The Shadow Girl (18 page)

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.

17

After Wyatt leaves, I go upstairs and call the Purple Prose bookstore. A clerk informs me Gail’s out on an errand. I tell her I’ll call back.

After ending the call, I pull up the Milano Lawn & Garden site. Iris’s excitement crackles around me and my palms start to sweat as I punch the listed number into my phone. How will Jake react when I tell him who I am?

On the second ring, a guy answers and tells me that Jake doesn’t work there anymore. “Would you like to speak to Adrian?” he asks.

Making a guess, I say, “Adrian Milano?”

“Yeah. Jake’s mother.”

“Um, yes, thanks. That’d be great.”

Waiting, I stare out the window at the peaks and think of how Iris once told me that we’re like them—the dark east peak and the colorful west one, unable to exist alone, a part of each other. I’m not totally sure what she meant by that. I only know that I’m doing this as much for her as I am for myself.

“This is Adrian,” says a woman’s voice on the line, breaking into my thoughts.

“Um—Mrs. Milano?”

“Yes?”

“My name is Lily Winston. I’m looking for your son, Jake. I was hoping you could tell me how to get in touch with him?”

“Could I ask what this is about?”

“I’m related to a girl he knew in high school, and I want to talk to him about her. Could I get his number?”

“I knew all of Jake’s old friends,” she says in a friendly tone. “They were such a fun bunch. Who are you related to, Lily?”

Staring at the east peak, I say, “Iris Marshall was my sister.”

Over the next few seconds, I hear the background noises of the store—voices, a jingling bell, music playing. Jake’s mother remains silent.

“Mrs. Milano? Are you still there?”

“I’m here.” She clears her throat. “Iris Marshall didn’t have a sister.”

“I was born after she died.”

Another long pause, then, “How old are you, Lily? I don’t mean to be rude, but—”

“No, that’s okay. I just turned seventeen.”

“Dear God,” she whispers so softly I almost miss it. “But you said your name is Winston.”

“My parents changed their names before I was born. I didn’t know that until recently. I didn’t know I had a sister, either. Not until Dad died and—”

“Adam is dead?”

A creaking noise downstairs makes me jump. The door opening? Lowering my voice, I say, “He was killed in an accident a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry to hear that. I admired Adam very much. How’s Melanie?”

It takes a couple seconds for me to realize she’s asking about Mom. “It’s been hard on her,” I say.

“I’m sure. Give her my best, will you?”

“Yes,” I lie. There’s no way I’ll mention this conversation to Mom. Not any time soon, at least. “I really need to talk to Jake, Mrs. Milano.”

“If you’ll give me your number, I’ll pass it on to him.”

I recite the information, then hang up and sit on the bed, her whisper stuck in my mind.
“Dear God.”
Jake’s mother was surprised that I’m seventeen. Why? Because my parents lied about the miscarriage? Or something else?

We’re getting closer
, I tell Iris, then shift my thoughts back to Dad. This morning when Ty told me about the little boy Dad tried to help, I started wondering if he might’ve attempted a similar experiment on Iris. In addition to his work on healing brain injuries, could Dad have also been using stem cells to try to cure leukemia? Is that even possible? It would explain Iris’s insistence that someone did something to her that she found frightening. She freaked out when Ty mentioned Dad’s team member at Cell Research Technology, Ian Beckett. Since Iris was Dad’s daughter, might Beckett have carried out the actual procedure in his place? If only she could remember the details. . . .

I’m so rattled by my thoughts and from talking to Jake’s mom that I can’t bring myself to try calling my aunt again. I punch in Ty’s number instead, and when he picks up, I say, “I really need to talk to you about something in person. Can you meet me now?”

“Sure.”

“If you’re up for a hike, I’ll meet you at the rock wall at one o’clock.”

“I’ll be there,” says Ty.

I lean against the rock wall at the edge of the trail. The earth smells spicy and damp, and for a second, I wish I could stay here forever, alone with Iris where I’ve always felt safe—at least I always did until the morning of my birthday.

Closing my eyes, I listen to the gurgling stream on the other side of the trail, my back to the wall, my palms pressed lightly against the rock. I imagine the power of a hundred souls radiating through the hard granite and into me, giving me strength. I feel like it’s time for me to tell Ty about my relationship with Iris. He might be able to help me figure out what happened to her. And I don’t want any more secrets between us. But what if he reacts the same way Wyatt did?

“Hey,” says Ty, and I jump and open my eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” As he walks up the trail toward me, sunlight filters down through the trees, streaking golden highlights in his hair.

“Hey back.” I smile as he stops in front of me.

He reaches out a hand, then hesitates and withdraws it, eyeing me with uncertainty. “Are we okay?”

Ty’s hopeful, narrow-eyed appraisal shoots a current of electricity through my body from my head to my toes. “We’re okay,” I tell him.

He drapes his arms loosely around my waist. “Do you have more questions about your dad?”

“Only about a million, but I want to talk about my sister right now.” I twist the hem of his shirt around my finger, gazing down at my hand. “Have you heard any of the legends about this area?”

“Only the one you told me about the wall.”

“There are plenty of others. One claims that people who sleep in the shadow of the peaks never die.” I lift my gaze to his. “Maybe my sister was one of them. Maybe my parents brought her here when she was sick, or something.”

Cocking his head, Ty frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Promise me you’ll try to have an open mind, okay?” He nods, and I draw a long breath and tell him everything. As I talk, I try to interpret each subtle change in his posture, but can’t. Ty listens quietly, and when I finish, his expression is alive with amazement, but not even a glimmer of disbelief.

“That’s just—” He laughs. “God, Lily! How did you stay quiet about her? Hearing her voice in your head . . . feeling her
inside
of you! I would’ve gone totally crazy keeping something like that to myself.”

Stunned by his reaction, I say, “You don’t think I am? Crazy, I mean?”

He shakes his head. “Not at all.”

“I thought you’d at least question me. See if I have delusions of persecution and all the other symptoms that go along with being schizoid.” I laugh.

Ty studies my face. “Nope. I don’t see it in you. Sorry.” His mouth curves into a crooked grin.

“No apology necessary.” I laugh again, amazed that he believes me. “I had to stay quiet about Iris. To me, she’s as normal as breathing, but I figured out early on that other people probably wouldn’t think so—even my parents. So I kept my mouth shut.”

“You didn’t tell Wyatt?”

“I just did. He thinks I’ve either lost it, or I’m making the whole thing up to explain why I kissed him the other day.”

“You kissed him?” Ty squints at me.

“Sort of.” I wince.

He smirks and draws back. “How do you ‘sort of’ kiss someone?”

“I’m pretty sure Iris made me do it. It was like he was someone else. Her boyfriend, Jake.”

“She didn’t have anything to do with you kissing
me
, did she?”

“We kissed?” I tease.

“If you’ve already forgotten, maybe you need a reminder.” He lifts one arm from my waist, hooks his index finger in the neckline of my shirt, and draws me closer. Then his mouth lowers to mine, and I
do
forget. I forget everything except how crazy I am about him. He tastes like cinnamon and coffee, and I don’t ever want him to stop.

When he does, I touch my forehead to his and say, “Don’t worry. Iris didn’t have anything to do with that. Or any of the other times, either.”

He laughs. “That’s a relief.”

“Not half as much as the fact that you believe me.”

Ty tilts his head back and shrugs. “It’s a simple law of physics that energy doesn’t go away, it just changes form. It makes a weird kind of sense that your sister’s energy would attach to you.”

A breeze swoops through, rubbing the branches of the trees together and making them creak. “If that’s true, why doesn’t it happen to everybody?” I ask.

“I don’t know. There’re a lot of things that can’t be explained.”

I twist a strand of his hair around my finger. “I think I missed out on a lot, by not having Iris in my life. As a real person, I mean. Like you have Kyle.”

Ty’s face darkens. “Sometimes I wanted to throttle him. He could really bug me, you know? It’s weird, but the things Kyle did that used to piss me off the most are some of my best memories now.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I know your parents are going to be glad to have you back. They need you right now.” I take a breath, ready to tell him that I want to go with him, but before I can, he drops his head and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Not my dad,” he says. “I don’t know if he’s ever going to be able to even look at me again.”

“What? Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because—” I hear his breath catch. He opens his eyes and looks at me. “The accident was my fault. I was driving the car.”

“Oh, Ty. No.”

“I was home for Christmas break. Dad and I had a fight. I don’t even remember what about; that’s how unimportant it was. Kyle was at a friend’s and I’d gone to pick him up. The roads were icy, and because I was pissed off at Dad, I was speeding. When the light at the intersection changed to red I slammed on the brake, but I was going too fast to stop on the ice, and I slid into the oncoming traffic.”

I lean my forehead against his again. “I’m so sorry.”

“The guy in the other car walked away with a few broken bones. I had a gash in my cheek. Kyle wasn’t so lucky.”

I think of the scar on his face that I barely notice anymore. “Let me try to help you,” I say quietly.

“I don’t deserve to be helped.” He pulls away from me. “Dad has every right to feel like he does. And Mom—” He swallows. “Well, she’s my mother. She’s already lost one son; I guess she can’t stand the thought of losing me, too.”

“She hasn’t lost Kyle. Not yet.”

“Yeah, and it’s all up to me now—how much longer he lives. They’re waiting until I get there to turn off the machines. Do you know what that feels like? I’ve been telling myself that if I stay away long enough, there’ll still be time for a miracle. The problem is, the only miracles I believe in are the kind people make for themselves.” He snorts derisively. “So there you go. All I have to do is figure out how to make one.”

Cautiously, I say, “I want to go with you to Baltimore.”

Surprise flickers across Ty’s features. “Your mom isn’t about to let you get in a car with me, much less drive all the way to Baltimore.”

“I won’t tell her. Not until we’re already gone.”

“She’ll kill you. After she kills me first, that is.” He shakes his head slowly. “Your mom’s been through a lot. Have you thought about how worried she’d be?”

“I know she’ll worry, but Addie and Wyatt will watch out for her while I’m gone. And once I explain things to her, she’ll realize I had to go.” I take his hand, lace our fingers together. “I want to be there for you and your family, Ty. Your mom was right about Iris’s music. It helps, somehow. I can play for Kyle. I want to. Please take me with you.”

After a long hesitation, he says, “Are you sure?”

I nod.

“Okay, then.” He exhales loudly. “When can you get away?”

“I’m going to Wyatt’s senior party after his graduation tonight. I should have plenty of chances to slip away without him missing me for a while. Just be ready to go and I’ll call you when the time is right.”

“If Wyatt gets to me first, you can forget what I said about your mom killing me. He’ll have already done it. You sure you won’t regret this?”

I think of Wyatt . . . of Mom . . . how upset they’ll be. But then I think of Kyle and Ty’s parents. Of Ty and what lies ahead for him. Shaking my head, I say, “No regrets.”

A big flock of fluttering crows has invaded Silver Lake High’s gymnasium. At least that’s how it looks from my position in the bleachers between Mom and Addie as we watch the students gathered below us in their black caps and gowns. Folding chairs cover the floor in short rows, like corn in a field, and ninety-three seniors dart between them, hugging and nudging one another, laughing and calling out names as they move from one huddled group to the next.

I look through the binoculars Addie brought and zero in on a girl with neon-pink hair—Sylvie, of course. While most of the other girls are wearing sandals or heels, clunky leather boots peek out from beneath the hem of her gown. She’s standing with a tall guy who’s as skinny as a green bean. He leans down and whispers something in her ear, then nods to a group of girls a few feet away. Sylvie clutches her stomach and bends forward at the waist laughing, like she’s about to pee her pants. I lower the binoculars and smile, hoping she’ll be at the party later. No way it could be boring with Sylvie there. And I might need her help to make my escape.