CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The sound coming from the living room wasn’t good.
In fact, I was afraid it was going to result in Tía Viv having to do more for her client than crafting furniture and bridge installations.
The whisk-whiskwhisk of cat claws on wood had me bolting from the tiny hall bathroom, Aztec clay mask slathered over my face making me look like a low-rent Elphaba from Wicked.
“Anne Shirley, no!” I said firmly. Hairline cracks fissured through the hardening clay.
The ginger menace removed her paws from the doorframe but refused to acknowledge me. Without so much as a green marble eye trained my way, she slinked away and resumed her constant state of self-grooming.
“Did you ever consider that maybe I was trying to do some self-care too?” I said, approaching to inspect the damage. “You have a scratching post. Use it.”
Luckily the honey-oak frame had survived the attack.
But a couple minutes after I returned to the bathroom, the cat let out a low-toned whine the word “meow” was too cute to describe.
I trudged out and swung the door open for the first time this morning, expelling a half laugh at the sight.
On the cabin porch stood the pair of black Converse I’d left at the stables.
The dusty borrowed boots I’d left near the doormat two days ago were gone. Okay, then.
I grabbed my sneakers and toted them back inside. Now Anne Shirley was face-forward. “Was that who you heard? Del?” Who hadn’t added a text or a knock to her delivery—also okay. I made a mental note to text her soon and be the first to reach out.
The moan came again, and Anne Shirley crept to the door, rubbing her side against the panels.
“What now?” But this time, my own haunches were raised. I glanced at the wall clock; I had fifteen minutes to go before washing off the mask.
Outside, the heat had rolled in thick and early, soaking between leafy branches and splashing over the cabin grounds.
Bearberry Creek—clean and crisp—was an oasis, but I still hadn’t waded in more than ankle-deep.
Now wasn’t the time, though. The sound that came again from the closest crush of trees was foreign to my LA ears.
My skin turned prickly as I stepped toward it.
A deep rattle echoed like the thwack of a rubber doorstop mixed with drumsticks on a snare.
Transfixed, I forgot I could’ve been facing a bobcat or a coyote or even a bear.
The sound intensified the farther I walked, and then I saw it.
“Oh, it’s you,” I said. “Hello there.” The woodpecker exceeded all my expectations: black with a gray speckled chest and the coolest white racing stripe framing its face.
The best part was the vibrant red cap on its head, so fancy and regal.
I watched the bird with a wonder that, lately, I’d only felt when my watch ticked.
A shadow crossed over the entire scene. I got to see my woodpecker, but it wasn’t with Penn.
I held regret close and watched the bird hunt and peck for tree bugs.
When I turned back to the cabin, another thing was different. Tía Viv was not in her workshop wielding something sharp and noisy, which was probably why Anne Shirley had heard the woodpecker in the first place. My tía was sprawled out on one of the patio chaise lounges.
“Trying to scare the forest creatures?” she said as I approached.
“You’re the one who got me hooked on this Aztec clay stuff,” I supplied. “The woodpecker didn’t seem to mind. Didn’t you hear it?”
“ ’Course I did, but the sun is doing things to me. Magical things.” Her eyelids hung at the halfway point. “I may have worked until three this morning.”
This, I believed. And as much as I called her out on her late nights, it was Vivian’s drive and focus that had inspired my Perfect Triangle plan.
Watching my tía all those years had shown me what was possible. She’d made a big, big life on her own, leaving home early on to perfect her craft against her family’s wishes. Their norms. I knew about those. I only hoped my postgrad plan would lead to a similar place of freedom and success.
But for now, we were both here, and I felt a stab for forgetting to check on her last night.
I checked in now. Her lips were glazed with the cherry lip oil I’d bought for her birthday.
She wore olive cargo shorts with a black tank top that showed off her arms. Despite the almost all-nighter, she looked even more rested and healthy than she had in Topanga.
I should make a public service announcement: start working with wood.
The subject of my own obsession popped in. “I thought about going to Lincoln City this week. Have you heard of those glass floats that artists make and hide along the beach? It’s called Finders Keepers.”
Vivian shot straight up, mouth slack-jawed. “Like the one I’ve had on my office shelf since before you were born?”
“Wait, you’ve been there? You actually found one?”
My tía nodded as memories seemed to pass behind her eyes.
“From when I came to Oregon to work and study. Everyone was talking about the Finders Keepers event to celebrate the millennium. I walked the Lincoln City beach and found a beautiful float in cobalt blue and green, a little bigger than a grapefruit.” She nodded toward me.
“All those summers at my house, and you never noticed it right there by my computer?”
Did she mean all those summers I’d spent looking for something to bounce my anger off? Looking for home and people to blame? I wasn’t looking for beauty. I didn’t see it. “I guess not. You’ll have to show me when we get back.”
“I should’ve told you about Lincoln City, nena. It’s beautiful and very different from LA beaches. Plus, it’s fun to search. The millennium event was so popular, they’ve carried it on every year since then. How did you learn about it?”
I flinched, fearing the clay solidifying over my face wouldn’t be enough to hide the mystery behind the truth. Or the boy and what thinking about him did to me. “At the library,” I said. “You know, the only place where I can make the internet work?”
“Ay, I was supposed to have that fixed,” Vivian said, cringing. “Bad service is tragic for a mujercita of your age.”
After weeks in Oregon, I had a new definition for tragic and what I’d simply call inconvenient. “It’s fine,” I told her.
“Plenty to do outside, no?” She sucked a whiff of air through her teeth. “The forest alone holds ten times the wonder that can be found in our little phones.”
Her words brought up my own time being lost there. And more. “You mean the cascara triangle legend?”
Vivian trained her gaze toward the creek. “Ah, yes. I learned a lot about that legend when I studied here. Many of the artists I met were fascinated by it.”
“Del told me a little about it. She said the trees have healing properties or something.” I held up my arm with the bandaged gash from the stables. “I could use some. The last thing I need is a huge scar. Although with my luck, the trees would work their dark power instead,” I said wryly.
“No, no. The power is not dark,” Vivian said.
“I interpret it more as the trees giving people what they need in different ways. Going into the forest and encountering the triangle formation meant an opportunity to leave behind your deepest hurt,” she continued as my thoughts began to spin.
“While relationships still ended or loved ones were still gone, the trees took the pain and suffering, and these souls left the forest unburdened.”
“But Del mentioned some strange happenings after people saw those trees.”
“Claro,” my tía said. She fiddled with the rose-gold band on her index finger.
“There were exceptions to the accounts of peace and restoration. From what I was told, those occurred when the sense of balance within the magic was disrupted, or visitors didn’t respect it.
Some stories tell of people feeling even more burdened or hearing strange voices long after they left the tree formation. Others experienced hallucinations.”
Now I was the one who sucked in a thick gust. I had heard whispers the day the watch called me back to it.
I had seen an entire grove of cascara sagrada trees that day.
But I’d never encountered any lone cascara triangle; I was sure of it.
My forest walk—this magical watch—couldn’t be connected to the legend.
I did not find the fabled trio of cascara sagradas . . . but could I?
The notion beat steadily against my heart.
Could I go again into these woods and beg for the legendary triangle to find me?
When Penn finally left in two or four or six weeks, I would grieve.
I would miss him beyond reason. And to have a place to leave all that and to move on with all my plans without losing the memory of him?
I would beg the entire state of Oregon for this.
I would pay the selling price of a hundred vintage watches.
“Is there something special you have to do to cause the tree formation to appear for you?” I couldn’t ask my tía fast enough.
Vivian shook her head. “No one knows why it chooses who it does. If it were a sure thing, think of the hordes of people who would come to this forest every day of every year, waiting for their turn. Enough visitors come simply for the idea of it.”
I nodded my acceptance. Found that my body stilled and relaxed.
I even yawned, whether from lack of sleep or the drugging sunlight.
I finally went inside, leaving the legendary stories to the woods.
I knew better than to hope for that kind of magic.
The only way I could save myself from missing Penn was as untouchable as the ghost himself.