CHAPTER FOUR
I stood outside Spines and Pines with no idea what to do next.
I scanned Cedar Street, forgetting where I’d parked—ridiculous, considering the toy-size boundaries of the town center.
I blamed the last five minutes. My head battled through a fireball shot of pain, and I kicked myself for not bringing my Aleve.
I shifted my focus away from my growing list of unknowns by grounding myself into the scene around me.
During my time searching for work, a farmers market had opened on the western edge of town, and the two blocks marking the end of Sacred’s commercial zone had been sectioned off.
Covered tents offered beeswax candles and fresh fruit, and a busker played acoustic guitar, his black case propped open for tips.
“Blackbird.” I recognized the song from so many days Ana and I spent in Grier’s bedroom while she faithfully practiced the Paul McCartney classic.
The song settled my nerves but amped the distance between me and my friends.
I wasn’t ready to share my recent experiences.
(Would I ever be ready?) But I’d promised to call Grier and Ana, and my parents too.
I tried my mom and dad first, but both calls dropped before a connection was even made.
Figuring the ship was the issue, I tried clicking on my friends’ contacts but earned the same result.
I was grumbling into the home screen when footsteps clomped behind me.
“Lost, or do you need me to yell at Corbin again?”
I turned, matching the voice to the auburn-haired girl from Spines and Pines. Her black birdcage had been replaced by a white paper bag.
“Oh no. I’m fine. He was fine,” I lied easily, stowing the phone. “I’m just . . .”
“You’re just waiting for the best oatmeal raisin cookie of all time.” She shoved the bag near my face.
“Thanks,” I said, “but I hate oatmeal raisin.”
“Me too.” She fished out her own giant cookie and shoved a third of it into her mouth. Her face bloomed with ecstasy, and she pushed out the bag again.
Now I had to see what the fuss was about. I reached inside. As she munched, I bit into the chewy sweetness, my eyes widening. “Those are chocolate chips, not raisins.”
The girl gave a barely-there shrug. “Which makes them the best oatmeal raisin of all time.”
My laugh went rogue. I finished off the cookie even though chocolate was sinister fuel to post-concussive headaches. Risking consequences seemed far less important now; I was already wearing a haunted watch.
“Rose is always pulling shit like this,” the girl said, wiping her hands on her white shorts with the kind of indifference I admired. “Makes me love her more. I bet you will too if you’re here long enough to meet her.”
“Just the summer.” I crumpled my forehead and hit rewind. “Corbin called you—”
“It’s Del,” she supplied. “Delilah Tamar Abernathy is way too much name to live up to. My mom had this obsession with subversive Biblical women. Friends and everyone under thirty call me Del.”
Friends. I pictured Cape Cod and the old me crying over the fact that my parents wouldn’t even trust Ana’s family with my safety. Soon—soon, I could spend every summer the way I wanted.
But I could make some of my own choices this summer too, including making a friend—possibly.
A lifetime of being left behind in favor of something better meant that it took a lot for me to let people get close.
Grier and Ana were the exception. We’d been tight forever and had grown on one another like scabs.
If I had to guess, this girl Del was only hanging out with me now to be polite.
My self-consciousness flared until I remembered I would be the one leaving Sacred in eight weeks.
I had some control here. With that little push, I gave a tentative smile. “I’m Sylvie.”
Del asked about my summer stay as we finished off Rose’s cookies, and I told her about Bearberry Cabin and Tía Vivian’s art installations. I mentioned graduation but not my parents and their jobs.
At some point, we strolled into the farmers market.
I bought a jar of local honey to add to my morning Jif and four ears of white corn for Tía Viv.
Del greeted everyone by name and dragged me to a card table, far from the prime sales spots with canopy tents.
“This is my favorite spot at the market,” Del assured me.
There, an older woman in a strawberry-print caftan sold handmade jewelry. A dachshund snoozed by her rubber sandals. Del gave the pup a scratch, kissed the woman’s cheek, and bought a twelve-dollar seed bead bracelet.
“I buy one of these from Norah every summer,” she said as we moved along. The guitar busker plucked through “Willow” by Taylor Swift, and Del slid the bracelet over her wrist. “This makes lucky thirteen. I keep them all in Sacred, even when I’m not here.”
“You don’t live in Sacred full-time?”
“I’m from Portland, but we have a little house here.
I wish it was on Bearberry Creek like your cabin.
” A wistful smile pulled at her lips. “My mom’s siblings own an equestrian center, and she comes down to help out with the summer season.
” Del paused at a saltwater-taffy stand but didn’t buy any.
“My dad’s a vet in Portland, but he comes down here most weekends. ”
“So they let you choose where you spend your summers?” I asked. What did that feel like, to have options? To have your opinion heard?
“Yep. Sacred’s a weird place sometimes, but my boyfriend is close by, and so is my horse.” She winked. “Don’t ask which one I’d save first in a fire.”
Oh yeah, we could become friends.
“Weird totally fits. I can’t seem to figure out how this place works.” Understatement of my life.
“Well, maybe I can help.”
Del dove into a CliffsNotes explanation of Sacred’s history, and the fact that it was the Chinook tribe that discovered the medicinal uses of the cascara sagrada tree, which the town was named after. They called the crop “sacred bark” and used it in their healing practices.
“This was Native American land for generations before, you know, it was stolen,” Del said as she closed out her lesson.
“Whenever I enjoy something straight-up beautiful here, I remember that I’m only borrowing it from those who were here before.
This place grew and prospered because of something they discovered.
I can’t fix the past, but I can give them the credit, you know? ”
“Totally,” I said, because I did know. That mentality of honor and mindfulness was close to the way Tía Viv regarded the materials she used in her pieces.
“I always sensed that they left more than history here. Maybe that’s part of what you’re feeling.
” Tingles shot down my spine as I thought of the mysterious watch around my wrist and how it had found me, as Del continued.
“Beyond Native tribes, other spiritual groups have come to these parts for centuries. We’re kind of a mystical hot spot. Take the town logo, for example.”
“You mean the trees on all the signs?” I asked.
“Yup. They’re cascara sagrada.” Del gestured beyond the edge of town toward the looming forest. “According to the legend, there’s a natural energy field in this region.
Like a conduit. It’s marked by three cascara trees that stand alone in a triangle formation.
They’re supposed to have these peaceful, healing properties, but they only appear to some people. And never in the same spot.”
“Have you ever seen them?”
“Pretty much every Sacred resident has gone looking for the formation, and people visit from all over trying to find it, but no, I’ve never seen it.
Don’t know anyone who has either. Probably for the best—the legend carries some dark history too.
Instead of peacefulness and healing, some stories say the trees have an opposite effect on certain people. ”
I winced, my gaze flitting around. A mysterious watch and a ghost boy had certainly made my visit to Sacred anything but peaceful so far.
Del must’ve tracked my unease because she held up her palm.
“I’ll stop. I don’t want to scare you. Sacred is the best, and that old tale is nothing to worry about—well, almost. There is only one thing to really watch out for.
Do not fall for the cute, touristy signs advertising cascara berry jelly or ice cream. Avoid.”
“Why?”
“That medicinal cure I mentioned? Cascara bark is one of the most potent laxatives on the planet.”
A laugh burst out of me. “This whole place is named for a laxative tree?”
“And nothing else. So please take my word for it. I’ve been on the wrong end of too many lake-party dares. Pun super intended.”
“Noted,” I said, and I held out both hands, realizing I’d lost another graduation gel nail. I made two fists at my sides to hide my uneven manicure.
“Good,” Del said. “I mean, Corbin and Rose found out the hard way, and Rose should’ve known better. They’re the reason my parents met, so they’re like family. Anyway, Rose got the idea that cascara syrup could help regulate blood pressure. So she started secretly adding it to her cookies.”
The cookies we just ate? I must’ve blanched, because she barked out a cackle.
“No, no, Rose quit after Corbin went on a midnight oatmeal-raisin bender and ended up in the emergency room.”
I gasped, shaking my head as we stopped at a stall offering homemade soaps.
Our cabin could use some. The stuff Vivian picked up at the market was drying out my skin.
While I chose a scent, Del chatted with the artisan, a middle-aged woman in a boho peasant dress.
I handed over a five-dollar bill for my lavender body bar and barely had time to drop it into my belt bag before Del stepped back from the table, visibly upset.
“I can’t help you,” she told the woman.
The soap lady leaned forward, palms pressed together. “Please, Delilah. If you could just hold one of her items, you might see—”