The Shadow Girl

Epilogue


The air changes when I step inside Kyle’s room behind Ty and his parents. The sterile antiseptic scent of the hospital disappears, replaced by the fragrance of hundreds of flowers. The room is filled with them.

I’m carrying Iris’s violin and a bow, and I’m more nervous and fearful than I’ve ever been in my life. After I play, someone will come in and turn off the machines that are keeping Ty’s brother alive. I can’t stand to think about it.

Mr. and Mrs. Collier block my view of Kyle as they approach him and, one at a time, lean over to kiss him while Ty walks around to his opposite side.

Holding my breath, I make my way to the foot of the bed. Machines wheeze and tick as I settle my gaze on Kyle. He’s pale and fragile. So frail. Like a broken bird.

“Lily, this is Kyle,” Ty says with love and pride in his voice. “My brother.”

I want to be strong for Ty, so I hold my emotions in check as our eyes meet. Ty nods, and I shift my attention to his mom and dad, relaxing a little when they offer me teary smiles of encouragement.

On the table beside the bed, I see a photograph of Ty standing with Kyle on a mountaintop. I recognize friendly mischief in the younger boy’s eyes. He looks so much like Ty. So full of life.

As Ty takes one of his brother’s hands, and his parents take the other, I lift the violin to my shoulder and close my eyes, holding in my mind that image from the photograph, thinking of everything I’ve learned about this boy. The people and the places he loved. The things he liked to do. Each quirk and quality that makes him unique. I want so much for the power of the music to flow through him and fill him with happiness. I want it to touch his parents, too, and Ty, and bring them peace.

But the bow I hold is shaking, and anxiety rises up to choke me.

Just as I’m about to panic and think I can’t do it, Iris’s words sweep through my mind: You’re strong enough alone now, but if you need me, look inside. Listen. . . .

Blocking out every other noise in the room, I search my soul for the ceaseless, rhythmic whisper of her breathing, and when I hear it, a deep wave of calm washes over me, along with a certainty that the music will reach Kyle, and he’ll live on, no matter what.

I inhale, and with a steady hand, touch the bow to the strings.





Acknowledgments


This book would not exist without the following people, to whom I owe a huge debt of gratitude:

My wise, wonderful, and patient editors, Sarah Sevier and Tyler Infinger, who helped me over the bumps and through the valleys, and pointed out all the things I didn’t see.

The fabulous HarperTeen team, who created a beautiful book around my story and presented it to the reading world.

My agent, Jenny Bent, who asked for more time when I desperately needed it, and saw me through a difficult period.

Anita Howard, April Redmon, Linda Castillo, and Marcy McKay, who read and reread, again and again and again, and never complained. (And who, miraculously, love and support me no matter how much I whine!)

The folks at Roasters Coffee & Tea Company on Soncy in Amarillo, Texas, who provided me with a friendly, comfortable place to work (and great coffee!) whenever I needed to be out of the house.

My good friend Joe Kitchens, who shared his expertise as a flight paramedic by walking me through the details of a mountain rescue mission. Even though the rescue scene was cut from the book’s final version, his insights helped me get things straight in my own mind so that I could move forward.

And last but not least, my husband, Jeff, for too many things to list here.

THANKS to all of you!