Unraveling Isobel (18 page)

I tripped over something and Nate caught me before I could fall. “Careful, that's the old well cover.”

“That's all I need to do is fall down a well.” I stepped carefully around the wooden top.

“It hasn't been used for years. It used to be all rotted, but my dad capped it over years ago. You could dance the tango on that thing and not fall through.”

“Where are we going?”

“Almost there.”

Either Nate must have been down this path a thousand times before or he had bat sonar, because he didn't take a single misstep. I on the other hand seemed to trip on everything, including stray atoms. I was certain I was going to take a face-plant at any moment. There was a gap in the rocks ahead, and Nate turned so he could slide through. I said a mental prayer that my butt wouldn't wedge me in. I was so focused on not getting stuck that it took me a second to notice the view.

“Whoa.” I didn't have the words to describe it better than that. We had wound our way down so that we were on the beach. The sand looked white in the moonlight, and trees that had washed up on the beach were lined up like hurdles. The waves came out of the darkness to ripple over the sand. It felt like we were standing at the edge of the world.

“Come down this way.” Nate picked his way down to the beach, grabbing stray branches as he went, until we were at a pit framed by rocks. He tossed the wood into the pit and crouched down. “Can you stand over here? It will block the wind.”

“Sure.” I moved to stand next to him, and he reached into a
hole in the log next to us and pulled out a plastic bag that had a box of matches inside. He lit the wood and blew softly on it until it caught. Then he pulled me down so I was sitting next to him. We leaned against the log. The sound of the fire crackling mixed with the regular beat of the waves. It was strangely relaxing.

“My mom used to come down here to the beach with me and my sister all the time.” He stretched his legs out so they were to the side of the fire. “I remember once when I was like ten, my mom woke up my sister and me in the middle of the night and brought us down here to see a meteor shower. It was the most amazing thing. She said it was angel fireworks.”

“Does your dad come down here?”

“No. My mom was the one who loved this kind of thing. My dad isn't much of an outdoors fan.” He shrugged and looked away.

“You okay?”

“I still can't believe she and my sister are gone. Right after it happened it felt like I was going to die. It didn't seem like anyone could hurt that much and still live. Now it's weird because there are blocks of time when life seems normal. I'll be reading a book or watching a TV show and not thinking about it at all, and then suddenly the fact that they're dead hits me and it's like it happened all over again for the first time.”

I touched his arm. “I wish I knew what to say.”

“There isn't anything anyone can say. My mom and I had a fight the day she died. I don't really remember what it was about, something stupid like leaving the milk out. Now I keep
thinking if I had known it was going to be the last time I saw her, I wouldn't have been such a jerk. And my sister …” Nate raised his eyebrows. “She could drive you nuts in record time. She was always touching my stuff and breaking it. I can't even count the number of times I yelled at her.”

“I bet she still knew you loved her. Your mom, too.”

“Hope so. You remind me a bit of her.”

“I bug you, so I remind you of your sister?”

Nate laughed. “I meant my mom. She did her own thing, didn't try and fit into anyone's set role for her. She would have liked you.”

I blushed. I wasn't sure what to say. I ran my hands through the sand. A seashell was caught between my fingers. I turned it end over end, looking at it in the light of the fire. Nathaniel reached over and took it from my hands.

“My sister used to collect shells. She would stack them up into these piles. My mom called them fairy houses. My mom would tell us these long, complicated stories about the fairies who lived in them and how they would grant wishes for people who made the houses for them. After that Evie made them all the time. She was like a one-woman fairy condo queen. I remember my sister had one she kept on the side of her bed. One winter I found her stacking those mini-marshmallows next to it. She couldn't always explain what she was doing very well—her language skills were poor. She couldn't always come up with the right word to explain what she
meant, but I had the feeling she was leaving them like gifts.”

“The seashells in the house …” My voice trailed off. I wasn't sure how to ask the question.

“They were set up like her fairy houses. They were everywhere. On the stairs, in the kitchen, the hallway. There must have been dozens of them all over the house.”

“I didn't put them there.” I was sure I hadn't, almost 100 percent sure. I'd been studying history. I could tell you all about the New Deal, so I couldn't have been in some sort of fugue state littering the house with seashells. I thought about the sketch. That was a coincidence. I'd been thinking about shells since I'd had that dream. And it didn't matter how crazy a person was, there was no way drawing a picture of something in one room made that thing appear in another part of the house. I bit my lip.

“I know you didn't do it.”

“Then who do you think did it?”

Nate shrugged.

“My friend Anita thinks your sister is trying to send a message.”

Nate raised an eyebrow. “What is she trying to say?”

“She's your sister. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Nothing against your friend Anita, but I don't believe in ghosts.” Nate shifted and rubbed his hands on his pants. “I don't think the shells got in the house from the other side.”

“Your dad thinks I did it but don't remember doing it.” I
waited to see if he would jump on the comment or ask more about my mental health.

Nate sighed. “I suspect my dad might have done it.”

I sucked in a surprised breath. “Why?”

“My dad hates coming in second. He'd make a lousy supporting actor. If there's a spotlight, then he wants to be in it. He used to get annoyed when my mom would pay too much attention to either my sister or me.”

The idea of Dick competing with his disabled daughter for his wife's attention struck me as pathetic. “So you think he did this so that my mom would be mad at me?”

“Sounds bad, doesn't it?” Nate chewed on his lower lip. “I'm not sure he set out with the idea of getting you in trouble, but he'd love her turning to him to be the savior, the big problem solver. He likes being hero-worshipped.”

I wasn't sure what was worse, the idea of Nate's sister trying to send a message from beyond the grave or my stepdad manipulating my mom so he could come first with her. My mom and I had never been best friends, but we'd never been as on edge with each other as we'd been since we moved here. I looked up at the stars and gathered my courage. “You remember when I told you there was something embarrassing about my family, but then I wouldn't tell you what it was?” I thought he might say something flip, but he stayed serious.

“I remember. You don't have to tell me.”

“No, I want to. Besides, you probably already guessed. The
thing is, my dad was sick. I mean, he is sick; it's just controlled now. He has schizophrenia.”

“Okay.” Nate threw another branch on the fire.

“That's it?”

“You were expecting me to run screaming into the night?”

“Maybe.”

“Keep in mind you're talking to a guy who has quite a few interesting people in his family tree.”

“Schizophrenia can be genetic.”

“Doesn't mean you're destined to have it. Are you trying to convince me you're crazy?”

“No. I just thought you should know.”

“Is your dad a good guy?”

“I guess. I don't see him much.”

“Why not?”

“Things with him and my mom got pretty ugly when they split up. It wasn't that I took my mom's side, but I lived with her, and he left when I was really young. I'm not really sure which one of us stopped trying first, but we just sort of drifted apart.”

“You ever think of getting in touch with him now?”

I pulled on a loose string at the end of my T-shirt. “You know, I haven't. Which, now that I say it, sounds really strange. Normal people would, wouldn't they?”

“I think you worry too much about being normal. Unique isn't a bad thing. You might want to get in touch. There's not much worse than wishing you had said something once it's too
late to say anything.” Nate touched my hand and an electric bolt shot up my arm. “I'm glad you told me.”

“Me too.”

“Of course, now that we know each other's deep, dark secrets, I guess we're stuck with each other.”

“We are, huh?” My heart sped up. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? Could he actually like me? He trusted me with his vintage car. We'd been having all these meaningful conversations. He saved me from flashing my undies to the entire student body. He didn't think I was crazy, which I grant is not the same as liking me, but it certainly had to be pointing in the right direction. Then again, I'd thought I could pull off being a cheerleader, and how wrong was I about that? Then there was the fact that he was my stepbrother. What I was feeling wasn't technically illegal, but it still felt wrong. I really wished Anita and I were talking, because she would be way better at sorting out what was going on.

“I know I wasn't the greatest when you moved here.”

“It's okay. It was a weird situation.” I licked my lips in case he had any kissing urges and I got a mouthful of sand. “Pffft.” I spit. Great. Nothing more romantic than someone hacking gobs of saliva onto the ground.

“You okay?”

“Sand,” I explained in case he thought I was just a random spitter.

“Here. You have some still on your lips.” Nate leaned
toward me and ran his thumb across my mouth. I could feel a few course grains slide between my mouth and his thumb. His hand stayed cupping my chin, and I looked up. His eyes locked onto mine and he pulled me closer. I felt my breath quicken. His mouth was warm, and when his lips touched mine, it felt like every bone in my body went soft. I just melted into his arms. Nate was strong, and he lifted me so that I nestled in his lap. He smelled like the campfire. His chin rubbed like sandpaper on my face, but it didn't bother me in the least.

I'd made out with plenty of guys before, but it was never like this. Usually it was awkward, with an elbow getting stuck in between, or an awareness that I was wearing my nasty, slightly gray sports bra, or sometimes there seemed to be too much spit, so that the whole thing felt like there was a rabid garden slug in my mouth, or the guy would grope my chest like he was testing cantaloupes for their ripeness factor. This was completely different. It was like puzzle pieces clicking together. We fit. I felt like we couldn't get close enough. I pulled back long enough to yank his sweatshirt over my head. I was plenty warm enough without it. Nate made a soft sound and began to kiss the arch of my neck, his hands wound into my hair as if he planned to consume me right there on the beach.

I don't know how far things would have gone, but a sudden crack of lightning made us both look up. The sound
of thunder rolled across the water an instant before the rain started to fall.

“We'd better get back,” Nate said. He stood and pulled me up after him. He kicked sand onto the fire while grabbing the sweatshirt I had tossed to the side. The rain started to fall faster.

“This changes things, doesn't it?” I asked tentatively.

Nate stopped trying to make sure the fire was out and took me by the hand. He pulled me closer and kissed me again. Our wet clothes stuck to our skin.

“I hope so. I wouldn't want to go back.”

Chapter 25

W
hen I got to school the next morning there was a giant pair of panties duct taped to my locker. They were designed for someone roughly the size of a Volkswagen. I peeled them off with a loud ripping sound. My locker was sticky from the tape residue. If a small freshman leaned against it, he'd be stuck there like it was a giant piece of flypaper. This was exactly the kind of thing that would have upset me a day ago. Post–Nate kissing, the situation seemed juvenile. He'd driven me to school this morning, and we parked in the back row where we engaged in some pre-school making out. He was better than a double espresso; I was practically humming with energy. We'd decided to play things cool at school. Everyone didn't need to know our business. There was plenty for people to be talking about already.

“Where were you yesterday?” Sam asked, coming up behind me.

“I left.” I handed Sam the fat panties and started to fish through my locker to find my copy of
The Crucible
for English class. Sam realized what she was holding and dropped them on the floor. I kicked them in the general direction of the trash can.