and their brains are very similar to ours.”

Rats. Monkeys. Animals in cages. I think of Iris and the man who scared her. “God, this is unbelievable.”

He smiles. “Your dad’s stem cell serum had a zero percent failure rate with the animals. No deaths, no deficiencies. In the rats and the monkeys, anyway. Like I said, until recently, no one’s come close to repeating that success.”

Wariness creeps over me. Iris quivers. “But Dad didn’t have the same results with that little boy.”

Ty blows out a long breath. “Don’t judge him. You should be proud of him.”

“I am, but it’s hard for me to understand why he’d take that risk.”

“The kid’s parents wanted to go through with it. They knew it was their son’s only hope, and it worked at first. The cells regenerated quickly. He got better, but only for a few weeks. Then some off-the-wall anomaly cropped up and he had a stroke and died.”

I wince. “God, that’s terrible. To come that close, and then to lose him.”

He leans in across the table, intense. “But because of your dad, that little boy and his parents had a few really good weeks together. He was awake and alert. He could respond to their voices and smile. They could hug him and know he’d felt it. Before that, they couldn’t even be sure he knew they were in the same room. Your dad gave him and his parents a gift, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Thank you for saying that,” I say. “But some people obviously didn’t agree. The article said the boy might’ve lived for months or years more if not for Dad’s serum.”

“Maybe, but he would’ve spent that time lying in a bed hooked up to a bunch of machines and being fed through a tube. Is being unconscious twenty-four/seven really living?”

I realize he’s thinking about Kyle now. And I understand why he’d want to try anything to bring his brother back, even if only for a short time. But there are still things I don’t understand. “Why didn’t Dad’s team continue his research after he left?” I ask.

“It was his personal project. He didn’t have government funding like he did for the studies conducted at Cell Research Technology, so he financed it himself, using his own money and private sources. None of his team from Cell Research worked on it.” Almost as an afterthought, Ty adds, “I met one of them. One of his team. His name’s Ian Beckett.”

I’m aware of a tiny flinch at the back of my brain.

“Beckett said that your dad talked to him about the serum and his progress with it, but when your dad walked away from his old life, he didn’t leave behind even a trace of his research data. Not on any of the computers at the lab, at least. Beckett didn’t know if he took it with him on a hard drive or a disc when he left, or if he got rid of it completely, or passed it on to some other colleague.” Ty reaches for his mug.

It hits me then just how much Ty’s gone through to try to help his brother, even tracking down other scientists from Dad’s lab, and I’m filled with compassion and respect for him. I say, “Tell me about Beckett.”

He sets the mug down again and scowls. “Something about the guy bugged me. He still works at Cell Research and he took me on a tour of the place. Everybody there seemed really uptight around him.”

Thinking of what Iris told me, I ask, “What about the animals? How did they respond to him?”

“That’s weird you ask.” Ty cocks his head to one side. “I hadn’t thought about it before, but the monkeys went crazy when he walked in. I’ve never heard so much shrieking.” He shrugs. “I figured that’s how they are around everyone.”

Iris winds tight. No, they’re afraid of him! Ian Beckett is the man! I remember.

The fine hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end. Trying to stay focused on Ty, I say, “Did Beckett have any problem with you asking questions about Dad?”

“He seemed okay with it. But he couldn’t help me, so finding your dad was the only other option I could think of.” Oblivious to my unease, he continues, “There’s a new gel out now that’s similar to his serum, and they think the problems he experienced are worked out. It’s still in the testing phase, though. It won’t be ready in time for Kyle.”

“What did Dad tell you when you met him here?” I ask.

“He wouldn’t say anything. He didn’t want me around.”

“Because you knew about his past . . . who he was.” He nods, and I add, “I still don’t understand why it was so important to keep his real identity a secret.”

Ty studies my face, then shrugs. “I’m not really sure. He told me to stay away from his family and walked out. I wasn’t about to let him get away that easily, though. I planned to keep after him until he gave in. I just wanted his help; I didn’t have any intention of exposing him. But I won’t lie to you.” Holding my gaze, he sits back. “I would’ve used what I knew as leverage to get him to cooperate if I had to. For Kyle’s sake.”

His admission flips my feelings around and sucks away the compassion I felt for him only moments ago. I hate that my father spent his last days worrying that he’d been found. Crossing my arms, I say, “And then he died and ruined your plan.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “So you changed tactics and got close to me.” I huff a sarcastic laugh. “Did you think I’d be so flattered you were paying attention to me that I’d do anything you asked, like maybe give you Dad’s files?”

The muscle in Ty’s jawline jumps. “I didn’t have a plan. I was fighting for my brother’s life. After I met you, I realized you didn’t know anything about your parents’ past. But I still couldn’t leave Silver Lake until I tried to get my hands on that research data. I thought I’d do a little poking around the cabin and your dad’s shop, and if I found it . . .” His voice drifts off. “I don’t know what I thought I’d do with it. I realized pretty quickly that it was a waste of time and a stupid idea, but I still couldn’t go home and face my family because I felt like I’d failed them. And then I got to know you . . .” His tone softens. “After that I had another reason for staying in Silver Lake.”

A finger of pale morning light strokes the windowpane. Paula is grinding beans across the way. The machine buzzes and the earthy aroma of roasted coffee permeates the room. The bell on the door jingles and a guy in bicycling clothes and a helmet walks in. Paula pauses and looks over her shoulder, calling out a greeting to him as he unzips his jacket.

I don’t know what to say to Ty, or how to feel. In some ways, he deceived me as much as my parents did; he pretended we were getting to know each other when, really, he already knew more about my family than I did. But it’s hard to stay mad at him, because I know he did it for Kyle. I’d go to almost any lengths to save Wyatt or my mother.

“Everything changed after I got to know you,” Ty continues, sounding desperate for me to understand. “I changed. I couldn’t leave because I started to care about you. I wanted to tell you everything, but I didn’t know how to start. And then when I found you playing the violin and you showed me the stuff you’d found in your dad’s shop . . .” He pauses for a breath. “I mentioned the possibility of the clothes belonging to someone close to your mom, hoping you’d ask her and that she’d break down and tell you everything.”

“I wish you would’ve trusted me enough to tell me all this sooner,” I say quietly, ragged with bewilderment over all I’ve learned in the space of twenty-four hours.

“It didn’t have anything to do with trust; I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. Besides, you were so broken up over your dad, and I couldn’t cause you more pain.”

His expression is so honest, I have to turn away for a moment. “So, what now?” I ask. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t want to leave you, but I have to be with my family for a while. I’m heading out tomorrow. My car battery died, and I have to get a new one today.”

“I know you must be anxious to get home,” I say. I can’t imagine how it must feel to know that he and Kyle are running out of time.

Ty takes a drink of his hot chocolate, then shoves the mug aside. “So, what do you plan to do with all this information?”

I shake my head. “I’m not sure where to start. I guess I’ll call my aunt in Winterhaven today and ask if she has Dad’s research or knows where it is. Maybe if we find it you could still take it to someone—another scientist or a doctor who could use it to help Kyle.”

“It’s too late,” he says, sounding defeated. “It always was. I was just looking for a miracle when I came here. It would take too long for anyone to do anything with your dad’s research. Even he wouldn’t have had enough time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” He exhales noisily, then almost as an afterthought says, “Did I tell you your aunt owns a bookstore in Winterhaven called Purple Prose?”

“My aunt Gail.” A short laugh escapes me. “I have family. Do you know how strange that is?”

He smiles. “You also have an uncle Matthew, her husband. He’s a retired English professor. They know about you. There were pictures of you and your dad on your aunt’s desk. One was the photo you had printed in the paper with your dad’s obituary.”



It’s after ten when I arrive home. Ty and I agreed to talk later and figure out a way to get together before Wyatt’s graduation tonight—after I’ve had a chance to call Gail.

Mom is in the shower when I walk into the cabin. I let Cookie outside, then make coffee for her. Soon, she comes in wearing her robe, a green towel wrapped turban-style around her head. She’s pale and her limp is worse. I’m hit with a punch of guilt for some of the things I said to her yesterday. I hope the stress of our arguments didn’t bring on an even worse flare-up of her lupus.

“You’re home early,” she says, moving more slowly than I’ve ever seen her walk. She shuffles past me, headed for the coffee pot, leaning heavily on her cane. “How’s Paula?”

“Fine. She said to tell you hello.”

“Nice of her to call you to fill in.”

“I don’t mind the extra money,” I say, a little worried at how easily the lie rolls off my tongue.

Mom pours herself a cup, then heads for the table. “Who brought you home?”

“Rhonda,” I tell her. “She was working the early shift, too.”

I gather my nerve to tell her what I know. If she balks and says none of it’s true, I can show her the information I found on the website. She won’t be able to deny it then, and she’ll be forced to confess the rest—why she and Dad told their friends and family that she miscarried, why they took on new identities and ran away to start over.

But my guilty conscience bites at me again. Seeing what yesterday’s argument might’ve done to her health, I decide to talk to my aunt before confronting my mother. Maybe she’ll provide the answers so I won’t have to ask Mom at all.

I take a box of cereal from the cabinet. “Wyatt graduates tonight,” I say, pouring corn flakes into a bowl and hoping I can repair any damage from yesterday’s fight. “You want to go with me? He said we can ride in with Addie.”

“Of course I’ll go.” Mom blows her coffee to cool it. “I wouldn’t want to miss seeing him walk across the stage. He’s been such a good friend to you.”

Joining her at the table, I dig in to my cereal while she sips from her cup. But I can’t eat. “I didn’t mean it yesterday when I said I hated you, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“I know you didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, too.” She smiles. “Let’s just forget all of that and talk about something else, okay?”

Swallowing a knot of regret, I pick up my spoon again.

Mom surprises me by saying, “We need to start thinking about getting you ready for college soon.”

I shrug. “There’s not much to do since I’m just going to Silver Lake Community.”

“Have you ever thought about going away to school?” she asks, then purses her lips.

Surprised she’d even mention the idea, I say, “Yes, all the time. But now that Dad’s gone, I thought I should stay close to home.”

“If you want to go away in the fall, I think you should. I remember you mentioned O.U. once.”

My surprise turns to shock. “I applied.” I pause, then say, “I got an acceptance letter.”

She draws back. “Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. I thought you’d be against it.”

Mom’s quiet for a moment, then says, “After all that’s happened, I think it might be good for you to get away.”

Encouraged by her mind change, I say, “I’m sort of having second thoughts about O.U., though. That’s where Wyatt’s going, and Dad said it might be good for us to do our own thing.” I don’t mention that I’m also worried about what’s been going on between us. Everything’s happening too fast.

Mom sends me a small smile. “I don’t think having a friend you already know at school is a bad thing, Lily. I like the idea of you and Wyatt being at the same place. We should make a trip to Oklahoma to visit the campus. It’s important that you blend in with the other students like an ordinary girl.”

She flinches, like she’s trying to jerk the words back in the minute they’re out of her mouth.

An ordinary girl? I push my cereal bowl back and meet her wary gaze. “What do you mean? Are you talking about how I communicate with Iris? How I can play the violin like she did? What’s wrong with me, Mom?”

With a nervous laugh, she says, “Don’t be silly. Nothing’s wrong with you. Of course you aren’t ordinary, you’re extraordinary. What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t think so?”

Knowing she’s hedging again, I look past her to the window. Outside, Cookie’s sitting in a ray of sunshine. He’s still not up to chasing squirrels, but he’s better. Happier. “Look, Mom,” I say, pointing at him.

“Thank goodness the medicine’s finally helping,” she says.

“I think it’s more than that. He heard me play the violin, and he changed. It’s like his depression lifted.”

Mom rubs the swollen knuckles of her right hand and blinks at me. “You don’t really believe that, Lily. It’s only music. And he’s a dog.” She offers me another smile, but it looks forced. “That’s a sweet thing to imagine, but you know it’s nonsense.”

“It isn’t nonsense. You said Iris helped you. How, Mom? With her music? Did it help you the same way it helped Cookie?”

Her lip quivers. “Why are you forcing this?”

I lean toward her. “Because I love you, and I think I can help you, too. I mean, I know the music won’t heal you or anything like that. But if it could just bring you some happiness again . . . some peace of mind.” My throat closes, and I finish in a whisper, “Even if it’s only for a little while.”

“Oh, honey . . .” Mom reaches for my hand. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you worry about me so much.” She presses her lips together and looks away. After a long silence, she says in a soft voice, “Your sister gave so much of her energy to others, so much of herself, and I would never ask you to do the same.”

The legs of Mom’s chair scrape against the floor as she stands up. She turns her back to me and peers out the window, hugging herself.

I watch her for a long time before I head to the workshop for the violin. Carrying it to the deck, I sit at the patio table. Sunshine warms my face as I lift the instrument and bow and begin to play. The music swirls up from some secret place deep inside of me where it’s been hibernating all of my life. I let the melody flow through me into the instrument, then out onto the crisp spring air, willing it to find my mother, hoping it will numb the pain in her heart.



An hour later, I’m upstairs in my room when I hear the screen door slam. I start downstairs, pausing midway when I see through the windows that my mother is setting up her easel on the deck.

I stand perfectly still and hold my breath, afraid one wrong move might shatter the vision before me. As I watch, Mom pulls paints and brushes from a box and starts humming the song I played earlier. The sound of it pulls the air from my lungs and clogs my throat with tears. I know she’s been lying to me about sketching, but now . . .

I hurry down the stairs, out the front door, and around the corner. “Mom?”

She looks up, then lays down her paintbrush and steps around the easel. Lifting both hands, she holds them out. I see the stiffness in her fingers and realize how brave she is to attempt to paint in spite of the pain.

Mom’s voice is emotional, a quiet rasp. “I’d given up on ever making art again, but I’m going to try, Lily. Thank you.”

I cross the deck and wrap my arms around her, thrilled that maybe I’ve helped my mother, but knowing that soon I’ll hurt her, too. Because when Ty leaves for Maryland, I’ll be going with him. If I can use my gift to give him, his parents, or Kyle one minute of peace, it will be worth it.



Positioning my chair so I can see Mom out the window as she paints, I sit at the kitchen table with my laptop in front of me. The Purple Prose website comes up right away and a link leads me to a listing of the staff, along with their photographs. Déjà vu grips me at the sight of Gail Withers. She’s an older version of the quirky young woman in Mom’s video, but I have a weird sense that I’ve met her before. Her laughter echoes through my mind, and it’s familiar. My aunt Gail’s laughter.

Did she laugh in the video? Is that how I know the sound? I don’t think so. When her image came on screen, I had the volume turned down so Mom could sleep. I think I know the sound of my aunt’s laughter because Iris knows it.

A knock brings my head up. Wyatt is standing on the other side of the screen door. How can it be possible that only hours ago I was kissing him and wondering if we were meant to be together? What’s wrong with me? So much has happened so fast, I can’t keep track of my feelings.

“Hey, I didn’t hear you drive up,” I say.

“I walked over.”

I tell him to come in, and he opens the screen door and steps inside. As he walks toward me, I smile and say, “So after tonight you won’t be a Silver Lake Saint—or is it ‘once a Saint, always a Saint’?”

He raises a brow and in a mock-whisper says, “I’ve never been a saint. I just had everyone fooled.”

I laugh. “You didn’t have me fooled.”

Wyatt scoots a chair around to face me and sits. Leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, he says, “I’d really like you to go with me to the senior party after the graduation ceremony. It’s an all-nighter. Should be fun.”

Thinking of my plan to leave with Ty, I say, “I don’t know, Wyatt.”

“There’ll be music . . . bowling . . . blackjack. A lot of other stuff, too.” He pushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and a thousand tiny arrows shoot through me, followed by more guilt. “Come on. It won’t be as fun without you.” Wyatt’s twinkling green eyes tug hard at my conscience. “Please?”

“Maybe. I’ll think about it. You know I feel out of place with the kids from your school.”

He makes a face. “They like having you around. Besides, I’ll be with you the whole time.” As if that’s that, case closed, he gestures toward the computer and changes the subject. “You working on something?”

Excitement shimmers along the surface of my skin. I’m not sure if it’s mine or Iris’s or a mix of both. I glance to the window, and when I see that Mom’s still occupied by her painting, I say quietly to Wyatt, “Look at that woman at the top of the screen. Does she remind you of anyone?”

His brow creases as he studies the photo. “Not really. Why? Who is she?”

“Gail Withers. My aunt in Winterhaven. The one Ty told us he met. He said the name of her bookstore is Purple Prose. I searched for it and this came up.”

Wyatt frowns. “I don’t remember him saying anything about her owning a bookstore.”

“He told me this morning when I talked to him.” I draw my lower lip between my teeth.

“You talked to him on the phone?”

Preparing myself for his reaction, I say, “No, at the coffee shop.”

Wyatt’s eyes narrow.

Quickly, I say, “I knew he was holding out last night because you were there. I guess he didn’t realize that I’d tell you anyway. He said—”

“I don’t care what he said, because it’s crap.” Wyatt scoots back. “I’m sorry, Lil, but it just doesn’t seem like you’re thinking this through.” Gesturing at the picture of Gail, he says, “What proof do you have that she’s your aunt? He could claim that any woman her age is.”

“She looks just like Dad, Wyatt. Exactly. Don’t you see it?”

He stares at her picture for a long time, then shakes his head. “I don’t see a resemblance.”

I cross my arms. “Could it be because you don’t want to see it? Because you don’t want Ty to be right.”

“You’re imagining that they look alike because a part of you wants her to be your aunt.” A spark of impatience flares in Wyatt’s eyes. “I came over to help you figure all of this out. You don’t need Collier. I don’t trust his motives and neither should you.”

I understand then that no amount of proof will convince Wyatt that Ty doesn’t have some evil agenda. Wyatt’s being protective, and I love him for that. He cares for me, and I know that he’ll hurt even worse than Mom when they find out I’ve left with Ty.

Flooded with guilt, I say, “I’m going to call Gail Withers, Wyatt. If there’s even a small chance she’s who Ty says she is . . .”

Wyatt’s jaw twitches and the tips of his ears turn red. After several moments, he stands, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Here. Make the call,” he says stiffly.

“No, it’s okay. I can do it later.” I don’t want an audience the first time I talk to my aunt.

Wyatt puffs out his cheeks and returns the phone to his pocket. “I guess there’s no chance you’ll be going with me tonight.”

Suddenly realizing that the party will provide me the perfect opportunity to slip away with Ty, I say, “I’m not mad at you, Wyatt. I don’t want to talk about any of this at the party, though, okay? I just want to have fun together.”

He glances up. “So, you’re going?”

I nod, feeling like the worst person on earth.