Sunblind (16 page)

“Thanks, Gwen,” Archie pretend-whines. “But you know something? You kind of ruined the mood.”

“I'm sorry! I'm always doing stuff like that!” she exclaims. She is feeling braver now; her eyes are only half-shut. “My older sister is always complaining that I bother her and her boyfriend when they want to, you know, be alone, but I can't help that we share a room!”

We have officially reached the point of no return. This girl is not going to return to wolf-like territory, so it's time to leave. On two legs. Standing up at the same time, we surround Gwen and give her a big group hug.

“Thanks, Gwen,” I say. Then I add a white lie just to make her feel important. “If it weren't for you, we probably would've made a hugomungous mistake.”

I don't let her know that she's probably given us the last laugh we're all going to have for quite a long time. Stealing a glance at Caleb, Arla, and especially Archie, I know that they're thinking the exact same thing.

Chapter 14

I need a distraction. In spite of Gwen's unintentional stand-up routine, the day is not going well, and tomorrow has the potential of being even worse. Like epically worse. Thankfully, for as much as my life has changed, it's also remained the same, and whenever I need help, Jess comes to my rescue.

Halfway home I tell Arla that I have to make an unplanned visit to Jess's house, and because Arla isn't threatened by my strong connection to the Wyatt family, she doesn't ask to tag along. However, as we part ways she reminds me to be home before dinner so I don't give her father proof that I disregard his and the town's curfew for the under twenty-one set. It's hard enough as is to sneak out of the house when Louis thinks I'm a law-abiding citizen; no need to make him suspect that I'm a juvenile delinquent who needs to be watched 24/7.

Calling after Arla, I promise that I'll be home early enough to help set the table. She doesn't turn around, but merely raises her hand to wave good-bye to me as she keeps walking down the street. She isn't angry or being dismissive; she's just got someplace to go. So do I.

I've wanted to contact Mrs. Wyatt many times over the past few months, but every time I started to dial her phone number or walk toward her house I was consumed with guilt. Today's no different, but today the guilt is mixed with something else: optimism. I'm not sure how I'll be greeted on the eve of the anniversary of Jess's death, but I have to take the chance and find out. When her mother opens the door to greet me with a warm smile and a full-bodied hug, I realize the sense of hope wasn't a result of my relationship with her; it was a result of my relationship with her daughter.

Behind Mrs. Wyatt, Jess is floating in the air, her head a few inches above her mother's, her golden sunshine filling up the entire living room. If I hadn't closed my eyes to let the tears flow, I would have had to close them to shield them from the blinding light.

“Dominy!” Mrs. Wyatt squeals. “It's so good to see you!”

She continues talking, but her mouth is nuzzled against my neck, and she's crying so hard that it's difficult to make out what she's saying.

“It's good to see you too,” I say, though I doubt she hears me over her own words and her sobs.

When we both stop crying, Mrs. Wyatt and I look at each other, not just a glance, but an extendalook, to really take each other in. I notice that there are bags under her eyes, puffy and several shades darker than the rest of her skin. Her hair has grown since the last time I saw her, and sections of it have turned gray, not just at the roots, but some strands change from black to gray at the tips. Slightly unkempt, she looks like she's standing in front of a fan, gray and black wisps of her hair lifted up and gliding on the breeze coming in through the slightly open window. Age is clinging to Mrs. Wyatt, and it's all because of me, because I murdered her daughter.

That fact grabs hold of my mind and, involuntarily, I gasp for breath. I'm sure Jess's mother thinks I'm trying to prevent myself from weeping again, not that I'm trying to shake the truth from my soul, separate my current self from my past actions. But whatever she's thinking and whatever she sees when she looks at me mustn't be the truth because she smiles.

“Jess always said you were the most beautiful girl at school,” she says quietly. “More beautiful than any girl in those celebrity magazines she loved so much.”

The comment doesn't surprise me. Jess often told me the same thing when we would be alone in our rooms experimenting with makeup and trying out new ways to wear our hair. It was never a remark based in jealousy, but a casual observation from one friend to another.

“And I see that Vernita's magic potion has worked wonders on you,” she comments.

She holds my chin in between her fingers and turns my head from left to right to inspect my skin. “Not an unsightly hair ruining your beautiful complexion,” she observes.

Nope, now that the wolf has been released, the girl shows no physical signs of being a hairy beast.

“Promise me one thing though, Dominy,” Mrs. Wyatt says, her fingers moving from my chin to my hair. “You'll never try to change the color of your hair the way Jess did. The color of fire suits you.”

Wild flames are appropriate for a wild animal I guess.

“I won't,” I promise. “I'm actually growing quite fond of my wild red mane.”

“I wish Jess had been happy with her hair,” Mrs. Wyatt says, sighing and smiling at the same time. “Most girls would kill to be blond, but Jess hated it. Always dyeing her hair, straightening it, trying to look like she was Japanese. Oh she never learned to be happy with how she was born.”

I'm struck by this comment because it makes me realize there's something I never knew Jess and I shared. We both struggled with our birthright. My tears return and so does Mrs. Wyatt's hug or perhaps it's the other way around. Doesn't matter. I knew I came here for a reason. I thought I was coming here to comfort Mrs. Wyatt and, in some small way, for her to comfort me. But the truth is, Jess is comforting us both.

I'm sitting across the kitchen table from Mrs. Wyatt, a glass of lemon-drenched iced tea in front of me. She looks over my shoulder and out the window over the sink. Her face is bathed in a mixture of sunlight and her daughter's glow. I don't know where the natural light ends and Jess's sunshine begins, and this time specifics don't matter. It doesn't make any difference where the line is drawn that separates natural from supernatural; what matters is that Mrs. Wyatt and her daughter are still connected. Whether Mrs. Wyatt knows it or not.

“I know this is going to sound bizarre, like I'm some crazy hick,” she starts. “But whenever I feel the sunshine like this, like its rays are settling right into my heart, I feel like my little girl is saying hello.”

Reaching out to grab her hand, I want to tell her she's right. I want to tell her that her daughter is right next to her and that she's made up of all the sunshine a mother's heart could hold, but I can't. She'll think I'm the crazy one, and, besides, she'll never truly understand. Better to let her just imagine the impossible. And tell her something that'll remind her how wonderful her daughter truly was.

“Jess loved you so much, Mrs. Wyatt,” I tell her. “That's why she agreed to share you with us.”

“Share me?”

A puzzled look slides across her face that I need to wipe away by sharing a memory. I can feel Jess's glow behind me, warming my back like I'm sunbathing near Weeping Water River on a hot August day, lying facedown on the grass. She isn't saying a word, but she's communicating; she's giving me her blessing to tell her mother about our secret.

“Neither Arla nor I really know our mothers,” I continue. “Mine's been in a coma forever and Arla's . . . Well, when Mrs. Bergeron stopped being a wife, she also kind of stopped being a mother.”

The actions of Louis's wayward ex-wife aren't news to Mrs. Wyatt, but they're still unfathomable and unsettling to someone like her who considers motherhood a lifelong commitment. Except for a slight pursing of her lips and shake of her head though, she doesn't let the complete disgust I know she's feeling for Louis's ex escape her body.

“So Jess told us years ago that whenever we wanted, we could share you,” I inform her. “As sort of a substitute mom.”

Upon hearing this revelation Mrs. Wyatt is unable to contain her true feelings; they're simply too overwhelming. When the rays of Jess's light hit her mother's tears, it looks like she's crying liquid gold. I've seen many wonders, many breathtaking images thanks to Jess, but this is a truly glorious sight.

“My Jess . . .” Mrs. Wyatt whispers. “She never ceases to amaze me.”

If she only knew.

Even if she doesn't, Misutakiti does.

The moment Misu enters the room he starts barking maniacally. Not at Mrs. Wyatt or at me, but at Jess. I can tell from the direction in which he's looking and the way his tail is wagging, like a metronome on speed, that he sees his beloved Jess. She knows it too. As she kneels down to greet her pet, Jess's eyes turn a few shades brighter, but joy quickly turns to disappointment when Misu runs right through her.

“Misu!” she cries.

“Calm down, boy!” Mrs. Wyatt orders.

Unable to control his glee at seeing Jess after such a long absence, Misu turns around and tries to make contact once again. This time when he leaps through her, Jess falters a bit; she actually stumbles, not at all like the poised goddess she's become. I guess that's because here in this house she isn't some deity; she's just a girl who misses her family very much.

Grabbing hold of Misu by the collar, I pull him close to me so I can whisper in his ear. I have no idea if he'll be able to hear me now that I'm not in wolf form, but it's worth a try to prevent Mrs. Wyatt from putting the poor thing into his crate for a few hours as obedience training.

“Misu, listen to me,” I instruct. “We have to act natural in front of Jess's mommy.”

Success! Instantly, Misu looks at me with eyes that contain more intelligence than most humans, and he immediately sits on his haunches and offers me his paw like a well-trained dog. He can hear me! Communicating with animals must be a carry-over trait just like enhanced vision and super speed. Sometimes this being half wolf thing actually comes in handy.

“Oh my!” Mrs. Wyatt exclaims. “Jess was the only one who could get him to quiet down like that so quickly.”

She kind of still is. As I hold Misu's paw, Jess kneels next to us and looks right into her dog's eyes. She's looking at Misu the way her mother looks at pictures of Jess.

“Oh, Misu, I think I miss you most of all,” Jess says.

Even though I react a split second after Misu, there's enough time for me to lean forward so it looks to Mrs. Wyatt like her dog is licking my cheek and not Jess's. I'm not sure why they're able to touch all of a sudden—perhaps the head Omikami had a pet dog too when he was human so he sprinkled some mercy into Jess's sunlight—but for a fleeting moment they are connected once more. I suspect that their bond would have remained unbroken for a bit longer if her brother, Jeremy, hadn't waltzed into the kitchen at that very moment with his latest girlfriend glued to his side.

“My brother is dating Rayna Delgado!?” Jess shrieks so loudly she startles both Misu and me. I topple over onto the floor as Misu lunges toward Rayna, stopping a few inches in front of her, his body tense, his tail rigid as a spear. Slowly, his growl fills the room, deep and gravelly and a growl that cannot be mistaken for a friendly hello.

“Misu, knock it off!” Jeremy growls back.

“Dominy!” Jess screams even louder. “Why didn't you tell me that my brother is dating that skank?!”

“I didn't know anything about this!” I scream in my defense. And of course I don't scream silently.

“I didn't know I had to get your approval,” Rayna replies sarcastically.

Clutching the leg of a kitchen chair, I begin the long, somewhat embarrassing, journey to stand vertical. “Um, sorry, I . . . It's just a shock, you know, seeing the two of you as, um, well . . . the two of you.”

Even if I had heard a rumor about their pairing, I would never have believed it. Jeremy is a college freshman at Big Red, reserved and studious, and, fashion-wise, very preppy. Like old-school eighties, bright-colored-polo-shirt-with-the-collar-up preppy. Rayna is a high school junior, like me, and the closest she's ever gotten to preppy and studious was dressing up like a slutty Catholic schoolgirl in freshman year for Halloween. Their coupling is definitely mix 'n' match, and even Misu is offended by the pairing.

“Jeremy, get that mutt away from me!” Rayna cries.

“He is not a mutt!” I yell back.

“Well, he is a mixed breed,” Jess confesses. “But don't tell Delslutto that!”

“Misu, I said stop barking!” Jeremy shouts, pounding his foot on the floor, the toe of his penny loafer getting dangerously close to Misu's face.

“Don't you dare!!” Mrs. Wyatt shouts.

And for the moment anyway, her maternal instincts are revealed. She tenderly grabs Misu by the collar, while sternly pointing a finger at her son. I know that she loves Jeremy as much as she loves Jess, but right now if Mrs. Wyatt had to choose between parenting her dog or her son, Jeremy would need to dial 1-800-New-Mother.

The shame that takes over Jeremy's face, making his eyelids half-close, suggests he understands that he's crossed the line and enraged his mother. His silence also suggests that he's not going to push his luck. He knows that it's only because Rayna and I are in the kitchen that his mother isn't screaming, putting him in his place for trying to hurt Misu, even if he was only doing it as a way to shock him out of killer-dog mode. Rayna, however, has not taken the hint and is still in killer-girlfriend mode.

“Jeremy,” she whiney-pouts. “You promised you would drive me home.”

“Oh my God, her voice is worse than her dye job,” Jess snips.

I have to agree with Jess on that one even though I have absolutely no idea what color Rayna's hair is supposed to be. We don't have any classes together this year, so I don't see her every day, but even from across the hallway I would have noticed a change like this. Guaranteed she did not go to Vernita, the beauty-gician, because there is no way she would've let Rayna out in public with that crime scene on her head. Could be ash blond, could be mahogany brown. Maybe outside in the natural lighting I'd be able to figure it out. What's unbelievable is that whatever the color, it's not nearly as bad as the high-pitched nasal twang she's adopted. I guess she's trying to sound cultured and sophisticated around Jeremy since he's a college boy. Instead, she sounds like a petulant hooker.