The Shadow Girl (17 page)

Neither of us has spoken a word since we left Ty’s apartment, and I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I jump at the sound of his voice. I press my palms against the folder in my lap. “Everything he said . . . it’s too much to take in. I don’t even know where to start.”

“I know your parents. If they uprooted their lives and lied to you, there’s a good reason for it. I still think the most logical one is the witness-protection program. We should just ask your mom flat out.”

“I guess, but the way she’s been acting, I doubt she’d answer us.” I nibble my lip. “What if I do have an aunt in Massachusetts? And maybe an uncle and grandparents and cousins?” My laugh sounds cold and sharp. “Wouldn’t it be crazy if I’ve been alone my whole life when I have this huge family I could’ve been a part of?”

“You haven’t been alone,” says Wyatt softly. “I’m your family and you’re mine.”

“I know that,” I say, my throat so tight with emotion I have to squeeze out the words.

I turn my attention to the windshield and the dusty ribbon of road unfurling ahead of us. As much as I want to believe that Wyatt is right about the witness-protection program, it doesn’t make sense. Why would Mom be so terrified for me to find that out? And why would she feel a need to protect me from Ty?

The motor hums as we rumble along the bumpy road. “My parents lived a very different life before I was born,” I say. “What Ty said about Mom teaching art in Winterhaven . . . it makes sense. She’s been an artist my whole life. And those sketches we found in the workshop. All of the things Ty said fit, Wyatt. I’m really scared.” I blink at him. “What does it all mean?”

“We’ll get to the bottom of it.” He turns off the county road and onto our lane. Glancing across at me he adds, “You and me together, okay?”

Minutes later, Wyatt swings his truck into our gravel driveway, turns off the headlights, and kills the engine.

“I’ll go in with you, and we can look through those articles,” he says.

“We don’t have to tonight. It’s really late and you have graduation practice tomorrow.”

“You sure? I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure,” I say, knowing that I’ll do it on my own after he leaves. “Wyatt, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’ll always be here if you need me. That’ll never change.”

Shadows carve dark hollows beneath his cheekbones. In his expression, I see all the things that I’ve always loved about him, and more. I’m not sure I’m being fair to Wyatt since I still have feelings for Ty, but I don’t back away as he leans closer and cups my face. He traces my lower lip with the pad of his thumb, and I stop breathing.

“I’m not good at this, Lily,” he murmurs.

“You’re wrong about that,” I say in just above a whisper, smiling.

Wyatt slides his hand to the back of my head and brings our faces so close that our noses touch. “I’d never lie to you. I’d never try to hurt or confuse you.”

But he
is
confusing me. As our mouths meet, and I taste his lips and our breaths mingle, I can’t understand what’s happening to me. How can this be Wyatt who is turning my body to liquid heat? How can I be kissing him back as if I’m starving for him? How can I feel what I’m feeling for Wyatt when Ty still owns a giant piece of my heart?

Shaken, I pull away, my heart in my throat.

“Wow.” Wyatt exhales. “Was that Iris or you?”

“Me.” I feel myself blush.

“And you were kissing . . . ?”

“You.”

He grins. “I hoped you’d say that.” Reaching back, he opens his door.

Wyatt is out of the truck, around to my side, and opening the door before I can move. He takes my hand to help me climb down, and we walk into the cabin together.

I lay the folder on the coffee table, then peek into Mom’s bedroom. She’s still asleep, snoring softly. Closing her door, I return to the living room and whisper to Wyatt that everything is okay.

“I’ll come by after practice tomorrow,” he says. “We’ll figure all of this out, Lil. I’ll even try to talk to your mom, if you want.”

Still dazed by our kiss, I nod, unable to speak.

“Well, see you later.” His gaze roams my face. “Don’t forget my graduation ceremony tomorrow night.”

I stand at the front window and watch him drive away, stunned by what happened between us in the truck . . . and how he made me feel.

I don’t go to bed after Wyatt leaves. Propped up against a pile of pillows on my bed with Cookie stretched out at my side, I stare down at the folder of articles Ty gave me, afraid to open it. My parents have betrayed my trust in so many ways. I’m not sure how many more of their lies I can handle.

Cookie sighs so deeply he moans. “I know what you mean,” I murmur, stroking the velvet oval of his ear. My lips still tingle from Wyatt’s kiss. I want to regret what happened, but I don’t. Still, I’m torn. Shouldn’t my new feelings for Wyatt erase all my feelings for Ty? Even though I kissed Wyatt and liked it, it’s Ty I want to talk to now. Ty’s voice I want in my ear, his dark eyes I want to look into. The same dark eyes that calmed me that morning on the peak when Dad was dying and I was out of my mind.

I want so much to believe that his feelings for me really kept him from leaving Silver Lake. I can’t stand thinking that he had an ulterior motive for getting close to me. Could it be true that he only came here to persuade Mom and Dad to talk to his parents?

“Iris,” I whisper aloud, and hold my breath.

She’s here, of course. The white noise that I’ve become accustomed to, the constant snowy static in the background of my mind that’s easy to ignore because it’s always there. “Is this how you felt about Jake?” I ask.

There’s a break in the hiss, a hiccup so brief that I might’ve missed it if I hadn’t been desperate to hear. And in that tiny space of time, the sighed words:
Find him
.

I’ll try.
Hoping for a miracle, I ask,
Did Ty’s story bring back any memories? Other than our aunt, I mean?

A reporter . . . he said my music had an incredible soothing effect. I played for patients in hospitals . . . nursing homes.

Mom said you helped her,
I say
.

Her lupus. The music made her forget the pain for a while.

Encouraged by how much is coming back to her, I ask,
What else, Iris? Who is the man who scared you? What did he make you do?

Can’t remember. Jake will know. . . .

Dread presses down on me as I open the folder in my lap. At the top of the pile of clippings I find an article from a 1993 newspaper about an investigation of Dad’s research. I stare at it for a full minute, hesitant to read what’s there. Finally, I take a breath and start at the top.

Words swim before me . . .
independent stem cell studies . . . raised ethical questions . . . gene manipulation on a human subject . . . led to child’s early death . . . cleared of misconduct . . .

I sit back against the headboard, sick inside. I don’t completely understand what I read, and I’m not sure that I want to. What kind of man
was
Dad back then?

Iris’s answer brings relief, if not understanding:
The same man you knew.

Desperate to believe her, I skim the article again, then with an unsteady hand, grab my phone off the nightstand and punch in Ty’s number. He answers after the first ring. “I was just about to call you,” he says.

“Don’t leave in the morning. I read the first article. It was about one of Dad’s projects.” My voice falters as I add, “A little boy died, Ty.”

He hesitates, then says, “We need to talk. I’ll come out there. I didn’t want to tell you about it in front of Wyatt.”

“It’s bad, isn’t it.”

“Don’t worry.” He exhales. “It wasn’t your dad’s fault. I’ll tell you what happened.”

“Okay, but I don’t want to risk Mom hearing us. Meet me at the Daily Grind at six thirty. I want to leave the house before she wakes up. If I can’t get away for some reason, I’ll call you.”

“I’ll be there,” Ty says.

We hang up. I need to find those keys.

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.