CHAPTER ELEVEN
I strolled along Cedar Street, proving that it was possible to be really irked at a paranormal being long after he’d vanished.
The smaller part of my frustration came from the fact that Penn had abandoned me at the end of an old covered bridge.
The bigger part? He’d disappeared before he could tell me what he’d remembered. Overly curious and overly polite.
Worse, it had been two days since that bridge. Two days since I’d stomped back to the white Ford and grabbed the crusty Thomas Guide map book, determined to get myself back to Bearberry Cabin without a shred of ghostly navigation.
The map book was older than the dense, narrow road that led to Bearberry Cabin, but Cedar Street was there in the key. A few page turns and road-tracking maneuvers later, I was back on the correct highway, blasting tunes from whatever radio station wasn’t cutting out.
“Just driving around and exploring,” I said afterward to satisfy Vivian’s questioning.
I’d learned from my parents that the biggest adventures (in my case, red historical bridges and beautiful places and curious ghosts) could usually be condensed into a few words that fit in the palm of your hand.
Mom and Dad’s took the form of excuses. Their favorites over the years were:
We can’t let Michail down.
You have summer cheer practice.
We don’t really know that family.
Who knows what a ten-hour flight might do to your head? A relapse could hurt your college plans.
These memories cast a second shadow over me as I walked through town. I’d just come from the market, checking off my tía’s list, and my pale limbs were begging for sunlight. An empty wooden bench was right there, so I sat and rested Vivian’s reusable grocery tote.
Across the street, a group of kids raced each other on skateboards, and down the block, a woman wrestled an antique end table from the entrance of Spines and Pines. Really, Corbin, you couldn’t open the damn door?
And then there was Del, bouncing out of Sweet Maple with two other girls our age.
They huddled closely for a selfie in a perfect trio.
A perfect triangle—I knew about those. But I stayed put, hoisting my own unwelcome sign instead of skipping over and asking to join a group that felt solid and impenetrable.
Del had real friends in Sacred. Meanwhile, my friends . . .
The thought fed the rising level of ire that had followed me from the cabin.
The scab I’d tried so hard to build over my most tender, persistent wound had cracked when I opened up to Penn at the bridge.
Grier and Ana had lived a lot of what I’d uncovered in real time, but we didn’t dredge out my history often.
I didn’t. They didn’t know they had been picking away at me too, making me bleed from the same old hurt.
These days, I couldn’t have shared anything with them even if I’d wanted to.
Due to failing tech service and geography, my friends felt farther away than ever while they enjoyed their magical summer without me.
But magic, I had found anyway.
I reached for it on my wrist. Counted the gold hour markers and wondered when Penn was coming back, and if the missing piece he’d remembered would be big enough for me to find him.
All of this had me deep in my own head, unaware of the world around me. It’s the only reason Del was able to spot me from across the street and creep past my personal-space barrier.
“It’s Sacred’s newest cat mom!” At my monstrous jump, she cringed, compressing her already pint-size frame.
“Er, sorry.” She sat. “I am not known for stealth, so either you were doing mental equations or reliving some steamy summer romance with an incredibly hot guy like the opening from Grease.” Her hand flapped, eyebrows sprang. “Girl? Both . . . ?”
“Guy” was my automatic response. Except, what was I even referring to? Penn and I definitely were not involved in a steamy summer romance—that required touch, real touch. My cheeks flamed at the thought.
I finally snapped to, noticing Del’s double-scoop ice cream with Sweet Maple’s pink-and-black paper hugging the cone. A souvenir from her recent hangout. Whatever flavor she’d picked was dribbling down her bare arm.
“Um,” I said, pointing.
Del swore, then slurped. “I was gonna text, but this is better.” She gave a lit-up grin, although her apple-green crop top was enough of a beacon. “My mom and I were wondering how Anne Shirley is doing.”
“She’s fine, I guess,” I said. “She hates the rain.” A wet, gloomy yesterday had been a couch, rug, and bed nap triathlon for my orange roommate.
“She hates the—Sylvie,” Del said, snorting. “Have you ever been around a cat for more than five minutes?”
I shook my head. “My tía’s allergic, which you heard, and my parents were never pet people.”
“So not one hamster? Or even a goldfish?”
Another creature my mother would have to rehome in the summer? “Nope. My time with animals caps out at the zoo.”
“As the daughter of a vet, a self-proclaimed horse girl, and the new owner of the sweetest Troy Bolton dachsy dog of all time, I am personally offended. You have to admit, life’s better with a pet around.”
A little spark fizzed inside me. Having Anne Shirley around had been kind of nice. My steadfast companion while everyone I knew was living out their big, big lives. If and when my plan worked out, why couldn’t I have a pet?
“Maybe for the good of the animal kingdom, I’ll start with a bird. A parakeet or something, when I move out.” My eyes darted up and down the block. “About, you know, homes . . . any leads on a forever family for Anne Shirley?”
“Wait, so you’ve never ridden a horse?” she asked, ignoring my question.
I barked a laugh. “Is that a Sacred, Oregon, callout?”
“It’s an invitation.”
My mouth went slack.
“I’m serious,” Del said, poking at my side. “In exchange for you being so amazing and taking in the cat, our ranch would like to offer you a free two-hour valley excursion. No experience necessary. And, yeah, it is the best way to experience Oregon.”
“You sound like a commercial.”
“Perfect. I’m a marketing major.” She gave a wink. “We haven’t lost a tourist yet—kids as young as ten go all the time.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said. I’d learned early on that this was the simplest way to change a subject and exit a sticky situation, when my parents’ “no”—or, in this case, my own—was already echoing in my ears.
But Del just nodded and licked around the cone again before she said, “You’re going to love it. It won’t be your last ride, I’m sure.”
“What, did your latest vision show me on horseback having the time of my life?” Before the words were all the way out, I wanted to escape into the nearest storefront. Perfect for hiding, since most everyone here ignored me anyway. I bit the edge of my tongue and cursed mentally. In two languages.
Silence. “Who told you?” She stared ahead, finishing the last of the ice cream in two hearty chomps.
Even I felt the brain freeze. And a pinch of regret that stung more than my aching temples. I sensed another headache building, and since I couldn’t put back what I’d just let out, I scooched sideways on the bench and gave a hesitant shrug.
“No one. I kind of googled you,” I told her. “I was doing some library research, and I typed in your name on a whim, and this article came up. I’m sorry,” I added.
She waved me off. “Well, now you know. The good thing about living in Portland most of the time is that no one cares or talks about that day at Needles.”
“Does stuff like that happen often? Visions?” I tried. My eyes strayed to the watch on my wrist for a moment.
Del ignored me and tossed the empty cone into the closest trash can. Three points.
“How about this,” I said. “You don’t have to share everything. Just give me the basics like one of those catchy movie loglines.” I dropped into an announcer voice. “In a world where Del Abernathy can see the future . . .”
She scoffed, her face dimming from more than looming rain clouds.
“See—people always sensationalize it like that. I was right about that Needles accident two years ago, and now all of Sacred thinks I’m able to predict their winning lotto numbers or tell them if they’re dating the right person or even speak to the dead. ”
“So it’s never happened again?” I pressed. Maybe I was worried for nothing.
Del shook her head. “Just the once. I don’t want anything to do with it, and I’m certainly not trying to channel it.
But try telling that to Sacred. Around here it’s constant whispers and outright requests.
Sometimes it feels like everyone just wants something from me.
Or they want the inside scoop all the time,” she added, eyeing me plainly.
“Fine, that’s totally fair. But not everyone took in an orphaned cat to help you.”
Judging by the frown on Del’s face, my attempt at lightening the mood had failed miserably. I dropped my gaze. I definitely killed my free horse-trail offer, and probably any budding friendship between Del and me.
“Sorry again,” I told her. “I am really out of practice with this new-friend thing.”
“A little girl could have died,” Del said so softly, I barely heard her. And I chastised myself from the inside out, clenching my hands at my sides. Be careful, Sylvie, por Dios. And don’t be a jerk.
“But she didn’t, because of you. That’s a really incredible thing, Del. Something to be proud of,” I stressed.
She pivoted, a wash of rosiness creeping into her snowcapped skin like she was the subject of a classic oil painting. “Just because something is incredible, or even remarkable, doesn’t automatically make it good for you.”
My body gave a shudder. An alien sensation piqued my left wrist, as if waves of movement and energy were trapped behind the champagne dial. But the second hand slept.
“Whatever, enough of that,” Del said, faking her way back to her usual self. “The county fair starts Friday. We’re all going—a bunch of my friends and Ethan, my boyfriend. You should too.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said. But I meant it this time.