44: Book Six (10 page)

I regretted having said it even before the words fully left my mouth.

David looked at me, his eyes serious.

“I’m grateful that I have you as a friend, Abby Craig. That’s what I was just telling the universe.”

I looked over and could see his eyes grow shiny.

“I mean that. I asked the universe to keep you safe. You know, with all those ghosts and investigating murders and all. It seems like it’s become your job. You should be getting paid for it. Handsomely.”

“I wish,” I said.

There was that word again. And here I was back in that place again. The place where wishes came to die.

***

The scene played out again in my mind as we approached Mt. Bachelor in silence. It was all so long ago, but still so close. I could almost touch that one memory it was so vivid and big and real, slicing at my heart.

He was going too fast.

He passed cars that were going slow as Metallica filled the car, drum solos pounding behind our conversation. We were talking about school, about Amanda, about how she didn’t like that we were hanging out together so much. Amanda knew what was developing. She had sensed something was happening between us. She knew that Jesse loved me.

“Okay, don’t get mad,” he said as we drove. Big flakes were falling and sticking to the car. There were thick patches of ice on the road. “I didn’t tell her you were coming up with me today. I told her I needed to think about our relationship on my own. So if she asks, you weren’t here.”

A wave of guilt flooded through me. I didn’t like lying, didn’t like sneaking around. And I didn’t want to be the cause of the breakup. It made me feel terrible. But it was obvious, and Jesse knew my feelings for him had changed since the night when we had kissed.

We loved each other.

“Don’t worry, Craigers, I’ll fix this. It’ll all be fine,” he said as he placed his hand on my thigh and the music was loud and my heart thumped like crazy and I felt so good inside.

“I don’t love her. I love you. I always have. I wish it hadn’t played out like this, but I’ve been waiting for you since we were kids,” he said, his green eyes melting into mine. “I’m not ever letting you go.”

And then we hit the ice.

CHAPTER 28

“So the most important thing is to be flexible,” I said. “Today, we’re going to see if we can get you down the small hill. And I’m going to teach you how to fall. Hopefully after a little while, we can get you going down a real hill.”

“Like that one?” David asked, followed by a laugh.

He was pointing at one of Jesse’s favorite runs. It was strictly for experts, the longest and toughest run on the mountain. I remembered the crazy expression of pure joy on Jesse’s face whenever he talked about it.

A small smile formed on my lips. This place had good memories too.

“No, David. I don’t even go down that one. I was thinking more of the bunny run.”

“Aw,” he said. “All right. So when was the last time you were up here?”

“God, it’s been a while. Maybe three years. I used to come here when I was looking for Jesse. He used to love to snowboard. I was hoping I’d find his ghost flying down the mountain. I never did see him here though.”

I liked being able to talk to David about Jesse. Why couldn’t it be that way with Ty?

“I wish I could see ghosts,” David said. “But only the nice ones. I would quit Back Street and set up a little shop downtown. Maybe I could be in contact with celebrity ghosts. That way people would pay real money to come and talk to them. But until that happens, I guess it’s just love over money for this buckaroo.”

“Buck a what?”

“Never mind that. I’m counting on you to do your part, Abby Craig. I don’t want to put any added pressure on you, but Sven and I are going skiing next week.”

“Oh, my God, David,” I said, flustered. Mo was right. He really was going to end up killing himself. “I don’t think you’ll be ready.”

“Oh, I’ll be ready. And relax, silly,” he said. “I got it covered. It’s what great actors do, you know. I told him I had a slight injury this summer and I’m off my game. Anyway, I think he kind of likes me already. This will just be icing on the cake.”

We pulled into the parking lot.

“Okay, this is just basic, but watch the ice when you’re walking. It’s slick. Don’t fall.”

“Gotcha,” David said, getting out of the Jeep.

A second later he was on the ground.

“I’m good,” he yelled. “No worries!”

It was good practice for what was to come.

He spent most of the afternoon with his face planted in the snow. But he had a good attitude about it and kept getting up.

“Just call me Jean Claude,” he said the first time he managed to stay upright for more than three seconds. “Ooh la la.”

But in the end he didn’t break anything, so in that sense it was a success.

When he had had enough, I left him at the bar, a pepper-infused vodka in one hand, a faraway look in his eyes. He would sleep well tonight.

A few minutes later I was riding the ski lift, gripping my poles tightly.

Maybe David was right. Maybe it was like riding a bike. My balance seemed fine, but the bunny hill wasn’t really skiing.

When it was time to jump off the lift, I hesitated. I felt my heart pounding. I thought about just staying on and going back down.

But it was time. Time to take it back.

Time to live how I wanted to live. Be the person I wanted to be. To step out back into the light. To not be a victim of anything anymore. To just deal with what was in front of me and then move on to the next thing.

I stepped out of the way and looked over at Broken Top. It was my favorite mountain. Strong. Tall. Broken, but still strong. Nothing was going to move it or change it. Since coming up here when I was little, it looked the same. In the seasons it changed and rocky chunks of it fell away from time to time, but its core, its essence was always there. Even if it was, like the name said, a little broken.

I inhaled the icy air and put on my goggles.

And then I pushed off, more than a little scared, more than a little broken, but unbowed, flying down the mountain.

CHAPTER 29

I sat at one of the tables near the window, sipping a hot peppermint mocha Lyle had made for me. It was good. Foamy and rich, and made with some of our best beans.

The café was empty with two hours to go before we closed. Lyle and I were the only ones working, and he asked in a real soft voice if it was okay if he could be in charge of the music for the evening. I had imagined that Mo never let him, and most of the time he worked with her.

“Sure,” I said.

Soon, jazz filled the café. It was nice.

“Chet Baker,” he said.

I was spending my break staring at my laptop screen, scrolling through page after page of smiling 17- and 18-year-olds.

It was a long shot. I knew that. But with only a face to go by, I thought I would at least try.

The past few years, a couple of the local high schools had been coming out with a PDF edition of their yearbooks that could be downloaded from their websites. The girl in my vision was young. Maybe young enough to have gone to high school around here in the past few years.

If I could just get a name, it would make everything so much easier.

I scanned through the rows of faces, looking for any girl with light hair, full lips, and large eyes.

But it was hard. There were a few who could possibly have been her, but there was always something off about their eyes. But maybe that was just because the girls in the photos weren’t dead. Or at least, not dead yet.

But as I finished the yearbook from 2010, my gut told me that this was getting me nowhere.

I sighed and opened up the PDF from the most recent yearbook anyway.

“So what are you doing?” Lyle said, carrying a plastic bin of dirty ceramic cups to the sink. He came back and looked over my shoulder at the photos.

I scrambled, trying to think of a reasonable explanation about why I was looking at pictures of high school students.

“Oh, it’s… just this girl I’m looking for,” I said, making it up as I went along. “She helped me out last week with the Jeep. I had some car trouble. I didn’t catch her name and I just wanted to thank her.”

“Hmm,” Lyle said. “I see. What was wrong with your car?”

“Uh…” I said, trying to think of something. “It was the battery.”

“That’s why I ride a bike,” he said, wiping his hands off on his apron.

I had a hard time imagining Lyle getting his white man afro into a helmet. It seemed like it would have defied physics.

“Well, maybe I could help you,” he said. “If you can remember what she looked like, I could draw a sketch for you. But I’m afraid I haven’t brought my charcoals with me today.”

“That’s nice of you,” I said. “But I don’t know if that’d do any good. I’m beginning to think that all of this is just a fool’s errand.”

I sighed and clicked out of the yearbook. If she’d gone to high school in Bend, she must have gone to another school.

I looked up at Lyle, who was still hovering around the table.

“So have you been an artist your entire life?” I asked.

As long as the café was empty, I figured I might as well make small talk.

“Oh, yes,” he said after a long break. “I’d never thought of it that way, but yes. My entire life.”

“That’s your dream, then? To sell your photos and paintings, and be an artist fulltime?”

He sat down at the table across from me.

“Well, no. Not anymore,” he said, his soft, calming voice barely audible over the jazz playing in the back. “Maybe it was once, when I was younger. But I think it’s important to let go of the past when things don’t go your way. Dreams evolve with age. They’ve grown up, like me. No, my big dream now is of owning a jazz biscuit bar and selling my art there.”

“A what?”

“A jazz biscuit bar.”

I stared at him for a moment, trying to picture what that would look like. The jazz part was clear, but the biscuit part wasn’t.

“What do you—”

Lyle interrupted.

“
Hold fast to dreams, for when dreams go,”
he said. “
Life is a barren field, frozen with snow
.”

It sounded familiar, and took me a moment to place. High school, freshman year. 

“That’s that Langston Hughes poem, isn’t it?”

“One of my very favorite poets,” Lyle said. “Very inspirational. He was ahead of his time.”

A customer came in and Lyle got up. I closed my computer and headed back over to help.

Later as I rang up the next few customers and started cleaning, I thought about Lyle and my own dreams. I made a vow to call the culinary school at the college. It was supposed to be state of the art. I loved cooking. Maybe that was what I belonged doing.

And the other thing I did shortly after I got home.

Lyle had said that sometimes dreams change as you grow older. Sometimes, you had to let go of the past and live to dream something better. 

My heart knew now. It was time to move on. I had given Ty enough time. He either loved me or he didn’t. And if he did, that love was either strong enough to get us past this or it wasn’t.

Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Sometimes it doesn’t change anything. It just goes by, leaving you older. Leaving you behind.

I took the vases off the coffee table, put them in an empty bin, and stored them in the garage, pushing them far in the corner under the canoe that we hadn’t used in years.

In January I would move them again, out of the house.

CHAPTER 30

I sat on the sofa, taking in the Christmas tree fragrance that floated through the living room. Kate had gone back to
The Bugler
.

I closed my eyes, just for a moment. Just for a moment…

I was back in the alley.

But something was different. 

There was no blood up ahead to guide me. And there was no body.

I walked slowly, the familiar cold setting in. Looking for clues. Looking for answers.

The sky looked like snow, but nothing was coming down.

I moved past the coffee house and the art gallery, both closed. The bell was silent. It was all still and quiet, like death.

I walked past the chairs outside the theater to the spot where the body should have been.

I crouched down and touched the ground.

There was no blood. She wasn’t there.

It was too soon.

And then I heard her. Her screams piercing the night.

“Fire! Help! Fire!”

I didn’t understand. Had she been hurt in a fire? Had she jumped from a burning building? Is that how she cut her neck? I looked up. I didn’t see any flames, didn’t smell any smoke.

It started snowing.

Suddenly she was running toward me, coming down the alley. But she wasn’t alone.

“I only stopped by for a drink!” she shouted, her words bouncing off the bricks. “I told you that already. Get away from me!”

“Come on, April,” he said sweetly, grabbing her arm. “Come on back. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I could only make out his silhouette.

“Let go or I’ll call the cops!” she said, pushing him back.

He lost his balance and slipped, falling on the pavement.

She started walking away from him. Why wasn’t she running? He was getting up.

“Run!” I shouted.

He was right behind her now.

They were coming toward me. And for some reason, even though it didn’t make any sense, I ran and hid behind the chairs. I knew they couldn’t see me. I knew he couldn’t see me. Because I wasn’t really there. But the ice cold fear inside me pushed me over to those chairs.

He caught up to her under one of the streetlights. He had his back toward me, but I could see her face now.

It was her, the bleeding woman.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed. “I told you, I’m calling the cops.”

But in a flash he was on top of her, a black shadow dragging her into the darkness with him.