The Shadow Girl

8




Yesterday evening, Ty called and said he’d be happy to help with the roof. For the rest of the night, I kept hearing the way his voice sounded when he said my name. And I kept remembering how he looked at me with an intense, single-minded focus when I was standing with Sylvie at the lake. Even now, I get pathetically lightheaded just thinking about it.

This morning when he pulls up in front of our cabin, I go out with Mom to introduce them. It’s even warmer today than yesterday. A hummingbird is flitting around the feeder that hangs from the porch eave. Its hyperfast wings are no match for the fluttering in my chest when Ty sees me and his mouth curves into a crooked smile.

I bite my lip and look away for a second to calm down. I don’t want to do anything stupid, like trip down the stairs.

In the yard, as Mom talks to Ty, I do my best not to check him out in an obvious way. But it isn’t easy. As pitiful as it sounds, I could stare at him all day. His hair is messy, like he forgot to comb it when he got out of bed. All I can say is, tangles look good on him—really, amazingly good. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, ripped jeans, and black Converse sneakers. His arms are brown and strong—not in a bulky weight-lifter way, just lean, firm muscle. I notice a small tattoo on his right bicep, but can’t make out the design without staring.

As I watch him walk around the yard peering up at the roof, it’s as if my skin catches fire. There’s just something about the way Ty moves, so loose-limbed and sure, that gets to me. He doesn’t seem to possess even an ounce of self-consciousness. Then there’s his quiet, low voice. And the way his head tilts to one side and his eyes narrow when he talks, like he’s daring you to question him. He doesn’t come across as unfriendly, just sure of himself.

“I have a couple of other people to interview later today,” Mom says to Ty as she leads him back to the front of the house.

She’s lying. He’s the only person we’ve talked to about the roofing job. I don’t call her on it, though. She’s using a cane to help her walk this morning—something I’ve never seen her do before. I didn’t even know she owned a cane.

Mom glances at the list of references Ty gave to her when he arrived. “I’ll get in touch with a few of these folks this afternoon and let you know tomorrow.”

“Cool,” he says, and I get the most uncanny sense that although Ty is talking to Mom, he’s as tuned in to me as I am to him. I can almost feel his attention being magnetically drawn toward me. “I’d really like to work for you, Mrs. Winston,” Ty continues. “I’d do a good job, and I can start right away.”

“You’re sure you’ve shingled a roof before?” Mom asks, even though Ty already told her at least twice that he has.

“My parents own rental property,” he says. “I started helping my dad with maintenance during high school, and he and I have replaced a few roofs together since then. I also did maintenance part-time on some apartments one of my professors owns.” Ty gestures at the page Mom holds. “He’s on the list. Dr. Rigsby.”

She frowns. “Why aren’t you in school anymore?”

“Mom.” I glare at her.

Ty isn’t fazed. “I’m going back in the fall,” he says. “My family’s been dealing with some difficulties lately, and I needed to get away.”

“You lived with your parents while you were going to college?”

“No, they live with my younger brother in Baltimore. I lived on campus.”

“Columbia. Right.” Mom analyzes him skeptically. “New York City wasn’t far enough away from your family problems?”

“Mom!” I step between them. “I’m sorry, Ty.”

“It’s okay,” he insists, but his jaw clamps tight, drawing my attention to the scar just above it on his cheek.

Mom doesn’t apologize for her rudeness. Instead, she sends me a silencing look. “How long do you plan to stay in Silver Lake, Ty?”

“I’m not sure.” He glances at me, then back to her. “I can definitely stay another week or so.” With a short laugh, he adds. “I wouldn’t get far if I left now, anyway. I’m a little short on gas money.”

“I can’t pay much.” Mom quotes a ridiculously low amount.

Ty nods. “I’m fine with that.”

“Well, then . . .” She clears her throat. I suspect she was hoping he’d reject her offer. “I’ll be in touch,” Mom says. Leaning into the cane, she walks toward his car, a not-so-subtle hint that she’s ready for him to leave.

Ty and I follow, but I ignore her monotone chatter about Dad’s tools and kneepads and nails and her instructions that, if she hires him, she’ll expect Ty to clean up and put everything away in the storage shed when he finishes each day.

Clasping my hands behind my back, I risk a sideward glance at Ty and find him watching me, too. We both smile, but I look away first, self-conscious and giddy. I can’t recall ever being so aware of another human being in my life.

The three of us pause beside Ty’s beat-up old sports car, which is faded turquoise, with double white stripes down the center of the long, narrow hood. It sits so low to the ground that I don’t know how he gets around on our rocky dirt roads. It’s great, though. It’s just like him—cool, but not trying to be.

Mom tells Ty good-bye, then heads for the cabin as he backs out of the gravel drive. Reluctantly, I follow her, pausing when Ty calls, “Hey, Lily!” I look back to find the car stopped and Ty rolling his window down.

I shoot a glance at Mom, but she concentrates on climbing the steps to the porch. “Did you forget something?” I ask Ty.

“No, I wanted to ask about your dog. Cookie, right? I was hoping I’d see him.”

“He’s inside. He’s been so lazy since he came home from the clinic that he hasn’t been good for anything,” I say jokingly, not wanting to reveal just how worried I really am about Cookie.

“He’s better, though, right?” Ty’s grimace crinkles the space between his brows in the most appealing way.

I nod. “Yeah. He’s getting there,” I say, even though I’m not really sure.

“I’m glad.” A hint of a smile plays around Ty’s lips. He rests his elbow on the opening of the window and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Hey, I was thinking . . .” He clears his throat. “Even if your mom decides not to hire me, I hope you’ll still call when you’re ready to go for coffee.”

The fluttering wings in my chest take flight, lifting me off the ground. At least that’s how I feel—like I’m floating. “I will,” I blurt out, thinking he seems a little nervous. Which is completely surprising and really sweet.

One of Ty’s brows lifts as he tilts his head to the side. “Even if your mother doesn’t think it’s a good idea?”

“She won’t care,” I assure him, although I know that isn’t true.

“After that grilling she just gave me?” He laughs, and I immediately love the sound. It’s unrestrained and without an ounce of bitterness.

Wincing, I say, “Sorry about her interrogation.”

“I don’t blame her. I’m just some strange guy she doesn’t know from Ted Bundy; she’s smart to be careful.”

“Please tell me you aren’t that strange,” I say, teasing. Ty laughs again, and I add, “Mom’s just extra cautious lately. Because of what happened. Don’t take it personally. I’m sure she doesn’t think you’re a serial killer.”

His face is suddenly serious and filled with compassion. I look down at my boots, struck by emotion again. One thing I’ve learned about grief—it can catch you off guard and grab you by the throat. “I promise I’ll call you,” I say, to keep from crying.

“Good,” he says. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you. ’Bye, Lily.”

“’Bye.”

He waits three heartbeats before pulling away—I count them. Three wild, pounding heartbeats while we look at each other.



Ten minutes later, I’m in the kitchen washing the breakfast dishes when Mom comes out of her bedroom. My schoolbooks are on the kitchen table. I’m going to try to get back into my routine of working in the mornings for the next few days so that I can finish, turn my lessons over to Mom, and graduate by the end of the week.

She pauses behind me. “I’m still not sure how I feel about hiring Ty.”

“Why?” I look over my shoulder at her, my hands submerged in lemon-scented bubbles. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing, except that we don’t know him. It’s only you and me now. We can’t let just anyone hang around. Besides, all that talk about his father owning rental property might be pure fabrication and he can’t even hammer a nail.”

“That’s why you check references,” I say, with just a hint of sarcasm.

Mom crosses her arms. “I don’t know his references, either.”

Drying my hands on a dish towel, I face her. “Some of them are professors at Columbia. Jeez, Mom. If you doubt that, I’ll check the university’s website and make sure they’re listed. Why are you so nervous and suspicious?”

“Why are you so adamant that we hire him? If it’s a crush, you’re setting yourself up to get hurt. You heard what he said; he’s not sticking around. He’s going back to New York soon.”

Bristling, I toss the dish towel onto the drying rack. “It isn’t a crush. And nobody’s permanent. Dad didn’t stick around, either, did he?”

Mom flinches, and I instantly wish that I could snatch the words back. How could I have said something so cruel? Until now, I didn’t realize how angry I am at Dad for leaving.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Tension stretches between us, wraps around us, tugging tight. The clock ticks steadily. A crow caws outside. Beneath those sounds lies the constant undercurrent of friction that I recognize as Iris. She’s nervous about everything, too, lately. Pressuring me to ask Mom about Winterhaven and Jake, to find out what’s going on. But I don’t think Iris understands Mom’s state of mind right now, how easily she might crumble.

A full minute passes before Mom walks to the coffee table and picks up her cell phone. “I’ll call his references,” she says, avoiding my scrutiny. “If everything checks out, Ty can start work in the morning.”



Ty’s references had only good things to say about him. Mom said they used words like diligent, dependable, and motivated to describe him. She’s obviously impressed, especially since one of them said that he started college on a full academic scholarship. Mom calls Ty and offers him the job.

On Tuesday he arrives at eight o’clock sharp. I’m already at the table with my work spread out in front of me, and Mom is looking over my assignment. Each time I get up to take a break or tend to Cookie, she watches me as if she thinks Ty’s a coyote and I’m a rabbit, and he’ll gobble me up.

At least monitoring my every move keeps Mom out of Dad’s workshop. She doesn’t even escape out there when Ty leaves at three o’clock after clouds move in and it starts to sprinkle.

Disappointed that I didn’t get a chance to talk to Ty before he left, I decide to go see Wyatt. I haven’t heard from him since our ride up the mountain. I don’t want him to think I’m avoiding him.

When I arrive, Wyatt’s helping Addie paint the guest room purple. Addie insists the shade is eggplant and scoffs each time Wyatt makes a snide remark about the color.

I grab a paintbrush and join them. While we work, Addie chatters on about everything imaginable, but Wyatt barely utters a word, which is unusual for him. I try to draw him into the conversation, without much success. More than once, I catch him watching me, or he catches me watching him, and our gazes lock for a moment before we both look away. Each time it happens, I wonder if his pulse is ticking as fast as mine.

Addie finally runs out of things to talk about and starts singing under her breath, but I’m so caught up in trying to figure out what Wyatt’s thinking that I don’t pay attention to the song. I also don’t notice purple paint dripping from my brush onto the white baseboard until it’s too late. I grab an old rag off the floor, and stoop to wipe up the mess when Iris says, Listen . . .

I go still and immediately recognize the lullaby Addie is singing. It’s the song on the music box, I tell Iris. You used to hum it to me at bedtime when we were little. It’s not so strange that Addie knows it. It’s a well-known song.

Yes, Iris hisses, sounding urgent and confused. But I remember it on a violin. Did you play it?

You know I can’t play the violin, I silently remind her, baffled by the strange question. It must’ve been Mom, I say.

Then why does the music seem to flow out of me instead of in?

She starts humming along with Addie, and suddenly the tune transforms in my mind. Notes cry out from vibrating strings and quiver inside of me, the sound as clean and airy as morning light. A hazy image appears. A hand holding the bow as it flies across the strings. Long, feminine fingers so much like mine. Mom’s fingers when she was younger, I think, yet it’s as if I’m looking down at them like they’re my hands, not hers.

“Oh, Lily! Your jeans!”

Addie’s voice breaks my trance. I startle and glance down. I’m still stooping, still clasping the rag in one hand, the paintbrush in the other, but now purple droplets dot one knee of my jeans. “Ohmygosh, I’m sorry! I’ve made a mess all over your baseboard, too.”

Setting the brush in the pan beside me, I rub the rag across the wood, my hand shaking. Iris, you’re freaking me out. What are you trying to tell me?

I think I’m channeling your memories.

Coldness sinks into my bones. They aren’t mine.



I’m at the door of the Blazer ready to drive home, when Wyatt steps onto the porch holding a box stamped with Snowflake Bakery’s logo.

“I’m almost a week late, but here you go.” He comes down the steps and hands it to me. “Happy birthday, Lil.”

Inside are a half-dozen red velvet cupcakes—my favorite—the white icing covered with sprinkles. I flash back to my text-message conversation with Wyatt on the morning of my birthday, before my world fell apart. Looking up at him, I blink back tears.

“Double sprinkles,” he says quietly. “Just like you ordered.”

“You only promised me one.” I manage to smile.

“You don’t really think I’m going to let you eat cupcakes without me, do you?”

Raindrops suddenly start to fall. We run to the covered porch and sit on the top step beneath the eave, side by side. The rain comes down softly, clearing the air, making everything fresh and new again. “This is a much better gift than the minnow bucket you gave me last year,” I say with a laugh, biting into a cupcake.

Wyatt licks icing off his finger and sends me a sideward glance. “You know you loved it.”

“Yeah, right. Just what every girl wants.”

“You aren’t like other girls.” His voice drops as he says the words, stroking intimate awareness through me. Holding my gaze, Wyatt lifts the box. “You want another one?”

I laugh at him, my heart pattering like the rain. “You’re kidding.”

“I never kid about food, Lil, you know that.”

Shrugging, I say, “They are my birthday present, and I don’t want to be rude.” I smile and reach into the box.

Just as quickly as it appeared, the awkwardness between us subsides, and as dusk creeps in, Wyatt and I eat another cupcake, knowing that Addie will scold us for ruining our dinner if she catches us. Laughing and whispering like we used to when everything was easy.

I don’t tell Wyatt that Ty came to work for us, or that I found Winterhaven, Massachusetts, on the internet. I don’t mention the vision that gripped me less than two hours ago while we were painting. I let all of that go. I want to enjoy being just us. Right now, that’s enough.



Mom has enchiladas in the oven when I arrive home, but I’m not hungry after the cupcakes. She eats only a few bites herself before walking toward the door using her cane, explaining that she’s working on a sketch.

“You’ve been sketching a lot,” I say, anxious to stop her, to keep her here. “I’m glad your hands are feeling better. It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to do your artwork. More than a year, right?”

She opens the door and looks back at me, blinking too fast. “Something like that.”

“It’s weird that the arthritis either bothers your hands or your hips, but not both at once, isn’t it?”

She lifts a shoulder. “There’s no rhyme or reason to this damn disease.”

Crossing to her quickly, I say, “Can’t you sketch in here? You’ve been spending so much time out there alone. I miss you.”

“I don’t want to move my things,” she says. “I won’t be long.” Mom gives me a brief hug before stepping out onto the porch and closing the door.

Discouraged, I give Cookie his medicine, then watch television for a while, sitting on the floor and stroking his head. After he goes to sleep, I go up to my room, turn on my laptop, and look at the pictures on the Winterhaven website until I can’t hold my eyes open. I fall asleep curled up on my bed, strangely at peace as the images of Winterhaven flicker on the backs of my eyelids like a slideshow.

Sometime after midnight, I awaken to the sensation of Iris shuddering through me, as if she’s trying to shake me to consciousness. Your mother, she whispers. Something squeaks downstairs—a floorboard or a door—and I realize that I’m hearing Mom creeping into the cabin. She’s back. You can go to the workshop now.

But the thought of going out there in the dark and possibly falling into another trance disturbs me too much. I’ll find a way to sneak out to the workshop again tomorrow. Maybe I can figure out what’s going on then.

I try to fall back to sleep, but can’t. Instead, I lie awake for a long time, worrying about Mom and pondering the vision I had when I was at Wyatt’s today—how it seemed like I was the one playing the violin, not my mother. Of course, that’s impossible, in spite of Iris’s insistence that she’s channeling my memories. I’ve never played a violin in my life.