Just One Drop (38 page)

It was a special moment for me. You could see the entire city from there, and gorgeous sunsets. It was also where she and I had spent many evenings together. Maybe if you love a place enough, you leave a part of you there. I certainly felt nearer to her when I went.

My mom and Kelly's mom were sisters. We'd grown up together, living in the same city. Kelly had been two years older than I. She was a sweet, caring, beautiful person. And, though I'd never told a soul, since I was tiny it seemed that Kelly had been surrounded by a glow. She would walk around looking like someone stood behind her with a dim lamp. It was so crazy I'd never even brought it up to her.

Of course, it was probably some mild hallucination or schizophrenia or something, but it was always her and no one else. An aura maybe? I'd never been sure. Whenever I was around her, though, that light seemed to create this atmosphere of peace and love. That light
was
her.

But ever since her body had been found in the river, I'd been filled with a quiet rage. Something deep inside. Her killer was never identified or found and up until last year I think that's where I'd poured my anger – in finding him. For a long time I'd frequented the jogging path she'd last been seen on, in the early mornings when it was still misty and dark. It was a reckless agenda I'd followed, waiting for him. Willing him to come my way. Why I thought he'd show up back there I don't know. I'm no psychiatrist, but I suppose grief isn't always rational.

Those days were long past, thankfully. One morning last spring I'd woken up feeling...peaceful. There was no explanation, I just hadn't felt a need to stand in the dark and wait for answers or justice.

Waking up like that, so fundamentally different, had been one of the strangest moments of my life.

I shuddered, willing myself to shake it off. Today was about remembering Kelly. She was gone, but the least I could do for her was keep our old traditions alive.

2

I drove up the winding roads into the mountain pass. It was mid-afternoon already – I'd gotten held up when my car wouldn't start. It wasn't old or anything, but once in a while battery problems would pop up, and then disappear just as quickly. I knew I should probably take it in, should've months ago, but it didn't matter right now. My thoughts were filled with Kelly.

One of my clearest memories of her was around age seven. She had just turned nine and we were near the river behind her house, playing with her new dolls. That innocent act would become a scary story told around the table at Thanksgiving. Absently I wondered how memories changed each time we replayed or retold them.

Was it less real now than it had been?

As Kelly washes her doll's hair in the river, I watch a small worm inch across the ground. I pick it up and give it a good look. I feel like it is in the wrong place on this dry patch of grass, so I gently place it in the moist soil near the water.

As I perform this task Kelly is getting closer to the river's current, attempting to dunk the doll. The worm is digging its way into the ground when I hear a small plunk. I look over at Kelly, who is no longer there. Then her hand pops out of the water. Fear shoots through my small body. “Mom!” I scream, running over to where I can see the hand. “Mom!”

No answer.

The hand dips under and without a thought I jump in. The water is cold, and fast. Already I am being pulled along, zipping past the tall grass. Kelly must have held onto something or she would have been far down the river before I did a thing. But whatever she'd done to fight the current is no longer working. I can see her hand again and her head pops up a moment, just long enough to take a breath.

By now I am panicking. But even then, at seven years old, I know it will not help me save my cousin. Channeling the one swimming lesson I'd had so far, I paddle my arms and kick my feet in an uncoordinated way. “Kelly!” I call over the water. Nothing. No part of her was visible. I realize she is beyond my reach. I feel no fear, only grief. I stop paddling, no longer compelled to fight the current.

Suddenly a bright light appears on my left. The water pulls me under before I have a chance to look. It is cold; there is no solid ground here. I float, race along,
become
part of the water.

A hand grabs mine and pulls me up. My head breaks the surface and I gasp for air. The bright light has returned. An indescribable feeling flows through my rescuer's hand into me. It
is
okay.

Don't worry, Abigail. She will be saved.

The message resonates through my mind as this person, this being of light, cradles me in the water.

By chance, two fisherman see Kelly race by and pull her out. I am found soon after, holding onto a branch near the river's edge.

The sun made its slow, steady way down to the bottom of the sky. It would soon set. This had been when Kelly and I would make our way up here, parking the car on the gravel and laying on the hood, watching the show. I pulled my camera out of the glove box and stepped out of the car. I didn't know why I'd never thought of doing this, but I would document this place, this scene. I even had Kelly's car – my car. It would seem like it had been
before
.

I snapped a hundred pictures during my time there, taking a moment to quietly watch the gorgeous colors mark out the day's end. There was something glorious about the way the sun came and left. Almost like silent, heavenly music – uplifting and peaceful. I was never religious, but I'd always been spiritual. I knew there was something more to this life than what we saw in front of us. It meant more. I found comfort in that, especially after her death. That tragedy wasn't a part of my everyday life anymore – grief fades – but when I did ponder on it, the knowledge of something
else
brought some alleviation at the thought of her loss.

Kelly and I had often talked about just that – the “something else.” It was a special knowing we'd shared. A memory of us right here, talking about just that flashes in my mind, taking me from the sunset.

The sun is gone but its light still splashes color onto the lowest clouds. Kelly lets out a long sigh. I turn my head and look at her. “What is it?”

She closes her eyes. “I don't know, Abby. I feel like I don't have the language to describe it.”

“
I think I know what you're talking about.”

Her face turns to mine, eyebrows raised. “You do?”

I smile slowly. “You feel it when the sun sets, right? Like you're floating, happy, peaceful, joyous, awed, and grateful all at the same time?”

Kelly laughs. “Exactly.”

“
It's like I get this one clouded glimpse into eternity and then it's gone,” I tell her a little sadly.

“
Hmmm.” She looks back up to the stars, her glow bright in the darkness. “I feel it everywhere.”

She had been taken from me not long after that.

I tilted my head back and wondered why I hadn't thought about that in so long. It was a treasured memory, after all. I'd often felt that there was something more to our conversations. Some hidden meaning...or maybe subtext that neither of us understood. But there was no use in thinking about it now. I shrugged to myself and capped the lens on my camera. The sun was long gone and a chill flowed through me – something didn't feel quite right. Probably because I had a million things to do at home. I made the decision to leave – homework awaited. Even though the seniors had graduated, the rest of us still had a week left. I hurried back to my car, thinking about my calc test on Monday. I was definitely going to flunk. Stupid, useless math.

Once I got in I buckled my seatbelt. The rocks around me became illuminated as a light came down the pass. Another vehicle traveled the road.

My car started with one turn of the ignition and I looked over my shoulder to back up. An anxious feeling ran through me. The light was too bright now, too close. Too late I realized what was happening and frantically tried to get the door open.

Then a thousand unpleasant sensations happened all at once.

Available @ Amazon, B&N, and Smashwords

www.thatgirlinthatjacket.com

Please enjoy this excerpt from

“
The Legacy of Kilkenny”

by Devyn Dawson

Chapter 1. Sleep

ABEL

Rolling over in bed, pulling the pillow over my head, didn’t help to muffle the noise that assaulted me awake. I sail across the room to bang my hand on my alarm clock until it is silenced, nice way to start my day. Not any day, my first day of my junior year. If things work out right, I’ll have enough money saved up to buy a car by the end of this semester. Until then, I get to ride with my mom. Lame right? It’s six in the morning, usually I’d be dragging ass since I didn’t fall asleep until four, but the first day jitters have me amped awake.

Last night I was almost asleep, and then I heard the neighbors’ dogs barking, which kept me up. Not to mention, before that happened, I saw the crazy lady across the street sneaking to water her lawn. It had been another dry summer in Oklahoma; a water rationing ordinance is in place. If anyone is caught watering their lawn, they are slapped with a hundred dollar fine. It is beyond me how she isn’t caught, being she is the only one with green grass on our street. Why risk a ticket for green grass? I never saw what caused the dogs to bark, but I was amazed that no one even bothered shushing them. No lights. No yelling. Nothing.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! I just love the wonderful sounds of the broom stick banging on the ceiling, which happens to be the floor to my room. It is one of my mom’s wonderful ideas to make sure I was awake, it sounded like a sonic boom went off under the bed. “I’m up!” I yell down to her as I bang my baseball bat on the floor. BOOM! “Mom, I’m up!” Scrambling across the room to yell out from my bedroom door, I stub my big toe on my hand weight I forgot to put away. “Shit,” I grumble under my breath.

As I do every morning, I send a text to my sister Allie, telling her to get up. I know for a fact she sleeps with the phone by her head so she can see status updates as they come across the phone. We’re both insomniacs, so mornings always come too soon. I’ve been her personal alarm clock for the last year when our mom suggested I start calling her to wake her up. So, she gets to go away and I’m still responsible to make sure she is responsible. She starts her second year at college, and I’m stuck here to entertain the parents.

The silence after she moved out was deafening. In the beginning, I would get up and walk around my room trying to make my mind shut up and let me sleep. I would hear the mumbling of my mom and dad talking, or whatever it is parents do behind closed doors when they think their kids are sleeping. I miss having Allie just a wall away, now there’s no one tapping on the wall checking if I’m awake. I don’t miss her dramatic attitude, but I do miss her driving me to school. For someone that is 5’3” and weighs next to nothing, she has enough attitude to put Chelsea Handler to shame.

The kitchen still smells of fresh paint and sawdust from the recent renovation. I’ve logged hours and hours of being in home improvement stores, staring at colors of paint. Yellow apparently isn’t just yellow anymore, it is
sweet buttery cream
not to be confused with
buttery cream.
I think it took my mom about a month to pick a color, just the other night I heard her talking about changing it. Argh. My usual backpack parking place is on the counter by the barstools…. not anymore. I might scratch the granite and I’ll be reminded how long it took her and dad to save up to have a nice kitchen. I drop my stuff by the back door for our frantic escape to get to school on time.

At breakfast, mom pours herself a cup of coffee, her big mop of black curly hair looking especially wild. Sometimes it is hard to discern between freshly fixed up hair or morning bed-head. I know better than to ask. Mom is just mom, sorta on the weird side but strangely likeable. She isn’t overly fond of her given name of Natalie, she prefers to go by Nat. She is telling me something about the cost of eggs and how it only cost her five dollars to fill up her tank when she was in high school, blah blah blah. Another morning of her non-stop chatter, a good indication she had too much caffeine.

“Is dad working tonight?” I ask as I reach around her to grab a Pop Tart and napkin.

“Abel, have you ever known your dad to miss a day of work?” Mom said as she dabbed at the coffee she dribbled on the table.

“I dunno, maybe. Hey, I’ve got a FBLA meeting after school; I’m catching a ride home with Shane so you don’t need to bother with car pool today. Okay?”

“If it gets me out of dodging crazed high school drivers, I’m good with it, just make sure you’re home by six.”

“We probably should go, don’t want to be late on my first day and all.” I shove another Pop Tart in my backpack as we both head to the car.

The car pool lane is moving so slow, move already! I can’t wait until I get a car; riding with my mom is so lame.

“Don’t forget to call me when you get home, I’ll have my cell on me. Oh, in case I’m not home there are some enchilada’s in the freezer, just heat them up in the microwave.” Mom reached in her purse handing me a fifty. “That is lunch money, so be sure to give it to the cafeteria lady.”

“It’s all good. Bye mom, I’ll see you later.” I hurried up out of the car before she started getting emotional like every year on my first day of school.

I look up at the picture perfect school. The architect must have modeled it after a story book, with its pitched roof, canopy covered walkway and crimson red bricks. Water rationing doesn’t pertain to schools, they want them to look pretty and inviting so the kids are proud of their school. I learned all that from my mom’s unquenchable thirst of news. The Daily Pied (pronounced pee’d) is her source of news that would never make it to the paper if it were one of the big hitters like The Oklahoman.