Lingering Echoes (11 page)

Damien tilted his head, preparing to speak. Again, I beat him to it, afraid that if I stopped now, I wouldn’t be brave enough to continue.

“There’s something about you...” My voice softened with bewilderment. “I don’t hurt as much when I’m with you. And I don’t know why.” I avoided his eyes, afraid to read his expression, but I’d said all I wanted to say.

A deep silence filled the gap between us.
I had said too much. Embarrassed, I knew it was time to leave.

Damien’s warm voice penetrated the quiet air.
“I’m glad to hear that.”

I chanced a look in his direction
, surprised and relieved. He offered a closed-mouth smile. Unsure what my confessions meant to either of us, I smiled back.

An intrusive breeze swung through the trees, wrapping its
chilly hands around my bare arms. I shivered.

“We better get you back,” Damien suggested. He
started to make his descent. I followed after him with reluctance.

Just before I was about to jump to the ground from my final branch, Damien reached up and placed his hands around my waist.

“Here, let me help you with that.” Catching me off guard, he pulled me off the limb. My body fell towards him, and I wrapped my arms around his neck to catch myself. Damien held me against him for just a moment, and then eased my feet to the ground.

I stepped b
ack, brushing a hand through my hair. Not sure what to do with myself, I folded my arms. Damien’s dimples returned.

“Come here,”
he commanded in a soft voice. He offered his hand. I placed my hand in his, and his fingers folded around them.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

“I don’t want to go back yet.” I hesitated. “If I go back now, I have to face lying awake in bed.” I cringed at the thought of the torturous ranting that often awaited me. “I’m not ready for that.”

“Ok,” Damien answered
. He lowered himself to the ground with his back against the tree. He took a moment to brush at the dirt beside him, sweeping away twigs, a few stones, and broken bark. He patted the empty spot.

I sat down and
pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. Neither of us spoke for a time, but the silence was comfortable.

Breaking the quiet hum of nature, Damien
said, “Tell me about Maddie.”

A trickle of reluctance made me waver.
I scrunched my face together. “Why?”

“You said you have trouble
sleeping, right? Like your mind doesn’t shut off?”

“Yeah
.”

“
Do you ever think it might help if you talked about it? So it’s not all stuck inside your head?”

My lips rubbed
against each other. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything.
Who was she? What was she like?”

N
ine years of memories replayed in my mind. Some made me smile, while the more recent ones made me cringe and sigh.

“She was a
beautiful baby,” I started. “I was seven at the time. But I remember going to the hospital and sitting in a big chair with her little body in my arms. She had wide, pretty eyes and this perfectly round head. ” I gave a small laugh. “She came so fast that Aunt Heidi barely made it to the hospital. It was like Maddie couldn’t wait to come out and take on the world. That’s always how she was though—a little blond fireball with just enough sass and sweetness combined to make her dangerously loveable.”

The wind picked up its pace. Damien wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close. Content, we sat in silence, our body heat warming each other.

“She was their little miracle,” I whispered.

“What’s that?” Damien asked.

“Maddie. She was Aunt Heidi and Uncle Bill’s miracle baby.” I turned to face Damien. “My aunt couldn’t get pregnant. She tried for eight years, with all sorts of expensive tests and procedures. The doctors told her it was pretty near impossible. So, Aunt Heidi and Uncle Bill stopped trying. They made peace and accepted their situation, making plans to travel the world.

“
But then Aunt Heidi was pregnant. None of us could believe it. She was so happy, beaming every time we saw her. Nine months later, she held her beautiful baby girl in her arms.”

I swallowed the determined lump develop
ing in my throat. I bowed my head. “And nine years later, she was clinging to Maddie’s coffin instead. They trusted me with her. She was their little miracle, and I didn’t save her.”

I clenched my teeth, refusing to acknowledge the burning at the back of my throat.
I would not cry again, but my mind couldn’t fight the memories of Aunt Heidi’s grief-stricken face, with her red, swollen eyes looking helplessly back at me.

Damien’s
hand touched my cheek. With tenderness, he turned my face towards him, cupping my face in both his hands. “It is
not
your fault.”

I le
t out a breath of air, inhaling again to consume the threatening sobs. I shut my eyes, desperate to block out the pictures in my head. I could hear Damien speaking to me, though his voice sounded miles away.

“
...Open your eyes. Allie, open your eyes...”

The
images began to fade, until they all but disappeared, and then I was looking at Damien, his face inches from my own. One hand slid down to the back of my neck, as he rested his forehead against mine. His marble eyes stared back at me.

“It’s ok,” he said. “I know you don’t believe it, but I’ll keep saying it until you do.
It is not your fault
.”

His lips lowered
until they rested on my forehead, lingering for just a moment. I closed my eyes again, feeling the warmth and softness of his lips against my skin. My breathing settled, and I relaxed beside him. Huddled together, we both looked out across the dim lake.

Stifling a yawn,
I turned my head and rested my cheek against Damien’s shoulder, linking my right arm around his left. I felt sleep tugging on my eyelids. Mumbled words tumbled out of my mouth.

Damien’s hand caressed my face.
“It’s all right, Allie. You’re safe. You can sleep now.”

Sometime later, I was aware of my body being lifted off the ground. My arms wrapped automatically around Damien’s neck, allowing myself to
curl up in his arms. My body rocked back and forth, following the rhythmic cadence of Damien’s footsteps.

“Allie, I’m going to set you down now.” Damien’s voice was soft, his words tickling my ear.

My eyes fluttered open when my feet touched the floorboards of the porch. Damien’s hand wrapped around mine, and he guided me to the doorknob.

“
You better get inside. I let you sleep a long time,” he said.

“Thank you.
”

My hand twisted the doorknob
. I looked back at Damien, but he was hurrying to the parking lot, where I knew his bike awaited him. I watched him leave with a thoughtful smile on my face.

The door pulled inwards, jerking me inside.

“Allie, where have you been?” Dad shut the door, and then crossed his arms across his chest.

Confused, I blinked back at him. “Dad, what do you mean? I was
just out by the lake.”

“It’s two o’clock in the morning.” The stern tone of his voice was one I hadn’t heard in a very long time.

Still somewhat groggy, I squinted my dry eyes back at him. “What’s the big deal? I’m seventeen and it’s summertime—”

“It’s a big deal when you disappear with some
strange older guy, who I hear you barely know. And apparently, this isn’t the first time.”

“What?” Awakened, m
y eyes shot towards the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Have you been listening to Nick?” Dad’s expression answered the question. I threw my hands up in disgust. “Unbelievable. I didn’t realize you were using him to spy on my personal life. What did he say?”

D
ad shook his head. “Enough that I don’t want you hanging around his type. It doesn’t matter what he said. I want you to listen to what
I’m
saying, and that’s to stay away from that guy.”

I glared at him. “I don’t understand. You don’t even know him.”

“I know enough,” Dad said with a gruff tone. “A guy like that doesn’t hang out with teenage girls for nothing.”

“Well, you’re wrong. It’
s not like that. And what’s with you trying to play this new role in my dating life? I’m about to go to college!”

“I’m your
father
, and you’re not in college yet.”

“Oh,
now
you want to play that card. Well, guess what,
Dad
—I made plenty of decisions over the last four years without you. I’m pretty sure I’m capable of making this choice, too.”

My dad worked his jaw, looking angrier than I’d seen him in a long time.

“We’ll talk about this later.” He bolted the door before he stalked past me and into his bedroom. I watched him shut his door behind him, and then listened to the muffled sounds of Clara’s voice mixed with his. She was in on this, too. Heaving a sigh, I stomped to my bedroom.

I ran a tired hand through my hair, glancing out my window. I jumped when I noticed the tall, dark figure sitting on his
dirt bike some fifty feet away. Damien was watching me from where he sat, his hands gripping the handlebars. I couldn’t make out his features in the dark, but he waved.

I forgot about Nick, D
ad, and every other worry. Satisfied, I pulled the curtains closed. Still smiling to myself, I slid into bed and fell sound asleep.

I kicked at th
e pebbles, dragging my feet and watching the dust swirl around my sneakers.

“
I appreciate you getting up with me,” Clara began.

“Sure,
” I mumbled, letting my jaw fall open with a yawn. Shoving my hands into the pocket of my sweater, I peeked at her from my peripheral. She had shaken me awake at six am, cheery and unyielding that I walk with her. After last night, I figured she was up to something.

“So, who won the
Scrabble game?” I asked, breaking our silence.

“We didn’t finish.”

“Why not?”

Clara laughed. “Well, after Brooke came in
, she was determined to tell us all about her day, and kept avoiding the question about where you went. Then Nick said he thought he had an idea.” I frowned at the mention of my nemesis. “He didn’t have a whole lot of good to say about the guy you left to hang out with.”

There it was—t
he true purpose behind this morning’s walk.

“And, of course, everyone just believed Nick, right?”

Clara raised her eyebrows at my bitter tone.

“Clara, I’m sorry. I know he’s your son, and you and my dad both had high hopes that the two of us would hit it off as
newfound siblings or something. But the truth is—we can’t stand each other. He goes out of his way to anger me, including lying about things or people he knows very little about.”

“Nick’s not the one I wanted to talk about
,” Clara said. When I clamped my mouth shut, she continued. “Your father’s a good man, Allie.”

I ru
bbed my lips together. “I know he is. And he seems happy with you. Doesn’t mean he knows everything though, especially when he’s only given bits and pieces of information.”

“So about that.
I talked to your dad last night, after you got home.”

I didn’t look at her. “Yeah, that figures. What about it?”

“Hey, now, no need to get defensive. I’m just saying we talked.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.
I tried to relax by paying attention to the crunching trail beneath my feet.

“I think your dad is concerned because he’s never been around for the dating stage with you. It’s a little new for him.”

I laughed with bitterness. “Yeah, that’s because he’s not around much, like you said. That’s not
my
fault.”

“He’s still your father. No matter what he’s done in the past, it is his nat
ural right to worry about you, even if that comes off as him telling you what to do.”

I refused to comment.

“I think you should talk to him sometime—and I mean
really
talk to him.”

I cringed
. “Clara, we don’t have that kind of relationship. We don’t talk about sentimental things or have deep conversations about life. My sisters and I didn’t even talk to him for an entire year after the affair with that woman. When we visit, it’s always just been about vacation.”

Clara was quiet for a time. “Do you think
it’s possible for people to change?”

Now it was my turn to walk in silence.
“I don’t know. I guess so.”

Clara stopped
and put a hand on my shoulder. She emphasized her next words. “Do you want to change your relationship with your father?”

I looked back
at Clara with uncertainty. “I—I’m not sure. I’m sort of used to how it is. It’s weird thinking about having a real conversation with him. I don’t think either of us is very good at putting our thoughts into words—especially him.”

Clara nodded. “I think it’s easier for your father to put his thoughts on paper tha
n out loud. He’s a writer. It’s what he does—it’s what he’s used to. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care just as much, and it doesn’t mean he can’t change.”

Change
.

Clara’s words
ran through my mind all morning, but I wasn’t ready to talk to Dad. I ducked in and out of the cabin without notice, remembering something else that had been bothering me since the night of the storytelling: The boy who killed his family in that fire. I had to know what happened to him, to feel some closure on the awful event. Could someone as troubled as this kid have the ability to change? If he could change his life, Dad and I certainly could, right? Either way, it seemed easier to direct my energy on this boy’s story than my own life for the moment.

Disappearing into
the clubhouse, I sat down in front of the computer and typed the following words into a search engine:
Hidden Pines, fire kills family.
Ten different websites popped up on the screen. My eyes scanned the short descriptions, looking for news reports.

There, the third site down, a bold headline that read:
Fire kills family of three in Hidden Pines, arson suspected.

And another
:
17-year-old son involved with the suspicious deaths of his family.

T
here were more. I selected five articles and printed them. I clicked back on one of them, my eyes scanning the words:
Police are investigating the deaths of a family that took place while vacationing in Hidden Pines. 48-year-old Jonathan Michaels, his wife, Karen, 45, and their 10-year-old daughter, Jenna, died in a fire that burned down their cabin last week. Their teenage son is the only survivor from the tragedy. Police suspect foul play.

It was true then. Minus some embellishment from the storyteller, the general
facts didn’t seem made up. I scooted out of my chair, hurrying to the printer. Flipping through the pages, one headline in particular caught my attention:
Son of Jonathan Michaels inherits 3.3 million in life insurance, despite being a person of interest in the suspicious deaths of his family.

My fingers gripped the pages. Did this boy really kill his family for money?
I shook my head, feeling sick in my stomach. But it was 3.3 million. A person could live for the rest of their life on an inheritance like that.

“There you are!”

I turned my head to see Brooke hauling towards me, an impish look on her face. She grabbed my wrists.

“Da
mien’s looking for you!” Brooke pulled me after her, jabbering away as we exited the clubhouse. “I was laying out my towel when Damien drove by on his bike. And, I have to say, I know you have dibs on him and all, but a guy like him on a bike like that is an attractive sight.” She whistled for effect. I gestured with my hand for her to continue. “Right. Anyway, he wants to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. I’m not his personal secretary! Although, all this running around trying to find you is giving me a workout. You better hurry. Your dad is taking everyone out on the boat again right now. I am supposed to invite you, and he expects you to come, even though we all know you don’t want to be out on the water.”

I could feel my h
eart beating just a little faster at the thought of spending the afternoon with Damien again. “Ok. I just need to put these papers in my room.”

Brooke snatched them out of my hands.
“I’ll take care of it. Your dad is back there and, guaranteed, he will try to force you to go with us on the boat. All part of the ‘intervention’ you know.” She said it with a roll of her eyes, emphasizing she was on my side.

Grateful, I said,
“All right. Well, tell my dad I’m working out or something, and I’ll catch up with you guys for dinner.”

“Ok. Dami
en said to meet him by the tree again. Have fun!”

I walked the opposite direction
of the cabins, towards the grove of trees. I could see Damien standing next to his bike. My stomach weaved in and out of itself at the sight of him. As I stepped closer, I admired how his fitted T-shirt enhanced the blue in his eyes, just surpassing the tint of gray. Strung across his chest was the shoulder strap of a duffle bag.

“Brook
e gave you my message,” he said.

“Yeah.
You saved me from spending the day on the boat.”

“
The boat? Sounds like it was going to be a rough afternoon.”

I picked up on his sarcasm and
slugged him in the shoulder. “You know what I mean. My dad is still trying to get me back in the water.”

I caught the
sideways glance from Damien.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Damien straddled his bike and unlocked the kickstand. Suspicious, I stood my ground.

“What are you up to
today?”

“I want to show you something, that’s all
. You ready?” He started the motor when I complied and sat down behind him. “You know you’re going to fall off if you don’t hold on like I told you.”

I
comfortably wrapped my arms all the way around him, latched against his torso, and enjoyed the ride. We followed the route towards his cabin. The river was alive today, awakened with all the rain it had gathered from the mountains. As it swished with playfulness along the embankment, a quiet fragment inside of me recalled why I once loved it so much.

Leaving the trees behind us
in a northwest direction, we flew through a flat green meadow with the scorching sun blazing on our backs. Then we followed a dirt trail that weaved through a mountain. The trail opened up to mostly flat land again, fresh and green with small shrubs and bushes. We parked beside a huge hill.

“We have to walk from here,” Damien said, off
ering his hand. I allowed him to guide me forward, his fingers wrapped around mine.

“Where are we?
” I asked, leaning into his support as we climbed up the steep incline. He didn’t answer for the next few minutes that it took us to trek up the hill. My muscles burned in protest of the hike, working extra hard to dig into the dirt with my flip-flops.

When we reached the summit, my breath caught in my throat, not only to catch my
breath, but in awe of what awaited below. A beautiful, clear pool of water shimmered under the sun. The elevated landscape that we stood on created a natural, circular barrier that enclosed the water like a granite bowl. A small, graceful waterfall cascaded down the far side, opposite where we stood.

“Do you like it?” Damien asked, seemingly pleased with my reaction.

“It’s gorgeous. I can’t believe how clear it is. It’s like a mirror,” I observed, noticing the reflection of nature imprinted in the water.

“Not
many tourists know of this place, so it’s pretty well preserved. Let’s go.” Damien pulled me after him, sloping down a less-angled segment of the bowl. When we reached the bottom, there was a fifteen-foot wedge of land separating us from the water.

Damien dropped his bag under a small tree. He moved to the edge of
the land, scooping up the crystal-clear water into his cupped hands, splashing his face with a satisfied sigh. I followed behind him, dipping my fingers. It was cool and refreshing as I threw it across my head, washing away the dirt that caked my hot, sweaty face.

“This is amazing,” I said. The waterfall spilled down the precipice, white
, bubbling water dancing its way down the rocks.

“You want to go in?” Damien
asked, discarding his shoes by a bush.

I froze, no longer mesmerized by the span of water. “
If I didn’t like the canoe, what makes you think I’m going to want to go in there? Besides, I don’t have my swimsuit,” I pointed out, as if that wasn’t obvious enough.

And not having a suit was the least of my worries.

Damien chuckled. “Neither do I. That’s never stopped me before.”

I gaped at him
and then scowled, crossing my arms across my chest. I took a step backwards, away from him and the water.

He seemed amused, reading the varying expressions on my face. His
teasing eyes seemed to laugh at me. He stepped into the water with all his clothes still on. I breathed an audible sigh of relief as I watched him wade up to his thighs, with his shorts and shirt intact. As the water reached his waist, he inhaled a sharp breath.