The Drowned Forest (4 page)

Sadness swells in my chest but can’t escape. I try to force a sob, push it out, but it doesn’t work. I can’t cry, I can’t pray. I feel like a dead, dried-up fly on the windowsill.

Holly, how did you watch cancer eat your me-maw’s bones and still love God? How did you still feel His love for you? I’m an idiot, Holly, and I’m sorry. I really thought a few kind words and spray-painting your guitar were all you needed to cheer you up. I didn’t know anything could hurt this bad.

And your parents. Everybody says it’s a miracle you lived. They’d offer praise unto the Highest when they heard your story.

But sometimes you’d get sad for no reason. Those days, you’d try to tell me how it really felt, dangling in the flipped-over car with your parents’ torn bodies. You could only talk in a hoarse whisper that first day I met you because you’d lost your voice in that car. You screamed for your mom over and over, but she never answered.

I’m sorry, Holly. You would talk about the sticky blood and smashed glass and the smell of gasoline, and I’d try to change the subject. I’d yammer about clothes, bands, or boys, nothing that mattered, nothing that couldn’t be snatched away in an instant. I thought I was being a good friend, helping you take your mind off of it. I’m so sorry, sorry, sorry.

I should have washed your feet, Holly. I should have begged you to tell me how you could still be so beautiful, still bring so much beauty into the world. I had a million chances to ask, and I squandered every one.

I loved you, Holly, but I didn’t know how much I needed you. I know now. I’m ready to listen. Please, Holly, tell me how to open my heart again.

Five

The carpet is hot and scratchy like a rash. I rub my eyes open. Sweat slicks my face and makes my church dress cling to my thighs. I stare up at the bed as fragments of dream chase me into waking.

I dreamed I was back in your house, but black lake- bottom mud had flooded it. The stuff sucked off one of my shoes. It caked my calves and hands and clumped in my hair. Holly, you were under there somewhere, coughed up from the drowned forest with the mud. Other bodies too, old tires, busted Mountain Dew bottles. And I knew—the certainty made me want to vomit—that no matter how carefully I walked, eventually I’d step on a cold hand or ankle.

I try to make myself cry again. I snuffle and sniff, but no tears come. The sadness never unwinds from the tight little knot in my breast.

It’s 11:51. I pull off my sweat-sticky dress and crawl into bed. My brain’s already woken up, though. Thoughts squawk and wheel around like barn swallows. I’ll lie here all night if I don’t take my medicine.

As I slip down to the kitchen, my feet probe for the stairs in the dark. This will always be strange to me, how quiet the house is at midnight, the daylight free-for-all fading to almost nothing. It gets so quiet I can hear the clunk of the air conditioner turning on. When we first moved into this house, the mechanical noises deep inside the walls scared me. Dad told me they were house elves. They watched over us at night, making sure we were always safe. I slept soundly curled up in the lie.

Blood drops have been wiped off the kitchen counter. The knife, already cleaned, sits in the dishwasher. I fill a glass with water and swallow two of the scab-pink Tenex. The stuff poisons time. It makes nights wither away. I won’t remember falling asleep or waking up. It’ll just suddenly be bright morning. I won’t have any dreams.

Mom left a cling-wrapped plate of spaghetti for me in the fridge. I eat a cold meatball with my fingers. I poke through the salad for tomato wedges and slices of cucumber. Your pa-paw, he’s moved close to the river, hasn’t he?

The thought lands as lightly as a bird on a twig. I freeze, afraid of startling it.

Your pa-paw couldn’t live in that house by himself—I was afraid to just visit, how could he live there by himsel
f
? But still, the river seeps into his thoughts just like it seeps into my dreams. Just like it seeped into Tyler’s mind when he wrote that lonely song. The drowned forest holds us all tight. If your pa-paw hasn’t run far away from it—and he hasn’t because we saw him at Rivercall—then he’s moved as close to the water as he can. As close as he can to you, Holly.

Yes, yes, yes! I flap my hands like Yuri.

It’s not much, but it’s a place to start looking. I’ll call Tyler first thing in the morning. We’re coming, Holly. We’re going to save you.

Six

The light stings.

Mom talks through the door.

It’s 10:19.

I need to call Tyler; we should already be gone.

“Jane!”

“Wha … ?” I shift, stare at the closed door. “What?”

“Bo Greene is here,” Mom repeats. “Get up, Jane. Come downstairs.”

Why is Bo here? Then my heart thumps hard. Oh no, no, Holly, no. Did Pastor Wesley send him?

I kick the covers off and get up. The dresser drawer slips its track when I yank it open, almost hitting my foot. I spit angry words and grab some jean shorts from the mess, leaving the rest on the floor.

Dang it, we should be looking for your pa-paw by now! I set my alarm, but I must have slept through it. It’s the Tenex, Holly. I sleepwalk. Dad swears I’ve had whole conversations with him I don’t remember.

In the bathroom, I brush my teeth while stepping into my Yellow Box sandals, then wrangle my hair into a ponytail. Maybe it’s not about your ring. Maybe Mom called Bo because of the fight I had with her last night.

I head downstairs. I have to tell them how sorry I am. And remember to smile. Just smile, sprinkle them with a little sugar, and don’t argue about anything. As long as they let me leave with Tyler today, that’s the only important thing.

On the living room floor, Yuri plays with his Legos, building them up into a tilting tower. Bo sits on the couch, and Mom talks to him softly. Dad hovers nearby. It confuses me why he’s not at work, but then I remember it’s Labor Day.

When they see me, Mom goes quiet. Bo stands up grinning. “Hey there, Jane. Sorry about waking you up for all this.”

“It’s okay.” What does he mean by “all this”?

“How’s it going?”

“Pretty good.”

Bo sits down at the end of the couch now, so I can sit between him and Mom. Close up, he smells like Hugo Boss mixed with dust and cut grass.

“So … what’s up?” I ask.

“Well, Pastor Wesley wanted me to stop by.”

“Oh.”

“You and Tyler talked to him yesterday. And you said some things that … worried him.”

“Oh.” My lips are suddenly dry, sticking to my gums.

Dad asks, “Honey, what’s this about a ring? About Holly’s ring?”

“Some—” I lick my lips. I have to make them hear the truth.
Please Lord, let them hear the truth.
“Something happened at Rivercall, with that catfish. It had Holly’s promise ring in its mouth. She wrote
HELP
across it. She’s trapped in the forest at the bottom of the lake and … listen! Please, we have to help Holly!”

Mom squeezes my hand. “Honey, no. Holly had an accident. She’s at peace now. She’s not—Yuri, not now. Let us talk.” Yuri wants to show her his Lego tower. She turns him away, turns back to me. “Holly’s in Heaven with her mom and dad. She’s not trapped—”

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth.” If I could sh
ow them the ring, maybe they’d believe me, but Tyler has it. Stupid, stupid—why didn’t I keep it? “The catfish … hold on.” I get up to get my Bible, but Mom grabs my arm.

“Jane, please.”

“Listen, listen. In Matthew 17, the apostles find a coin inside a fish’s mouth, just like we found Holly’s ring. See? And in that same chapter, Jesus tells them they—”

Crow’s feet crinkle around her eyes. I’m making her old.

“Jane, I’m going to call Dr. Haq,” Dad says. “We’re going to get you some help, okay?”

“No! Listen! I’m trying to explain to you, but you won’t listen. I can’t talk to Dr. Haq. I have stuff to do.”

“What stuff?”

I hesitate. “Just stuff, okay? I just have to go, okay?”

“Jane, no. You’re not going anywhere,” Mom says.

“Mom, please, I … I’m sorry about the fight, but I can’t talk to Dr. Haq right now. Please. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no … ” She pulls me close, holds me against her heartbeat like a baby. “This isn’t punishment. I’m not mad about the fight. Nobody’s mad, nobody’s mad.”

I’ve put her through so much. I start to sob. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was an accident. I’m sorry—”

“Just help you move on. Just so I get my angel back—”

“Sorry I got mad. I love you, okay? I love you.”

“We should pray. Let’s pray.” Bo gently pries my fingers from Mom’s arm. “Hey, Yuri? Yuri, can you come here?”

Yuri’s fingers lie in mine, soft and slightly damp. Mom still has one arm around me. Her other hand clutches Dad’s hand, which grasps Bo’s. I’m sniffling. So is Mom. We shut our eyes and bow our heads to the darkness.

Bo leads us. “Dear Lord, we ask you to watch over Jane. And watch over all of us, Lord. We place ourselves in your care. Lord, give us the wisdom and courage to do what’s right, even when it’s hard. Help us find the path, Lord. Your path.”

Why won’t God help me this one tiny bit? I put my family through so much—I’m a terrible kid—but I have to put them through some more.

While Bo asks His blessing, I open my eyes. Whipping my hand free, I twist Yuri’s ear. He jerks back, but I hold on, twisting harder. He bellows and takes a swing. I dodge. Bo catches a meaty smack in the mouth. “We pray—ow!”

Mom goes to calm Yuri down. Wailing, cupping his hurt ear, Yuri punches her in the chest. Dad pulls Bo back, stumbling. Bo bit his tongue when Yuri hit him, and blood stains his teeth pink.

I take the stairs two at a time. Faye and Tim watch from the top.

“What happened?”

“Just stay here.”

My pulse beats against my temples so hard it hurts, but my thoughts run smooth. Ducking into my room, I grab my phone from the dresser. The twenty-dollar bill Mom gave me yesterday lies folded up underneath. I meant to give it back to her since Tyler and I never got any coffee. Grabbing it, I stuff it in my front pocket, just in case.

Back into the hall, back past Faye and Tim, back downstairs. Mom has the afghan around Yuri’s shoulders. He moans, rocking back and forth. Dad is apologizing to Bo, who’s holding a paper towel to his split lip. Nobody notices as I step out the kitchen door.

I cut through backyards and Mrs. Peterson’s flower garden. Colored-glass witch balls watch me pass. I shove, tug, and stomp through the windbreak of lilac and plum, then cut catty-corner across the cotton field on the other side. Each step breaks the dry crust of topsoil, my feet sinking into darker, moist earth. My calves brush through the rows of plants, making them whisper to one another as I pass.

Tyler answers his phone while eating something. “Hey, w’sup?”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t—?”

“Bo hasn’t been by your house yet?”

“Nuh-uh.” He swallows. “What’s going on?”

“Bo came to my house. He told Mom about the ring, about everything.”

“Oh no.”

“But listen, I think I might know where Mr. Alton is. Sorta. But we have to go
now
. Come pick me up at the Texaco on Reservation Road.”

“Okay. I’m coming. I’m looking for my keys now.”

“Hurry. But be careful. But hurry. And bring the ring.”

I slip my phone into my purse. In the heat-shimmering distance, a tractor pulls a sprayer across the dusty cotton plants. Their leaves are withered brown, and their bolls are fixing to split open. Some already have, revealing the clean whiteness inside. The farmer watches me crossing his field without a wave or nod.

There’s a dull pain in my solar plexus. I force some deep breaths and let myself feel bad for hurting Yuri, for making him hurt Bo and Mom. I’m in trouble. I don’t even know what Mom and Dad will do now. But I promised I was coming, Holly. Me and Tyler will find your pa-paw and figure out what’s going on and how we can help you. We’re coming.

I plod along the field, then quick-step it across four lanes of hot asphalt to the gas station. If I’d known I was running away from home today, I wouldn’t have worn flip-flops.

Seven

“Okay. So you had a dream about Mr. Alton, and he was down somewhere by the river?”

“I don’t … I mean … ” The dream has fled. It seemed so vivid when I woke up, but now all I can remember is the impression it left, like following deer tracks in mud. “It was about the river, but I don’t think Mr. Alton was in it.”

“Why are we doing this, then?” Tyler’s voice is full of vinegar.

I snap back, “Because you don’t have any better ideas.”

So we drive past the condos lining the downtown em-bankments, eyes squinted, searching for your pa-paw’s old pickup. We search Tuck’s Cove, that harbor east of the Indian mound. Tyler doesn’t say a word. He’s worried about what Bo is telling his parents right now. He’s annoyed with me, thinking we’re wasting time.

But your pa-paw has come to the river, Holly. I know this because it’s what draws our dreams and deepest thoughts. He’s come to the river because everything else is so thin. The stupid stuff people talk about—what they ate for lunch, some sale at Foot Locker—I get mad just listening to them now. The river is the only thing that feels real anymore.

But Wilson Lake is fifteen hundred acres. Half a dozen marinas dot its shores. Probably two dozen resorts and campgrounds, and hundreds of cabins on private land. This could take forever.

Pulling out of Tuck’s Cove, Tyler says, “Well, where to next?”

“There’s Bay Hill Marina, the one with the restaurant.”

“On the south shore?” He groans.

“We can’t give up until we’ve looked everywhere.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tyler sighs. “Let me make a stop first.”

“What? What do you have to do now?”

“A friend is leaving town. I need to say goodbye.”

“We don’t have—”

“It’ll take five minutes, Jane.”

I slump down in the seat. “Five minutes, right?”

“Five minutes.”

Neither of us say anything else. My phone rings. Mom again, and this time I turn it off. Your pa-paw’s down by the shore, Holly. I know because he has to be. Please, God, let him be. Otherwise, we’re totally lost.

We drive to a neighborhood that was probably really pretty once. Now it’s falling apart. Porches sag, and tinfoil covers windows. Tree roots tilt the sidewalk slabs until they crack. There’s a lawn that’s all weeds and tire ruts, with a white Florence Utilities van parked under a maple. Ultimate Steve sits on the front porch with a bunch of people I don’t know. They’re all older. They’re all as shabby-looking as the house.

I follow Tyler through the front gate. It looks like somebody bashed in the mailbox with a baseball bat, then scribbled
Shut up! You can’t play!!!
across it with paint marker
. There’s a girl on the porch wearing Jackie O sunglasses, her black-soled feet propped on the railing. Launching a jet of cigarette smoke, she yells, “Whoo, Tyler! Show us some tits!”

The rest of them fall out laughing. We’ve walked into the tail end of a running joke. Judging from the empty beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays, it’s been running since last night.

Tyler grins. “Morning, LeighAnn.”

The girl stands up, blocking our way. “Do it!” she answers. “Tits!”

And he does. Like a puppy performing a trick, Tyler yanks the front of his shirt up, showing a soft slab of belly and chest.

“That’s what momma likes,” she crows, stepping aside. “That’s it!”

“Max, can’t you do anything with her?” Tyler asks the guy picking at a guitar.

“I’ve tried. Believe me, I have tried.”

Ultimate Steve gives Tyler that shoulder-banging half-hug boys do. “Missed all the fun! Thought you were coming after that church thing yesterday.” He scratches at his beard like he’s got fleas. I can’t help glancing at the stump of his missing pinky finger. Idiot.

“I was. Just, uh … some stuff came up after. Just didn’t feel like a party.”

“Holly stuff?” LeighAnn asks. When Tyler nods, they all sort of lean toward him for a moment. LeighAnn wraps an arm around his neck, presses her head against his.

Who are these people?

“But hey, I couldn’t let Patterson run off.” Stepping around LeighAnn, Tyler gives the tall guy a real hug, squeezing him tight. “Glad I didn’t miss you.”

“Me too.” Really tall, Patterson stands stooped over everybody else, like a tree in a storm. “Hey, I’m giving you my Vox.”

“What? Why?”

Patterson shrugs. “I won’t have the space for it. But we took off the casters, so you’ll have to find new ones.”

“Well, thanks. Really. But doesn’t the band need—”

LeighAnn shakes her head. “We’ve got the Mini Colossals with the Weber speakers.”

“That Vox is de-damn-licious, though,” Max adds. “Shut up and take it.”

They talk about push-pulls and SPSs and two-by-twelves. It’s white noise to me, but ends with Tyler following Patterson into the house to grab the amplifier. Through the door, I glimpse the living room—a drum kit beside the couch, and walls covered in stained burgundy carpet. Somebody’s sleeping on the couch with his arm thrown over his eyes. I waffle, not sure if I should follow them in or not. Then the storm door bangs shut and I’m stuck outside.

“Jane? How goes it?” Ultimate Steve asks.

“Good.”

He nods, shaking a cigarette from a half-empty pack. A girl with a sketchy-looking dye job sits on the porch rail, talking
to LeighAnn. When Steve leans back, she wraps her arms and legs around him. He turns to whisper some little joke to her. She chuckles, nuzzling his ear. She’s gross. I can see her pink satin whale-tail sticking out of the back of her shorts.

“So this was, like, a goodbye party?” I ask.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Patterson just finished his bachelor’s in forestry … ” LeighAnn gets distracted searching for a lighter. “Uh, headed up to South Carolina. To the Congaree National Park.”

“Neat. So he’s going to be a park ranger?”

“Yeah, but actually, natural resources manager.”

“Okay. Neat.” I nod without really knowing what that means.

“Yeah.”

We fall into foot-shuffling silence. Empty beer bottles fill the window sill behind Max. Draining another one, he sets it in the line.

“Want something to drink?” LeighAnn asks.

“What? No.”

Ultimate Steve laughs. “Jane’s church-folk, LeighAnn.”

“I meant a Mountain Dew or something.” She curls her lip at him. “I figured she’s—you’re still in high school, right?”

“I’m fifteen.”

“Yeah, so I wasn’t going to give her beer, just that it’s miserable hot out here.” She turns back to me. “So, want some sweet tea? Or we’ve got just water or—”

“I’m not thirsty, but thank you.”

LeighAnn nods. “And just for, whatever, the record? This is kind of a special occasion, with Patterson leaving and Labor Day and all. We’re usually sober by Monday morning.”

They all laugh. Max says, “Now, don’t
lie
to the girl, Lee-Lee.”

“I’m not! I don’t know about you, but I don’t—”

“What about Fourth of July? When we went to your brother’s?”

“That was a special occasion too! That was celebrating the birth of our country!”

“What about when Twitchy was here?”

“Twitchy was here! Another special occasion!” Now LeighAnn’s laughing along with them. “I can’t help it if my life is blessed with good friends and cheap beer.”

They all think it’s hilarious. I just stand there, silent, while they jabber like blue jays. I notice that LeighAnn, Max, and Ultimate Steve all have the same tattoo—the silhouette of an airplane—inked onto their inner right forearms. When Tyler and Patterson reappear, carrying a battered black amp between them, I see that Patterson has the same tattoo. I guess it means they’re in a band together, or maybe a cult.

Tyler and Patterson load the amp into the rear of Tyler’s pickup, then come back to lean against the porch railing. Tyler asks, “Ultimate, you spending the night in South Carolina?”

Ultimate Steve shakes his head. “Have to be at work tomorrow. Dropping Patterson off and turning right around.”

Max says, “Don’t even slow down, just open the door and shove him out,” but nobody’s listening.

Tyler asks, “How many days have you been up?”

Steve shrugs.

“Tyler, we need to go,” I say.

“What? You guys running off already?” Steve asks. “Come on, big guy.”

“Sorry, but yeah. We’ve got some … uh, stuff that can’t wait. But listen, nobody’s called looking for me, have they?”

“No. Should I be expecting someone?”

“Well, just in case my parents call? Tell them I’ve been with you all day, but I just left. Okay?”

“Sure.” The way Ultimate Steve grins at me when he says it is the last straw. Snatching Tyler’s keys out of his hand, I hiss in his ear. “You want to hang out here all day? Fine. Maybe one of the herpes sponges over there’ll make out with you. I’m going to help Holly.”

I walk off the porch. None of them are worth a glance backward. Tyler yells after me, “Okay! We’ll go, Jane. Give me one second, okay?”

I should leave him, Holly. Instead, I slide into the passenger seat and wait for him to say his goodbyes. Steve follows him down to the pickup. “Sometime soon, you need to get with Max. Patterson’s leaving, and we need a rhythm guitar, and—”

Tyler shakes his head as he climbs in. “Thanks, but I’ve just got a lot going on right now.”

“Come on.” Setting his hands above the door, Steve shakes the truck on its chassis. “What’s more important than
rock
?”

“I’ve just got a lot going on right now.”

“Well, think about it at least.”

“I’ll think about it. See you around.”

“See you.”

They bump fists through the window. Steve doesn’t say anything to me. Did he hear what I told Tyler? I don’t care if he did or not—him or any of those other losers.

Tyler pulls away from the curb, slipping his Aviators on. “What was that about?”

“You tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Well, when did you start hanging out with Ultimate Steve again, anyway?”

“He called me after Holly’s accident, and, whatever, we started hanging out.”

“So that’s where you’ve been the past month? Getting drunk with Steve and his band? Hiding in that house back there?”

“Did you see me drinking?”

I stare out the window.

“Did you see me drinking?”

“No.”

“Then don’t accuse me of stuff. I said goodbye to a guy I’ll probably never see again. You should get that; you of all people.”

“Fine. I do. But then why don’t you come to church anymore?”

“Oh, come on,” he groans. “Jane, don’t go all Jesus dork on me, okay? I can’t deal with it right now.”

“Our faith is being tested, Tyler, and we’re failing! If you’d been coming to church, maybe God would show us where to find Holly’s pa-paw now.” I touch Tyler’s wrist. “Maybe if you promised to start coming again. If you were sincere, maybe He would—”

Tyler yanks his hand away. “Maybe if you’d visited Mr. Alton once since Holly drowned, you’d already know where he is. Maybe we wouldn’t need a miracle then.”

“I … I’m not pretending to be perfect, Tyler.”

“Good, because you’re not, so stop dumping it all on me.”

We head across the dam to the south shore and Bay Hill Marina. I stare at my hands folded in my lap.

“Tyler, we’re going up against … I don’t even know. But we’re going to need gifts of the spirit. This is a time of trial for us, and we need the gift of wisdom to see truth from lies.”

“This isn’t a ‘time of trial,’ Jane. It’s just crazy shit that’s happening.”

“Tyler!”

“It’s crazy, fucked-up shit, and talking in Sunday sermons won’t help.”

“Tyler, I—”

“You want to know why I haven’t been going to church? Because I never got anything out of it, okay? Not really. I liked spending time with Holly. That’s all.”

“That’s a lie!”

“It’s not! I was never seized by the Holy Spirit or whatever. Like God was showing me things or whatever. Now that Holly’s gone, there’s no reason to go anymore.”

It’s a lie, Holly, I know it is. We saw him filled with the Holy Fire. We saw the tears on his cheeks when he was saved. But now Tyler is hurting and angry and falling away from the Lord’s embrace. I want to help, I want to say the right thing, but I’m pathetic at that stuff. You know I am.

You were the one who loved everybody and made them feel loved. You’re the one they all leaned toward like plants toward the sun. You’re the one who should be here. But I try to imagine what you would tell Tyler right now.

A question. You wouldn’t
tell
him anything, you’d ask a question.

“So … what’s their name?”

“What?” Tyler’s voice is thin and tight like a wire. He thinks I want to argue some more.

“Steve and his friends. They’re a band, right? What’s their band name?”

“Stratofortress.”

“Huh?”

“Strat-o-fortress. It’s a kind of plane.”

I nod. “So why’d they name themselves that?”

“Don’t know, I wasn’t there.”

I look back down at my hands. “Well, at least it’s better than that other band name.”

“What other band name?”

“The name of the band you and Ultimate Steve were in.”

“Was I ever in a band with Steve?”

“Yes, you—” He almost got me, Holly. Then I see the grin cracking through his mask of confusion. “You’re not making me say it.”

“Say what?”

“The name of the band.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s stupid.”

“I was never in a band called ‘Stupid.’ I’d remember that.”

“No, not—I’m not saying it.”

“Well, you’re the one who keeps bringing it up.”

“Well, I’m the one who’s dropping it.”

“Dropping what?”

I stare out the window.

“Dropping what?”

“Ahghh. You’re like my brother.”

“Dropping what?”

“The band,” I say, hiding my face in my hands now.

“Which band?”

“Quit!”

“A band called ‘Quit’? I kinda like that. Very art rock. Very—”

“Tighty-Whitey and the Banana Hammocks!”

And when I shout the name, you’re shouting it too, Holly, out in that frost-silvered night on the edge of memory.