Whispers From the Grave (16 page)

Mesmerized, I took in his liquid brown eyes, strong dimpled jaw, and lion’s mane hair—wild gold locks spilling over wide shoulders.

“Shane Murdock!” I cried.
Ben’s best friend!

“You’ve heard of me?” he said, laughing. “Whatever you’ve heard, it isn’t true.”

He was right! Rita had written that he wasn’t as attractive as Ben. For sisters, we certainly had different taste in boys!

Shane was short, perhaps an inch or two taller than my 5'6" height. He was solidly built and his tight T-shirt emphasized his muscular chest. My gaze swept his body, over faded jeans hugging narrow hips and down to his bare feet.

“Rita slugged you pretty hard,” he said. “I guess she’s jealous of you and Ben.”

“She doesn’t need to be,” I said quickly. “I’m not interested in him.”

“Rita’s not used to drinking. She’s usually pretty mellow.”

“Did you see which way she went?” I asked.

“She left with April. Went home, I guess.”

“Good.” She was probably throwing up in her front yard right about now. In a minute, our mother would come outside, catch her, and put her on restrictions.

“So what happened to Ben?” Shane asked.

“He passed out.”

He shook his head in amusement. “That sounds like Ben, I better make sure he’s okay. Want to show me where he is?”

I was here for only one reason—to save my sister. Yet a walk in the moonlight with Shane sounded very appealing.

I hesitated, ashamed. My sister’s life was at stake. How could I be so easily distracted?

But this was
research.
Shane could, after all, tell me something important about Rita and Ben that could help me break them up. I gestured toward the strip of land curving out to the sea and said, “Ben’s way down there around the bend.”

“I’m always dragging him home from somewhere,” said Shane, falling into step beside me. “It keeps me in shape.”

The tide was nearly in now, and the beach was just a thin stretch of rocky shore littered with logs and dried-out seaweed.

“Don’t the barnacles hurt your feet?” I asked.

“I go barefoot so often the soles of my feet are like leather.”

Agile as a cat, Shane moved along the beach, lightly leaping over the logs that blocked our path. I scrambled along behind him, and when we reached a particularly large log, he knelt on the top and offered his hand. The instant his flesh brushed mine, it was electrical. A current of excitement shot through me as his strong fingers closed over mine and he pulled me up onto the log. I lost my footing and teetered, nearly falling. But he firmly gripped my arms, steadying me as our eyes locked.

Our faces were inches apart, and as he gazed intently into my eyes, my heart thumped crazily. He said, “If I let you go, do you promise not to fall?”

I nodded and he released me from his gentle grasp and climbed down the other side of the log. As I followed, I felt a sudden breeze on my neck. I glanced up. My wig was snagged in a branch, dangling above me!

Shane regarded me with a grin and said, “Much better!”

Embarrassed, I snatched the wig from the branch. “I don’t usually wear a wig.”

“You shouldn’t,” he said softly. “You have beautiful hair.”

“So do you!” I’d never seen a guy with so much hair before. In my era, men wore their hair cropped close. Shane’s hair shimmered sensuously in the moonlight. It was wild and free, and my fingers itched to dance through it.

“You look like your sister,” he said, “only you’re prettier than Rita.”

“How did you know she’s my sister?”

“It’s obvious. Why haven’t I met you before?”

“I’ve been away.”

“Now that you’re back, are you going to stay?” he asked the question casually, but his voice held a note of interest that made my heart skip. He wanted me to stay!

“It depends on how things go,” I said and quickly changed the subject, asking him questions about himself. He told me he lived a mile from the beach and walked down here every night to watch the sunset, that he loved nature and wanted to live on a farm someday.

“I don’t want to end up in a rut like my father and live in a plastic world with plastic people and clocks telling me what to do,” he said, a hint of desperation leaking into his voice. “I want to get my hands in the dirt and watch green things grow and wake up with the sun.”

The boys in 2070 never dreamed of becoming farmers. Shane was like no boy I’d ever met. And I was touched he’d confided in me. I loved listening to the warm flow of his words and wished I could sail away on the sound of his voice.

“Is Ben around here somewhere?” he suddenly asked.

I’d forgotten about Ben. I’d forgotten
everything
except Shane.

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “I think we walked right past him.”

After we’d backtracked fifty yards or so, I pointed to the log where I’d left Ben.

Shane looked behind it. “He’s gone.”

Gone?
A chill blew through me. “But he passed out, how could he have—“

“Maybe one of the guys found him and helped him home,” he said, shrugging. “Or maybe he woke up.”

Or maybe he was slinking through the shadows, watching us!

We sat on the log, listening to the tide crawl in, its foamy fingers gently drumming the shore.

Brilliant moonlight washed over us, polishing everything so the sand glittered like silver and our skin seemed to glow from within. It was so incredibly bright I could clearly see the string of debris the waves had washed in—the long snake-like ropes of seaweed we called sea whips (mingled with the other stuff that resembled cooked spinach), shattered bits of clam shells, and various sized pieces of driftwood.

“Look,” I said, pointing to a small, swirly white shell nestled in the seaweed by our feet.

“No one’s home,” said Shane, holding the shell between his fingers and peering into the opening. “Hermit crabs sometimes use these empty shells for houses.”

“It’s so pretty! I’ve never seen a shell like that.”

“It’s a frilled dogwinkle,” he said. “They’re all over.”

Not in 2070!
Had the animals who grew the lovely little shells become extinct?

I felt a wave of sadness for all the things that no longer existed in 2070. The homes of most of Rita’s neighbors were gone—such as the house of the young mother I'd watched just hours before, so lovingly painting her shutters as her baby played nearby. Her home was probably bulldozed over by monstrous yellow machines with no respect for the memories it held. And I’d noticed a magnificent chestnut tree on the edge of Rita’s yard that had disappeared by my time.

And what of the
people
—all the people, home in their beds this very moment? My real family, and the men, women, and kids who were
meant
to be my friends and neighbors? In the five minutes it would take me to travel a century, most of them would be long gone!

This handsome boy by my side would likely be dead when I returned to 2070.

But what if I
didn’t
go back? What if I let my life unfold as it should have before science interfered? Things would still change, people would still die, but it would happen slowly. One loss at a time.

“Well, it doesn’t look like Ben’s going to show up,” Shane said and pulled me to my feet.

The tide had crept in so far that we’d only made it halfway back when it became impossible to travel along the shore without icy waves slapping our feet, threatening to drench us.

Shane said, “There’s a trail through the woods that leads to the road. Let’s go that way and I’ll walk you home.”

Of course, I couldn’t go home. My family didn’t know I existed. But Shane wasn’t aware of that, so I followed him up the sandy path. He knew his way through the brush and pointed out landmarks. “If you come this way again, turn left on the path before you get to the tree house,” he instructed. “There’s nothing but acres of blackberry bushes past it.”

I wanted to see the tree house; so we strayed from the path to inspect the boxy wooden structure cradled in the maple’s strong branches. “Who does it belong to?”

“Probably some kid,” said Shane. “I discovered it one day when it started pouring. I waited out the storm in there.”

It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was shelter. I knew where I would sleep.

Shane walked me all the way to Banbury House. I strolled up the walk to the front porch, as if planning to go inside. I waved to Shane, and when he rounded the corner, I backtracked, staying in the shadows by the side of the road—just in case Ben was lurking around!

Safely nestled in the house in the tree, I gazed out at Puget Sound, inky black below the bright moon. The tree house was pieced together with odd scraps of wood and not much bigger than a closet. I sat down on a sleeping bag I found curled up in the corner and inhaled the sweet spring air, my mind spinning. There had already been so much to think about. And now there was Shane.

Shane,
I said it out loud. “Shane!” I loved the taste of his name on my tongue.

Was I being disloyal to Kyle?

It wasn’t as if Kyle and I were getting married. For all I knew, I might never see Kyle again. Even if I decided to return to 2070, I might not be capable of it.

Now that I was back where I belonged, I could stay forever. The idea appealed to me. But it brought with it a hot rush of guilt. How could I so easily abandon my 2070 life? Was my mother worrying about me?

I didn’t want to think about that! That woman wasn't even my real mother. She was simply the person who had lied to me for seventeen years. A fresh surge of anger burst through me, strengthening my resolve.

As for Kyle . . .

Yes, I still cared for him. But something happened to me when I was near Shane. No boy had ever made me feel that way before. I closed my eyes, relishing the hug he had given me when he left me at Banbury House. As our bodies pressed together, it felt as if our souls touched.

I fell asleep, imagining Shane’s strong arms still around me. And—amazingly—I slept through the night, not waking until the morning sun stained the distant mountains pink. But it was not the light that woke me. It was fear. For the first thing I heard the next morning was an angry voice whispering. “Don’t move or I’ll blow your head off.”

18

My eyes popped open and I stifled a scream.

The short, black gun was inches from my face, aimed between my eyes.

“Don’t shoot!” I cried.

A grubby finger pulled the trigger and a stream of water splashed my forehead. It was only a squirt gun!

A little boy with a mop of blond hair glared at me. “Who said you could sleep in my tree house?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry,” I said, wiping the water from my face with my sleeve. “I didn’t have any anyplace else to sleep.”

“I don’t allow girls in here,” he informed me. “You better not have gotten into my stuff!”

He was somehow familiar. I studied his impish, freckled face and asked, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Chuck, and my brother built this house for me, so get out.”

Of course!
I’d read about Chuck, Rita’s pesky neighbor, in her diary. Yet the familiarity went beyond that. Why did I feel as if I knew him?

“Look, Chuck, I’m really sorry. But I didn’t get into your things. I’ll leave if you really want me to.”

His squinty green eyes darted about suspiciously, finally resting on a wooden box in the corner. He moved to sit beside it, guarding its contents.

“What’s in there?”
1
asked. “Your comic book collection?”

“None of your business.”

“Do you know where the high school is?” I asked. “Did you see your neighbor Rita leave for school this morning?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions,” he said defensively.

I tried another tactic. “You know, Chuck, this is the frazzinest tree house I’ve ever seen!”

“What’s ‘frazzinest’ mean?” he asked.

“When something’s frazzin, it means it’s really great,” I explained. “Like the best.”

“It
is
a great tree house,” he said, beaming proudly.

“Your brother must have worked really hard to build it for you.”

“Yeah!” he said, his eyes shining with a memory. “And I helped him.”

“You did? You must be some frazzin carpenter.”

“I pounded lots of the nails in all by myself,” he said, leaning back on his elbows. Soon he was answering my questions. I learned that it was now almost nine and that the high school classes had already started. Chuck drew me a map, and I was surprised to see Rita’s school was located in the same spot as mine.

“It was nice to meet you, Chuck,” I said and stuck out my hand to shake.

He jerked away. “I don’t shake hands with girls,” he said, apologetically. “They have cooties.”

For a second, he looked almost sad to see me go, and my heart twisted in sympathy as I remembered what Rita had written about his home life. But there was no time to think about it. I needed to find my sister!

By the time I’d walked to the high school, the first class had let out and the hallways were jammed with people.

“Do you know Rita Mills?” I asked a tall girl in a plaid skirt who was shoving books into a locker.

“I’ve heard her name,” she said, eyeing me strangely. “But I don’t know her.”

Why was she looking at me like that? Why was
everyone
staring at me?

Though I’d slept in my clothes, my jeans weren’t that wrinkled. But every place I turned, kids were pointing and gawking. I couldn’t figure it out until a teacher confronted me.

“What are you trying to prove, coming to school dressed like that?” he demanded, his frog eyes glaring from behind thick glasses. “If you want to look like a boy after school, that’s your business. But when you set foot in this school you are to look and behave like a young lady. If you do not follow the dress code, you will be expelled.”

Glancing around, I realized that all the other girls wore skirts or dresses.

A group of girls walked by and clapped. “Right on!” one yelled and flashed me the peace sign.

“What’s your name?” the teacher asked, his whiny voice sharpening with annoyance. “I can’t believe your homeroom teacher didn’t send you to the principal. Go see him now! I know Mr. Pratt will tell you to go home and change into a skirt.”