The Edge of the Shadows (9 page)

SEVENTEEN

D
erric was silent as they walked to Becca's next class, which was Health. She could tell they were thinking the same thing, though. His whispers were claiming
keep him in my sights
and while she wanted to tell him that he didn't exactly need to be her knight-in-armor when it came to Aidan, the truth was that the kid made her uneasy every time she ran into him.

When they got to her classroom, she said, “D'you think Isis lied?”

“About that American Lit thing?” And when Becca nodded, “Maybe Aidan's trying to make it look like she did. Or maybe Jenn's right.”

“That Isis is setting those fires?” He studied her for a moment during which the final bell rang, telling them both that they were late for class. He said, “I don't know. But I have a feeling . . . Could be a good idea to give both of them a lot of space, Becca.”

She
could
do that, she thought. But her reality was that the last person she wanted getting close to her secrets was someone like Aidan Martin.

• • •

AFTER SCHOOL, SHE
realized that there was a good way that she could deal with part of her worries. She rode the free island bus from the school into Langley, and when it dropped her close to the Cliff Motel, she was practically at her destination's door step. This wasn't one of the days that Derric acted the part of Big Brother to Josh Grieder, so the coast was clear. But it wasn't as clear as she'd have liked it to be. A familiar pickup truck was parked in the lot.

Just as Becca was considering the option of coming back later, Chloe Grieder came out of the motel's office. The little girl saw her, and shouted, “Becca! You got to see! Grammer made a cake shaped 'xactly like a punkin. It's for Halloween. For the church bazaar. I mean not
yet
'cause it's not Halloween and she's just practicing. Only we get to eat it tonight. You got to
see
, okay?”

Becca smiled. Only when you were seven years old could a pumpkin-shaped cake inspire such joy. She walked over and gave Chloe a hug. She said, “A punkin cake?”

“For church.” She pointed across the street from the motel where the Christian Missionary Alliance had its church. There, on Halloween night, the church's multipurpose room morphed into bazaar, haunted house, and everything else imaginable to keep small children entertained.

Becca followed Chloe into the motel's office, which gave way to the apartment's living room with its family clutter. From there a kitchen opened up. Chloe's grandmother was seated at the old Formica-topped table, and she and Diana Kinsale were evaluating the pumpkin cake Chloe had been crowing about.

“Hey, darlin,” was Debbie Grieder's habitual greeting to Becca. “What d'you think? The color's not right. Too much orange, I say.”

“Let's eat it!” Unbidden, Chloe climbed up onto Diana Kinsale's lap.

Diana had turned in her chair and was smiling fondly at Becca, but Becca didn't smile back at once. Diana looked so tired. And where was Oscar? Diana went nowhere without that poodle.

Diana extended her hand to Becca. Becca took it and Diana said, “Ah.” Something flowed between them as it always did.

Debbie said to her, “So? The color. What d'you think?”

Becca gazed at the cake. Debbie had got the pumpkin shape. She'd got the green of the stem, too. But she was right. The color was too orange, and that's what she said, adding, “All the better to eat it right now.”

“Yippee!” Chloe cried.

Diana stirred at this and said it was time for her to leave. She clasped Debbie's arm in her Diana way and said, “Be well, friend,” and then to Becca, “Walk with me to the truck, Becca. I've been carrying something around for you.”

Becca followed Diana out to her truck, where she rooted through her glove compartment and brought forth a small, beaten-up book. It was very old and the title on its cover had long since become unreadable. Becca asked what it was as she opened it. She saw the title within:
Seeing Beyond Sight
.

“What's it mean?” she asked.

“You'll have to read it to find out.” Diana reached out in that way she had and smoothed her hand along Becca's hair. She—Diana—had been responsible for its alteration to sun-streaked fair from the disgusting muddy dark brown she'd dyed it when fleeing San Diego. Diana was also responsible for its style, which capped her head. She'd called it Becca's pick-me-up. For Becca it had meant a partial return to the human race.

Diana said, “You look troubled. Derric?”

“No. He's good. But there's this kid at school and I'm a little freaked out by him.” And then, of course, there was Rejoice, but she wasn't about to tell Diana Kinsale a thing about her. She added, “We got into it a couple of times, and I don't know what to make of him. Neither does Derric. We're both sort of concerned.”

Diana observed her in that questioning way of hers. “And that's all?”

“Pretty much,” Becca lied. She'd told the truth as far as she could. There was more, but she didn't know what it was yet.

“Ah.” Diana said nothing more for a moment. Becca felt her gaze and turned her head back to meet Diana's compassionate eyes. “Well, in my experience without struggle there is no growth and without growth there is no life.”

Becca clenched her fists. “You're doing that Yoda thing again.”

Diana laughed. “Then let me say it this way. We're here to learn, but every person we meet has a different lesson for us. What complicates matters is that our lessons keep colliding into other people's lessons. Is that less Yoda-like for you?”

“I guess,” Becca said. “I'll think about it.”

“That's all anyone can ask.” Diana gestured at the small gift she'd given Becca. “Enjoy the book. And come to see me. The dogs are missing you.”

• • •

AIDAN MARTIN'S CURIOSITY
about Becca could have meant anything. But the fact that he was curious about her in the first place needed to be dealt with. One way to do this seemed to be by affirming the original story that Becca and Debbie had concocted to get her into South Whidbey High School. They hadn't used it again aside from passing it along to the sheriff at one point, but it was crucial that Debbie still be willing to make the same claim about her relationship to Becca.

They were straightening the kitchen from Debbie's baking of the pumpkin cake when Becca brought it up. She said to Debbie, “I got to ask you something, but I'm not sure how to do it.”

Debbie was drying her hands on a tattered tea towel printed with chickens and chicks. “Going straight at it is probably best. You need to move back here, darlin? You're always welcome.”

“No. Things're real good with Mr. Darrow.”

“Then . . . ?” Debbie reached for a pack of cigarettes, lit up, inhaled, coughed way too much, then picked a piece of tobacco from her tongue.

Becca took her ear bud out because she was going to need Debbie's whispers in order to know how to guide the conversation. She said, “I was wondering . . . If anyone asks, c'n you still say you're my aunt like you did last year?”

Debbie observed her from behind the smoke from her cigarette. “Who's gonna ask?” she asked shrewdly. “You in some kind of trouble?”

Debbie had got her into school by saying that Becca was her niece. Then she'd covered for her the previous November when Jeff Corrie had shown up after receiving the sheriff's call that told him a cell phone purchased by his missing wife had been found in the parking lot of Saratoga Woods, just outside of a town called Langley. Jeff had come armed with a picture of Laurel but he hadn't brought one of Becca. Logically, he'd thought that where he found the mother, he'd find the child, because the last thing he would ever consider as a possibility was the truth: that Laurel had split away from her daughter.

Debbie knew nothing about a Laurel Armstrong and she told Jeff so. She also knew nothing about a mother and daughter newly come to town. What she did know was that in room four-four-four of her motel was living a girl called Becca King who was supposedly waiting for her mom to return for her, but since this stranger wasn't asking about a Becca King and since he wasn't asking about a girl waiting for her mother, Debbie said not a word to him about Becca. She'd just studied the picture he showed her and then she'd said nope, she hadn't seen this woman at all.

That had been it. Becca knew that Debbie had her suspicions about Laurel Armstrong and her relationship to Becca King and to the mom Becca was waiting for, but Becca had never brought Debbie into the picture and she was hoping that she wouldn't have to. Now, though, Debbie had asked her directly: Who's gonna ask any questions about you? And her whispers were telling Becca that at some point she was going to have to reveal more than she wanted to reveal to anyone.
Something's going on here
was right at the front of Debbie's mind. So was
If she
is
a runaway what kind of trouble is this going to make for me
?

Becca would have been thrilled to hear how well she was picking up Debbie's whispers had they not been verging so close to the truth. She said, “I dunno who'll ask. Except there's this boy at school . . . his name's Aidan Martin . . . and—”

It's really about Derric
.

Well, that was true. Most things for Becca
were
about Derric one way or another, but not this time. She said, “It's just that this kid—Aidan—he keeps trying to trip me up about things. I don't know why. So I wouldn't be surprised if he showed up here and asked you about me. If you could say I'm your niece like you did before . . .”

“Sure, darlin,” Debbie agreed. “Your story and mine? They're still the same till you tell me otherwise, no matter who asks.”

EIGHTEEN

H
ayley had just had an argument with her mom when Isis showed up at her house that night. Julie Cartwright had demanded that Hayley make an appointment for them both to meet with Tatiana Primavera to discuss “the sabotaging of her life.” When Hayley refused, her mom burst into tears. Hayley's dad worked his way into the kitchen. Brooke followed him and said, “Nice
going
, Hayley,” and their mom had shouted, “Keep
out
of this.” At that, Brooke angrily claimed she was only trying to
help
, for God's sake. At which point, Hayley's dad asked what in hell was going on, and the last thing anyone wanted to do was actually to tell him, so Hayley's mom lied and Brooke then said, “Oh yeah, let's all just keep
pretending
,” and crashed out of the room.

That was when the doorbell rang and there was Isis. Brooke answered with a hostile, “So I guess you want
Hayley,
” and left Isis standing there. She'd shouted, “It's your
friend
, Hayley,” making it sound like, “It's a pool of vomit, Hayley,” and Hayley felt ashamed that Isis had to see her family like this. She hastened the other girl up to her room.

Isis started talking on the way up the stairs. “I needed to talk to you. I can't
believe
how you acted.”

Hayley stopped and turned. Below her on the stairs, Isis's face was pinched. She had a shoulder bag that she was carrying and her fist was tight on its strap.

“Why did you treat me like that at lunch today?” Isis demanded.

“Like . . . Huh? What?”

“D'you think I
wanted
to have lunch with Aidan? Why didn't you come over to our table? I
know
you saw me there.”

Hayley stared at her. She couldn't come up with a reply because she couldn't believe that someone else was actually about to rag on her.

Isis said, “You could have come over. You could have asked how things're going. You could have acted like you noticed that something was wrong. But you didn't and I have to ask myself why and I think I know.”

Hayley went up the rest of the stairs and into her room. Isis followed. “I've been here for you,” Isis told her. “I've been your friend. I've asked you to eat with me and come places with me and we've been to the beach and I've bought your jewelry and do you know how
much
it cost me to buy that dumb jewelry and what have
you
done for me in return? Just ignored me. Like it was perfectly okay with you that there I was trying to deal with Aidan, who happens to be the
only
reason I have to live in this hellhole.”

Hayley felt pummeled, but there was something so crazy in what Isis was saying. . . . “What?” she demanded and her voice grew louder as she felt the anger bubbling in her. “
What
do you want, Isis? My mom's on my case and my dad is really
sick
in case you haven't noticed and not everything in life is all about
you
.”

Isis gasped. Her eyes flooded with tears. “You can say . . . ? You're my
friend
. You're the only one I even trust. And now with what's happened . . .” She stumbled to Hayley's bed, sat down on the edge, and doubled over. “I'm sorry,” she said, weeping. “I'm going crazy. I just attacked you, and it isn't fair, and I
know
it and now you hate me.”

Tentatively, Hayley sat down next to her. She touched her shoulder and said more quietly, “What's going on?”

“It's Brady.” Isis began sobbing. “He says he wants to ‘take a break.' He says we can't keep Skyping each other and I'm texting him too much and he can't keep answering and his grades are slipping. I
know
that I need to ease up and I can't because this is about Madison Ridgeway, who was, like, just
waiting
for her chance to hook up with Brady. I want to
die
.”

“Oh gosh, Isis,” Hayley said. “I'm so sorry about Brady.”

Isis raised her face, her melting mascara making raccoon rings around her eyes. “
Sorry?
Oh he c'n just wait for what I'm going to do to him.” She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Hayley got up and got tissues from her dresser, and Isis took about ten and crumped them into her fist. “I'm gonna make him so jealous. I'm gonna make him
have
to think about getting back with me. I'm gonna hook up with someone here and plaster it all over my Facebook page . . . Only with who? I
got
to hook up with someone but the pickings are so shitty except for that Parker dude but how can I . . . I could get to him through Seth, right? Or maybe I could hook up with Seth. He's not too bright and he probably wouldn't even think—”

Hayley felt herself getting hot all over again. “Seth,” she said, “happens to be my friend.”

“I didn't mean to—”

“He was her boyfriend,” Brooke's voice said.

The girls both swung around and Brooke was in the doorway. God only knew how long she'd been standing there, a small and knowing smile on her face. “He's her ex-boyfriend now,” Brooke said, “but he doesn't exactly like it that way.”

“Oh my God!” Isis said. “I didn't mean . . . No
wonder
you hate me. I just say anything. It's like I can't help it. I keep blowing it and you're my best friend here and I didn't
mean
anything, Hayley, with what I said about Seth. I just mean that he's not my type. He's really so nice but if I posted him and me on my Facebook page, no one would ever believe—”

“Does she ever shut up?” Brooke cut in. “What's
wrong
with you, Hayley? Whatever happened to having
real
friends?”

• • •

ISIS WORKED ON
quelling Hayley's concerns about her. She apologized at school the following day, and this time it wasn't a histrionic apology accompanied by tears and anguish and self-loathing. It was instead a “C'n I talk to you, Hayley?” said quietly in the morning before the final bell rang when Hayley was stowing her lunch in her locker. Hayley said sure, and Isis led her to a sheltered corner near the stairs.

She said, “My mom calls what I do throwing dog poop. Only she doesn't say
poop
if you know what I mean.”

Hayley didn't reply because she was no longer sure what to make of Isis. The girl was totally altered now: calm like the waters of Saratoga Passage on a windless day.

Isis went on. “I get wound up, and I say stuff. I'm loud and I cry and I say the first thing that comes into my head. But I don't mean any of it. I'm so totally sorry you had to see that part of me because you didn't deserve it.”

Hayley licked her lips. “Look, Isis . . . there's a ton of stuff going on at my house right now and—”

“Your dad. I know. I saw him that time I drove you home. I didn't want to say anything 'cause you hadn't ever told me something was wrong with him. What I figured was if you hadn't ever said anything maybe I wasn't s'posed to say anything either. I'm sorry you thought that I didn't care. I
do
care. I c'n be a decent friend to you if you'll let me.”

Hayley nodded. There was real truth in what Isis was saying, especially when it came to Hayley's father. She
didn't
talk about him or his condition, so how could she expect other people to forge ahead and talk about him when it was so obvious that ignoring what was in front of them for as long as possible was the Cartwright way of life?

She said to Isis, “I'm sorry too. I could've been better at noticing. That day with Aidan and how upset you were at lunch? I know how it is to have a little brother or sister.” Hayley quirked her mouth. “Brooke,” she added. “She's really at a bad age.”

“Poor thing,” Isis said.

“I try to remember that.”

“No,” Isis told her. “I meant you. I get all over you because you're not noticing me when I should be noticing
you
. That's going to change if we c'n still be friends. I hope we can.”

Hayley nodded.

• • •

ISIS CAME UP
with the idea of the party on Maxwelton Beach. She wanted to do something nice for Hayley, and wouldn't it be fun while the weather was good to have a party? It would be a cookout and they could invite the “regular lunch table crowd” as Isis put it, along with anyone else that Hayley and she could think of. As if to make up for anything negative she'd said about him, Isis mentioned Seth as well. She said, “Hey, if he brought his band, then we could have music, too. And I bet those guys could supply us with beer 'cause they're old enough, aren't they? Weed, too. They c'n get us some weed.”

Hayley told her that Seth Darrow didn't smoke weed, and at this Isis laughed. “Musicians
always
smoke weed.”

“Not Seth. He's got a bunch of learning disabilities so he doesn't do drugs. He'll drink a beer but not more than one.”

Isis said, “Wow,” and she sounded admiring. “I wish Aidan would take a page out of
that
book. Well, whatever. Should we invite Seth and his group? What about that guy Parker?”

Before she got any further, Hayley knew she had to break the bad news to Isis. “We can't have a cookout on the beach,” she told her. “We can't even be there at all.”

Isis's face went slack. “But
part
of it's for the public, isn't it? See, I figure me and Aidan can take a whole bunch of Grandam's discarded wood down there in advance. We can build a bonfire. We can take blankets and food and when it's—”

“Someone'll call the cops,” Hayley told her. “No fires on the beach.”

“But no one even
lives
there full-time. When you and I were there and we saw that one house, you
said
no one lives there full-time.”

“In
that
house,” Hayley said, “and in some of the others. But not all of them are summer homes or vacation rentals. There's people who've lived there for years. And anyway, there're certain hours when you can't even be on the beach.”

“That is
so
stupid. I swear, this whole Washington beach thing is crazy.” Isis thought about this, her mouth downturned till an idea apparently struck her and she said, “Okay, then. We'll use that fire pit we saw.”

“What fire pit?”

“No one's living in that house. I told you it's for sale, right? And on either side, there's not
even
a house so we could use that fire pit in their yard and have our party and no one will know. Remember, there's chairs outside and a couple of driftwood benches and oh my God there's that hot tub, too! And the outdoor kitchen!”

“We can't—”

“I'll go down there and scout around. I'll check to see how close any of the other houses are. I mean houses where people are actually living. I'll report back and
if
no one's living nearby right now, let's do it. It'll be secret and fun and maybe an opportunity to put a serious lip lock on some total stud. I wouldn't mind that, would you? Like that dude Parker. He's seriously yummy. Have you seen him since Djangofest?”

Hayley shook her head.

“
Well
then . . . I'll just go down and check things out.”

Hayley thought about it. It wouldn't hurt just to check things out, she decided.