The Edge of the Shadows (18 page)

THIRTY-FOUR

B
rooke and Cassidy weren't making the chores in the chicken barn any easier for Hayley. Cassidy was stalking the birds in an attempt to pet them, and Brooke was stuffing a piece of white bread loaded with jam into her mouth. This was her second piece of bread and jam, which she'd kept carefully hidden in her fleece.

When Hayley protested about the eating and not helping, Brooke said, “Chill. I'm hungry, okay? I'm not hurting you.”

“You're also not helping,” Hayley pointed out. “And what's with the food? You're already a tub and—”

“Shut up!” Brooke cried. “I am not and I'm hungry!”

“You can't be hungry. You're always eating. What's going
on
with you?”

“Mind your own business!”

“Fine. Then help me. I've got other stuff to do.”

What she had to do was mammoth. She'd rewritten her college essay as required by her mom, but a meeting with Tatiana Primavera had resulted in the requirement that she revise the dumb thing because “it lacks a personal tone, Hayley, and that's going to be essential.” Aside from that, she had mountains of homework from every single one of her classes.

And
then
there was the home front. Hayley's mom had begun cleaning houses. This was a three-days-a-week time eater for Julie Cartwright, leaving Hayley with the dinner responsibility as well as maintaining the chicken barn and making sure Brooke did her homework, Cassidy had help with her grade school projects, and their dad was taken care of.

So Hayley was stressed, and right now having Brooke and Cassidy be part of the chicken barn problem instead of the chicken barn solution wasn't helping matters. When Brooke still didn't stir from eating her bread and jam, Hayley finally broke. She said sharply, “Come
on
. You're supposed to be helping and you know it.”

“I
hate
chicken shit!”

Cassidy squealed. “Brooke said a bad word!”

Hayley shot Brooke a look. They still had to trundle the manure up to the vegetable beds, so she wasn't about to put up with her sister's lack of cooperation. “Am I gonna have to talk to Mom about you?” she asked Brooke pointedly.

“What
ever
,” Brooke answered. “Like she's gonna care? Or even notice that you're talking to her?”

Hayley gritted her teeth. Did
anyone
else have to put up with what she had to put up with? And it wasn't like she didn't have other things on her mind as well. There was the whole fire-setting problem still dangling out there waiting for her to make a decision about it.

At the most recent jazz band practice, she'd talked to Derric. It was the only time she saw him at school without Becca or one of the other kids with him. He'd been looking as glum as she'd been feeling, so she'd asked him how he was loving being on restriction. He'd rolled his eyes and said, “Last time
I'm
getting drunk till I'm twenty-one,” and that had taken them to the party at Maxwelton Beach.

Derric had told her where things stood. His father had revealed how the fishing shack fire had started. Rags soaked in paint thinner, shoved into a rotting place where the wood of the shack had come loose from its meager foundation. Add to that some crumpled newspapers and a few fatwood sticks brought along for the purpose, and the rest was history. It wasn't, he said, anything that could even
remotely
be called an accident.

The sheriff's department was looking at every source of paint thinner on the island to see who might have bought some recently. But the problem was that there were a bazillion house painters and artists of various ilks on Whidbey, so finding someone who'd bought paint thinner recently wasn't going to be very helpful.

She had to tell Isis about this, Hayley decided. If Aidan did indeed like to start fires, then he could have brought what he needed with him in a backpack that night of the beach party: paint thinner, rags, newspapers, and fatwood sticks. Or he could have even ducked down there in advance of the party and set the whole thing up. But when Hayley told her friend about the paint thinner part, Isis's reaction was one of relief.

She said, “That's
great
. I mean, it's not great because of what happened to the guy inside the shack but it's great because Aidan . . . See, he
always
used just matches. Matches and bits of wood and straw and stuff that was easy to get his hands on, and no way would he have changed his . . . well, his style.” She seemed to think about all this for a moment. Then she frowned and added, “He's gonna be so righteously mad at me now, though. See, I kept bugging him about talking to the sheriff before the sheriff found out about the school in Utah. It's not like I ever thought he might be the person who started the fire because I
didn't
think that. I only thought he should talk to the sheriff. Problem is that now Grandam thinks something's going on because he and I keep having these . . . well, these tense discussions that we stop whenever she comes too near. So she's still making him run to the beach to de-stress himself or
whatever
and he's doing it and, okay, maybe I haven't been watching him every second like I'm supposed to but—”

Hayley had stopped listening. The mention of Nancy Howard brought to her mind what Nancy Howard did for a living. She interrupted Isis with, “Isis, maybe there's paint thinner on your grandmother's property.”

This stopped Isis in her tracks. “She's a chain saw artist. She doesn't paint. And anyway, Aidan used matches and the other stuff like I said.”

“But some of her sculptures end up painted, don't they?” Hayley persisted. “Like when she does a sign for someone? Or when someone wants a painted sculpture? And
if
she paints them she'd have—”

“No!” But Hayley could tell that Isis didn't mean her grandmother had no paint thinner. Rather she meant no to the possibility that her brother had set the fire. “He wouldn't have done that,” she told Hayley. “He's cured. They wouldn't've let him out if he wasn't. He might've been troubled at one time and okay let's say he still is troubled now and then, but . . . Hayley, someone else
has
to be into setting the fires.”

THIRTY-FIVE

W
hen Parker Natalia asked her out for a “surprise” date, Hayley was more than ready for a diversion. Hayley couldn't imagine how anything on Whidbey Island might be a surprise to her, but she agreed to the plan and he gave her the date and the time.

When Parker arrived to pick her up, she was helping her dad get out of the house. He'd insisted on an inspection of what he was jokingly calling “the south forty,” and when she'd told him she was worried about how he was going to get back inside the house if she wasn't there, he said, “I haven't been outside in four days, Hayley. I'll manage something and don't you worry.”

Parker helped her dad negotiate the steps from the porch onto the front path that led to the driveway. He asked, logically, if they'd thought about building a ramp to take the place of the steps. Just when Hayley was about to say that a ramp would be helpful and that Seth could build it in no time flat, her dad announced that “they'll have to pound me into the ground before you catch me using a ramp, son.”

Then he started on his perilous way to the barn. Hayley watched him, biting down on her lip. Parker, she saw from the corner of her eye, watched her.

• • •

HAYLEY FIGURED OUT
their destination once Parker made the turn off the highway. He headed briefly south then west on the route that would take them over to a place called Keystone. An old army fort lay in that direction, but so did the ferry that took Whidbey Islanders along the upper edge of Admiralty Bay. Its destination was the Victorian town of Port Townsend, with its old brick-built commercial streets and its gingerbread houses stacked on a cliff above them.

Once off the ferry, their first stop was an old-fashioned diner on the town's main street. A bit out of place in a picturesque nineteenth-century town, Nifty Fifties boasted chrome bar stools, individual juke boxes on Formica tables, bright colors on the walls, neon signs, and a menu heavy on burgers, fries, malts, and milk shakes. They ordered and began to flip through the tunes on their table's juke box. Parker chose Elvis Presley—“Love Me Tender”—and he put in the money. He slid some coins in her direction and told her the next selection would be hers.

Hayley felt herself coming alive in the presence of this young man, so different from the boys she knew from South Whidbey High School. It was, she thought, incredible what a difference a few years out of high school made. Parker was a man instead of a boy, sure of himself, easy to be with, interesting to talk to,
and
interested in what she had to say. And when he brought up something tough, he didn't forge into it like someone driving a snow plow.

He said, fingering his silverware, “I c'n tell how much you and your dad mean to each other. The way you were helping him . . . the way you were worried about him getting back into the house . . . That's great, Hayley, to have that with your dad.”

She colored a little. And even that, Parker Natalia took in because he went on with, “I c'n tell the whole subject of your dad is a tough one. Your family doesn't like to talk about it, do they? But if you ever want to talk about it, about your dad, about anything . . . ? I'm your guy. Otherwise I just want you to know I respect whatever you want to say or don't want to say.”

Hayley was so used to people—well, Seth, let's face it—trying to get her to talk about her father. She was so used to her family not even wanting to talk about not wanting to talk about her father. She was so used to the entire subject of her father being taboo that she felt a chink in the armor that protected her and prevented her from speaking, and she was able to say to the young Canadian, “He's not going to get any better. He's going to get worse, so things're rough.”

Parker reached for her hand. She steeled herself for the advice that would do no good. But instead he said, “I'm real sorry. You shouldn't have to go through bad times.”

• • •

HAYLEY SAW SETH
about thirty seconds later. Of all people to be in Port Townsend on the very day of her date with Parker, there he was. At first she thought he'd somehow followed them, and she felt a surge of irritation. But he walked right by the diner, and he seemed intent on his destination.

Inadvertently, Hayley said, “What the heck . . . ?” when she saw him, and that took Parker's gaze to the window, where he noticed Seth, too.

“Bet I know where he's going,” Parker said.

“Why?”

“Because we're going there, too.”

After their meal, they walked in the same direction Seth had been taking. Hayley figured their destination had something to do with music if Seth was heading there.

She was right. Parker took them to the end of the main street, near the point where there were no longer shops and trendy boutiques but rather marine businesses overlooking a small harbor. There, a coffeehouse had been fashioned out of part of a warehouse and when Parker opened the door for her, Hayley heard fiddle music of a wild nature that reminded her of gypsies around a campfire dancing.

The source of the music turned out to be a girl. She stood on a makeshift dais, and she was accompanied by a guitarist who wasn't at the moment playing but was rather watching her with a grin on his face. Everyone else had grins as well. It was tough not to smile when someone's music was so uplifting.

The girl herself was intriguing. She had curly dark hair that fell to her waist, a cowboy handkerchief rolled up and used as a headband, cowboy boots with her jeans tucked into them, and a T-shirt with a hole under its arm. Most remarkable was her eye patch, black like a pirate's and somehow in keeping with the rest of her.

Hayley glanced around and found Seth sitting on the edge of an old sofa. He was, like everyone, enthralled. Parker saw Seth, too, and he murmured in her ear, “He wants her,” and at Hayley's startled expression he added, “For Triple Threat. That's why he's here.”

“What about you?” she asked. “I thought you were playing with—”

“I can't stay much longer,” he told her. “Visitor's visa. I have to get back to B.C.”

“Oh.” Hayley could hear her own disappointment. He was leaving, she thought. Wasn't that just her luck?

He smiled and brushed some hair off her cheek. “But border crossings are easy enough when you've got a passport,” he told her.

• • •

WHEN THE GIRL'S
set ended and she announced that she was taking a break “so you guys better order lattes or they won't let me come back here,” Hayley saw Seth approach the girl. It came to her that this was the very first time that she and Seth had been in the same place without him automatically approaching
her
. She told herself she was glad of this. But still it was strange to see him leap to his feet and dash to the girl before anyone else could get to her.

• • •

IT WAS JUST
after ten when they got back to the island, early hours for a date to end. Parker pointed this out, asking if Hayley had a curfew.

Hayley said that there wasn't much to do on Whidbey after ten o'clock anyway unless you were old enough to get into a bar or knew of a place where a party was happening or wanted to dope up or drink in the woods. So although she always had a midnight curfew, she rarely was out after eleven.

“What about tonight?” Parker asked her. “I can take you home, but if you don't need to . . . I know of a place.”

When he shot her a smile, she thought about how she'd like to put her fingers in his curly hair and she'd like to kiss him and—this was really terrible of her—she'd like to feel him pressing against her. But what she said was, “Sure. Long as I'm home by midnight.”

They ended up at Ralph Darrow's house, in the parking area. There Parker grabbed a flashlight from his glove compartment, and he led her down the path toward the bright lights from the house. She could see Seth's grandfather and Becca King in the living room as they passed. Becca was feeding some logs into the huge fireplace. Ralph Darrow was reading in a chair near the window with a bright crown of light falling on his long gray hair.

Then they were on the path through the woods, Parker leading but holding her by the hand. She knew where they were going because she'd been in Seth's tree house a hundred times.

When they reached the clearing where the tree house was built into the branches of the two old hemlocks, Hayley realized she was a little bit nervous. She wondered what Parker expected of her, and she felt unsure of herself.

He seemed to sense this when they got to the steps that led up to the place. He turned to her and said, “It's cool, Hayley.” He switched off the flashlight for a minute and in the autumn darkness, she felt him move toward her. “No worries,” he said.

He kissed her, and the kiss went on and on. Hayley thought how it was a man's self-assured kiss and not the kiss of a boy. She thought how strong he seemed and how his strength was something she wanted as part of her life. And then she simply stopped thinking at all.

He finally broke off. He said huskily, “You're amazing. You want to go up?” And he indicated the tree house above them.

Hayley said, “Yeah. I do.”

They used the flashlight to negotiate the steps. Across the deck they went and then they were inside the tree house, which was warm with a fire that had been banked in the wood stove as if waiting for their arrival.

Parker lit a lantern, but turned it low. Hayley looked around. She was acutely aware of there being no place to sit aside from the cot on which a sleeping bag lay. She swallowed a little nervously. She shot him a smile. He smiled in turn.

“Got some dope,” he told her.

“Oh.” Hayley wasn't sure how to put it without sounding like the most inexperienced goody-good on the planet. “I haven't exactly . . . I mean, I've never done any dope.”

“Not even weed?”

She shook her head. She could feel her face getting hot, and she was glad of the low light so he couldn't see how badly she was blushing. But even if he
could
see, it didn't seem to matter. He said, “There's always a first time for everything, huh?”

He had a stash in a tea tin on the windowsill. He said, “Want to try? You won't turn into a heroin addict. Really,” with a smile. He began rolling a joint so expertly that only an idiot would have thought he didn't do this on a regular basis.

He came to her, joint in hand. Hayley thought he was going to hand it over or light it and take a toke, but instead he looked at her and touched her hair and moved it behind her ear in a sweet caress. Then he kissed her in that way he had and again the kiss went on and on.

He finally said, “Want to sit?” and indicated the cot. When she hesitated he said, “I can put that sleeping bag on the floor and we can sit there if you'd be more comfortable. Only . . .” He laughed. “I guess it's
still
a sleeping bag. Maybe I shouldn't have brought you here. I see what it could look like from your perspective.”

Hayley said to cover her embarrassment, “No. It's okay. Let's sit,” and she was the first to do so. He sat next to her and that was when he lit the joint and took a deep hit of it. He told her he was going to teach her how to smoke weed because it was time she was just a
little
bad. He told her to take the smoke in with a lot of air at first, so that was what she did.

She expected to be instantly high, but she felt nothing. He told her to take another hit and he added, “When it's your first time, sometimes you don't feel anything. Not like you're going to feel your second or third time.”

She blushed at this because first time and second time had more than one meaning. He seemed to realize this just as he said it because he declared, “Oh
hell
,” and he took the joint from her and he set it on the edge of the wood-burning stove. Then he kissed her, at first gently, and then more deeply, and Hayley realized it was fine with her. When the kiss broke off, he said in a low tone, “Have you ever . . .” and she shook her head. “Then we won't,” he told her. “I mean,
I
won't. But you're so beautiful and it's hard not to want you. What I mean is that whenever I see you, I can't help thinking about . . . but I want to be respectful. I know how special you are and how far you're going to go in your life and—”

She put her hand over his mouth. “C'n you stop talking and kiss me?” she said.

He grinned. “That I c'n do,” and his kiss sent shivers up and down her spine. They intensified when he kissed her neck. They morphed into sighs she didn't even know she was making as he laid her back on the cot. She felt herself heating up so much that she gripped the rumpled sleeping bag tightly just to keep herself from floating off into space.

That was when her fingers closed over something buried among the rumples of the bag. She glanced at it in some confusion.

It was Isis Martin's electronic cigarette.