Drinking Life (Keeper of the Water Book 1) (29 page)

Mom looks behind me and I sense someone approaching. I turn defensively, ready to defend us, and see Cassie standing there with a shovel in hand. Cassie makes no move to hit me with it but I can’t shake the feeling that attacking me from behind is something she’s capable of.

“I was walking near the river and tripped over this shovel. You two might want to come and see this.”

The only reason we follow her is because of how genuinely concerned she looks. Near the river, she points to an area of freshly dug soil in the shape of a grave. A cross made of sticks impales the dirt at the head of the grave and upon closer inspection, we see a set of initials carved into it: P.F. As if this doesn’t give me enough of a sinking feeling, Mom grabs something perched atop the makeshift cross.

“Your father’s ring,” Mom says, unable to hold back the tears.

“But how… I mean, who could’ve…” I start to ask, though I can only think of one possibility. “The other soldier? Did he come back to dig Dad’s grave?”

“They didn’t even get the second initial right,” Mom says between sobs. “
If
it’s him in there.”

She grabs the shovel from Cassie and begins to dig but doesn’t scoop out a single load before stopping. She drops the shovel and sits on the edge of the river, looking out at the water. Cassie and I join her but none of us says a word. I’m sure Mom is thinking about my father, Cassie thinking about John. But as much as my mind focuses on the two most important men in my life, one question looms even larger.

Who else knows about my father’s
real
initials?

As much as we’d like to sit by the river in silence and ignore the rest of our problems, too much activity remains near the burnt garage and trailer. A few police officers approach us to ask questions and Mom instantly jumps to her feet to talk to them.
Nothing
would get Cassie to move from her spot but I go with Mom to provide moral support. But her inner strength continues to astound me, as she gives the cops no indication that anyone was hurt.

Never once does she mention my father and when they ask more about the ‘Adventure Guides,’ Mom explains that her business partner is currently on a trip and out of cell phone range.

“Is it true you told one of the firefighters earlier that a pair of men in black trucks had been giving you a hard time?” the officer asks.

“My… daughter. She’s been followed by them a few times,” Mom says.

The officer looks at me and frowns. “And you said there was
two of them
?” he asks me. I nod. “Because we just found
one
of the trucks parked on an access road not far away through these woods. Fresh tire tracks indicate the second one sped away not too long ago. But we
also
found a Jeep parked there, a Jeep owned by
this
tourist attraction.”

I’d hoped the other soldier only survived long enough to escape from here and die someone in the forest. But if he got all the way back to his truck and drove away, he must be in better shape than I suspected. But right now, I need to focus on the suspicious officer.

“They tried running me off the road so I pulled off and ran back here,” I explain.

“I thought you three ladies were off on a nature hike when the fire occurred?” the cop asks.

“We were,” Mom intercedes as I blush from nearly being caught in a lie. “We were heading into the woods to retrieve the Jeep. I was ready to give those men a piece of my mind for following my daughter.”

“Did you think that was wise, ma’am?” the officer asks. “You’re supposed to call
us
if you’re having a problem with someone.”

It takes all my effort to stifle a snort. The officer might be a few inches taller than me but the spare tire around his gut and receding hairline on his head show that the peak of his physical prowess passed many years ago. His silent partner is young but much smaller. I’d have little problem disarming them both in the matter of seconds. I don’t even want to think what one of the goons could’ve done to them. But Mom remains cool and nods her head respectfully.

“I figured they were just a couple kids I could scare off with a little yelling,” she says. “Had I know they were capable of causing such destruction, I wouldn’t have hesitated to call you guys.”

“What about the other girl with you? Why is she still down by the river? Do you think there’s anything else she could add?”

“No,” I say, maybe a bit
too
quickly. The last thing we want is the police poking around near the freshly dug grave.

“Cassie is just upset about the fire. She’s nervous about telling her mother of our lost equipment,” Mom says.

I can see that the officer
wants
to figure out the truth,
wants
to catch us in a lie. In a town where very little happens, the cops are treating this like the Crime of the Century. If they only knew the half of it…

“Well, we’ll run the license plates on the other truck and take it from here. You’ll be hearing from us soon,” he says, handing his card to Mom. “In the meantime, we can set up a patrol at the end of your driveway if you’re worried they might come back.”

“Thank you very much for the offer but please don’t worry yourselves. You’ve already done so much to help us, we couldn’t possibly ask for any more. Besides, I don’t think those punks will be back considering the chaos they’ve caused,” Mom says.

“Don’t hesitate to call if there are any more problems. We’ll be in touch,” the officer says.

By the time they leave, Mom has them eating out of her palm. But I know we don’t have much time.

“It won’t take the police long to trace the trucks back to John’s house. And when they realize he goes to the same school as Cassie and me, they’ll have plenty more questions for us, especially about John’s disappearance,” I say. A swarm of flapping butterflies attacks my belly as I worry about him again. “They’ll
have to
find out about Daddy eventually and wonder why you never mentioned him.”

Any mention of my father sets off Mom’s tears. Again, I wonder how she held herself together so well in front of the police. She slowly shakes her head.

“They won’t find out about him,” she says upon composing herself. “He purposely kept himself off the paperwork for the business, the cabin, the vehicles; everything is in my name because he didn’t want anyone finding out about his past in jail. There’s no record of him
anywhere
—we’re the only ones who’ll know to miss him.”

Mom threatens to break down again but inhales deeply to steady her breathing.

“This may come as a shock but your father and I were never
officially
married. Soon after we met, we spent some time on a Native American reservation for the Shoshone tribe. One of the elders married us in a small ceremony but we never filed the papers with the government.”

This news
is
surprising until I give it more thought. Dad certainly had a need for secrecy, a need to avoid living on the grid. Knowing his secret makes me feel uncomfortable so I switch the subject before I can slip up and say something I might regret. Besides, Mom seems to be in a very honest mood now and I have
lots
of questions that need answering.

“Earlier you mentioned how we share blood,” I say. “But you
aren’t
one of the warrior women. I’m sure there’s more to that story?”

Mom nods. “I was never part of that tribe, part of that life, but I was dragged into it against my will. I’ve tried to do my best to raise you despite the circumstances but I’m not…” She stops and sighs, more tears escaping her eyes. “I’m sorry, but I’m not your real mother.”

I
should
be stunned but nothing could be further from the truth. A part of me has known this all along. If anything, confusion is what I feel the most.

“But the DNA tests said we’re related,” I say. “Did Daddy get the results
before
that day and do something to change them?”

My mother shakes her head. “You and I
are
related but I am not your mother.”

“Then what
are
you?”

“It’s more like the other way around,” she says.

I
hear
her words but it takes a while for their meaning to register. I open my mouth to talk but all that comes out is a short grunt. This isn’t making any sense.

“You’re saying that I’m
your
mother?” I finally say, the idea so utterly ridiculous that I feel like a fool just saying it.

“More like my great-grandmother,” Mom says. “About a dozen generations removed.”

Now I’m
really
confused. So many questions and thoughts
should
be running through my mind but I can’t get over the shock long enough to pinpoint any one thing. All I know for certain is that today
wasn’t
the first time I ever drank the magical water. Finally, I manage to choke out a single word.

“How?”

“I know
when
it happened but not exactly how or why,” Mom answers. “I never really wanted to know more than what was needed and Celeste agreed.”

“Then tell me what you
do
know.”

“Someone’s coming!” Cassie calls out from the river.

Mom and I look at each other. I desperately want to know more about the past—about who I am or where I came from—but those answers take a backseat to a more pressing question. We take off toward the river. I don’t bother moving slow enough for her to keep up. I make a quick detour into the nearby woods to grab my bow—hey, you never know—before sprinting toward the river. I still reach Cassie by the riverbank before Mom.

In the far distance, I see the slightest dot on the river. I can’t believe Cassie spotted it in the first place. I’m not even sure what it is but after several minutes, I make out the outline of someone rowing the raft, which is even more deflated than before.

“It’s my mother,” Cassie says, her voice a mixture of anticipation and dread.

I lower the bow and wait, feeling my heartbeat growing quicker and quicker. I stand still as a statue but Cassie’s foot taps so fast it’s a blur.

“Can you see John?” she asks.

Celeste’s form is the only one I see sitting in the raft, rowing. My legs go weak and I feel sick but I don’t give up hope. Too many crazy things have happened for me to assume anything. In possibly the most shocking move that’s occurred yet, Cassie’s hand shoots toward me. I recoil as if she’s attacking me but her hand grabs mine and squeezes. I do
not
expect this show of solidarity but any positive feeling doesn’t last very long.

My view of Cassie and the river disappears in a flash, replaced with a vision I had from an earlier dream. It may have been months since I had this dream but I recognize it in an instant.

Near a river… it’s dark out… my enemy kneeling… her back turned to me in the darkness… rocks on the ground in the formation of a –

A cross. My eyes snap back to
this
moment and when I look down at the ground, I see rocks in the exact same formation. I yank my hand away from Cassie, who looks at me with surprise.

“What is
that
?” I ask pointing down.

Cassie looks at the ground, confused. She still appears hurt that I broke away from her grasp and our shared concern.

“You mean the rocks? I don’t know,” she says, shrugging. “I didn’t even realize I was doing it.”

She kicks the rocks aside and turns back toward the river, where the raft is getting much closer. Any bad feeling I had about Cassie and the strange rock formation is forgotten when the raft comes close enough so we can see inside.

John is not in it.

Cassie begins to sob, crouching down, wrapping her arms around her knees. She looks like a small child. Mom steps forward to comfort her but thinks better of it. Shared loss is not enough to create a bond or heal their fractured relationship. I feel hollow inside, empty where my heart had once been. My mind is numb, unable to process the feelings of loss and agony and sadness that I
should
be feeling. Instead, I remain still and watch Celeste rowing until she reaches our shore. She does not appear sad or upset so hope springs into my chest for the briefest moment.

But then she shakes her head slowly.

Cassie’s subsequent scream is so blood curdling that I’m glad the police aren’t patrolling nearby.

“What happened?” I ask.

“He didn’t make it,” Celeste says matter-of-factly as she drags the busted raft ashore.

“Well what did you try?” I ask.

Celeste glances toward Cassie, obviously not wanting to say anything in front of her. Unfortunately, Cassie senses something in that glance and hops to her feet. Her face skews in rage, replacing her extreme grief.

“You didn’t
want
John to live!” she screams at the top of her lungs. I’ve never seen Cassie so enraged, uncontrollable, her voice so high-pitched and shrieking that I barely understand her words. I may have accused her of being fake or overdramatic in the past but I doubt someone could fake this emotion. Besides, I don’t exactly disagree with her accusations considering the way Celeste feels about John.

Correct that:
felt
.

“You just killed the most important person I’ve ever known!” Cassie screams.

Celeste doesn’t try to deny—or sugarcoat—anything.

“He was a bad influence on you. He
always was
,” Celeste says.

She’s so heartless about the situation that for once, I find myself siding with Cassie. I try to take her hand to calm her down but she immediately pulls it away and pushes me. I wasn’t ready for that and nearly fall, surprised by her strength.

“
You
tried to steal him from me!” she yells at me. “But when he wanted nothing to do with you, you wanted him dead, too!
Whore!
”

I don’t experience uncontrollable rage like her—in fact, my exterior remains calm—but something snaps inside me nonetheless. Before I realize what I’m doing, I step toward her, open my palm and swing it toward her face. Just inches before I slap the taste out of her mouth, a hand catches my wrist. Celeste yanks me toward her and twists my arm, painfully, behind my back. The pain wakens my anger and I jerk my head back, smashing it into Celeste’s face so hard that she lets go of my arm.