Chapter 2
Chapter Two
M y heart was still racing as I reached the highway that led into the mountains. The street lights were long gone, and darkness seemed to suck in all around me. Small towns were few and far between on the way to Ripple Creek. The occasional cabin dotted the steep landscape, lending a bit of illumination to the wilderness, but for the most part, it was just me and the yellow curvy line that kept me from veering off the edge. It wasn't a drive I relished late at night. Not knowing what might meet me at the other end made the journey that much more distressing. Nana never called back, and I hadn't heard one word from Ranger Roy. I left several more messages for some of Nana's friends, but they were all at that age where they ate dinner at four and climbed into bed by eight. Nana was no different, which made the entire call more frightening. Why was she up and, seemingly, outside?
I took a deep breath. I could allow my imagination to be dragged to every horrid scenario, or I could remain positive. I decided on the latter. I'd arrive and Nana would be sitting at the table with a cup of tea and a smile letting me know she had heard a noise outside and it was just the neighbor's cat. I would be so relieved. I would hug and kiss her and then we'd talk long into the night. "Please let that be the way the night ends," I said shakily.
Dark as it was, I was glad to reach the winding road that led up the mountain. There would be no traffic or signals to slow my progress. Even the wildlife that occasionally crossed the road at inopportune times seemed to have settled down for the night. It was just me, the star splattered sky above and my thoughts. I refused to allow dark scenarios back into my head, so I focused on memories. And, when it came to Nana, they were mostly good. There was one incident where I tried to bake cookies only to discover gummy bears were not a good substitute for chocolate chips. Nana was scraping gummy goop out of her oven for days, and boy, was she mad. She rarely got angry. I felt awful and promised her I'd never bake again. It was an ironically funny thing to promise considering the profession I chose. Smartly, I'd never repeated the gummy bear cookies.
Ripple Creek had started as an artist community in the early sixties. Nana had arrived there as a very young, single mom raising her daughter, Heather, all by herself. In Ripple Creek, she found a place that not only accepted her situation but pitched in a hand whenever it was needed. She found her dream job painting landscapes and selling them to tourists who passed through Ripple Creek on their way to the big fancy ski resorts up the mountain.
Since then, Ripple Creek had become a little more conventional, but it was still a haven for local artists and tourists looking for beautiful, unique souvenirs. My life in Ripple Creek happened suddenly, at the age of seven, and all due to tragedy. Heather grew up and apart from Nana. She studied hard and became a successful businesswoman. Nana always said she did it out of spite, that she earned her degrees and chose a path that was decidedly different than the one Nana had envisioned for her just to irritate her. But deep down, Nana was proud. My mom married Turner, a rich stockbroker, and they lived in a penthouse in the city. My parents loved me, but they were so busy with their careers and their jet-setting lifestyle they had little time for their only child (as long as you don't count Sally Sue my imaginary sibling who always wore shiny gold dresses, left the cap off the toothpaste and told the best bedtime stories). Three weeks after my seventh birthday, my life changed dramatically. The day that I always referred to as 'that day my life split in two' was one that was so deeply etched in my memory, I was sure I'd remember it long after I was resting in the ground.
S omething wasn't right. No one seemed to be talking to me or looking at me. Did I wake up looking like a troll? I should check the mirror. Everything seemed as it should be—the sun was shining outside the big windows looking over the city, the pigeon that always came to roost on my window ledge was sitting fat, gray and round exactly where he always sat and Midge, my parents' chef, was busy whipping up my favorite blueberry pancakes. She put in extra blueberries this morning she'd said as I'd skipped into the kitchen wearing my fuzzy pink robe and slippers. I had a different color for each day of the week and today was Tuesday, pink day. Mom and Dad had left for their vacation on a blue day. I'd cried and fussed hoping they'd consider taking me on their trip. They were going to some place called the Apples or the Alfs or Alps. Yes, that was it, the last one, the Alps. I had to stay behind with the tutor and nanny and chef, but Mommy promised to bring me a special gift from their trip.
"Here you go, Scottie." Midge placed a big stack of pancakes in front me. They were bursting blue with berries. She'd made them in my favorite shape, teddy bear. I smiled up at Midge, but she covered her mouth and turned away. Was she crying? Oh my gosh, it was true. I woke up looking like a troll. Now I was afraid to look in the mirror. Maybe the toaster would be less scary than a mirror. I got up from the table and moved slowly to the toaster. I held my breath, then bent down to look in the shiny silver metal. Everything was a little wiggly and wobbly, but it seemed like my face looking back at me.
I turned around. Midge was facing the stove, staring down at the griddle even though there were no more pancakes to cook.
"Midge? What's the matter?" My voice sounded small and scared. I had no idea why, but that was how the words came out. I knew something was wrong, and I hadn't woken up as a troll so it had to be something else. I raced out of the kitchen and sighed with relief when I found Charlie, our cat, asleep in his bed. He was safe.
Footsteps came down the hallway. Francine, my nanny, had red puffy eyes and a handkerchief pressed against her mouth. A man followed her. I'd seen him before at Christmas and Thanksgiving. He was my dad's brother. I liked seeing him at Christmas when he brought me new dolls and coloring books, but I didn't like seeing him now. He shouldn't be here now.
"Sit down, Scotlyn," he said. Why was he telling me what to do? He was mostly a stranger. Mommy always said never talk to strangers.
"Please, Scottie, my love." Francine was my third and favorite nanny. She talked pretty and said words like my love and brilliant and lovely. But hearing her say my love wasn't helping the terrible, sharp pain I was feeling in my stomach. I rubbed my hands over the soft, fuzzy material of my robe as I sat. I loved the feel of it. For a second it made me feel better.
Francine sat next to me on the big couch. It was so big sometimes I pretended it was my sailing ship, and I filled it with my stuffed animals so we could go on a journey across the sea. But I wasn't on my sailing ship now. I was on the couch, and Francine was sadder than I'd ever seen her. She took hold of my hands and looked at me. "Scottie, I'm afraid I have some sad news. It's about your parents. You see, they were skiing and there was an avalanche."
"They have a lunch?" I asked, confused. Francine squeezed my hands.
"No, my love. A mountain of snow came loose…"