Chapter Twelve. When It Returns
CHAPTER TWELVE
WHEN IT RETURNS
FARREN
For the next two weeks, Murphy and I coexist much like we used to in school and on every crafting field we shared—in quiet avoidance.
Which basically boils down to him ignoring me.
Which I’m finding more and more infuriating.
For as much as I think his presence here is a mistake, that I must tread carefully wherever he is in case he gets even more observant, it’s agony working alongside someone who won’t speak.
And the thing is I’ve dreamed of this—having one summer where I’m not completely alone with only my parents, Jeffrey and Shelly, and the dragons to talk to.
At school I don’t have friends—only acquaintances.
I’ve never been bullied, but there’s this feeling, the overwhelming question after every sentence.
That wasn’t the right thing to say. I shouldn’t have provided that unprompted dragon fact.
Or asked the teacher to clarify the homework when everyone else was hoping they’d forget to assign it to us altogether.
I’m all too accustomed to what I call the grimace, the implied “Stop talking, Farren.” And then the silence and awkwardness I created.
I’ve stalled many a conversation. And unlike my A-plus average, I’m the opposite of proud.
No, I haven’t been bullied per se, but in the social standing of high school I’m a straight-F student.
I used to have Cara Moore. Cara, who wants to be the best crafter in the world.
Who asked me to help her bond with her copper Sprinter, then bronze, so she could keep improving her metal-crafting.
So we both could. Cara, whose father got promoted to head silver-crafting teacher, who manages metal registration at school.
Cara, who I had to cut out of my life when Nity entered it.
I started pretending, fading in the background to be anonymous.
It was easier than I would care to admit.
I just stopped raising my hand, stopped speaking out, stopped taking up space, without letting my grades slip.
After multiple summers of missed social gatherings and friendships strengthened without me, I think I’ve gotten too good at disappearing though.
Good god, too many months of my isolation and I’m actually lamenting the fact that James Murphy doesn’t want to be my friend. What’s worse is I’m fully responsible since I was the one declaring I hate him, instructing him to not talk to me. And I thought I had hit rock bottom before.
In the first break in my dad’s cases, on a cloudy afternoon, I rush over to Jeffrey and Shelly’s new home. At least I have them, even if they are both ten years older than me.
They bought the Flynn residence, our next-door neighbors even at half a mile farther inland. The home is a shabby old farmhouse Jeffrey has somehow cleaned up to be not only habitable, but cute. Who knew the transformative powers of blue shutters?
“Is that my favorite Walsh girl?” Shelly calls from somewhere in the depths of narrow hallways after I knock.
Jeffrey barrels toward me, hat firmly in place even indoors. “Well, welcome. Took you long enough. We were beginning to think you’d forgotten about us.”
“Blame the parents. They said something ridiculous about you both needing to settle in and unpack.”
“Too considerate for their own good.” Jeffrey smiles. “I just made Shelly tea. This way.”
I weave through old stone-built walls until we open into a small kitchen and breakfast nook. The whole place oozes charm. It’s perfect for them.
“It is my favorite Walsh girl.” Shelly throws open her arms from under a bundled blanket.
One look at her and my heart stops. She’s even skinnier than two weeks ago.
Cheeks gaunt. Strawberry-red hair she spent years growing out again dull.
I whip my attention back to Jeffrey. Last night, we were together, looking after Nity, and he lied and said she was doing better.
But then again, Jeffrey doesn’t always tell me the truth when it relates to Shelly.
Should have suspected. I squeeze the tube in my pocket. I should have come sooner.
I sink into her embrace. Shelly has felt like an older sister since the moment she skipped onto the sanctuary thirteen years ago.
She’d lost her parents and moved up the road with her grandmother, Mrs. Price, when I was three.
But Mrs. Price was already seventy-four by then and she couldn’t stop little Shelly from wandering, or even more scandalous—riding dragons.
Shelly taught me how to braid my hair, how to put on makeup, and that I wasn’t any cooler for wearing or not wearing it.
At a time when my isolation from other girls and constant dragon companionship could have made me insufferable, she saved me.
In those years when it felt like escaping scrutiny meant rejecting femininity, she showed me how delightful it was to be a girl.
“How are you feeling?” I ask against her cheek.
“Good. Even better now.”
I want to scoff at the notion my presence has done anything. Jeffrey places a mug of tea in front of me and we all sit at a small round table.
I pinch the tube in my pocket again. I hadn’t planned to start with that, the arguments we’ve had countless times, but my insides feel hollowed out seeing her like this. I open my mouth when Shelly cuts me off with a question.
“So, tell me about my replacement. I hear there is some tension between you and the new intern?” Amusement interweaves her words.
“First, James Murphy is not a replacement. Not even close. But yeah, we kind of hate each other.”
Shelly frowns as Jeffrey loudly exclaims, “What?”
I look between them. “James and I don’t get along.”
“But Jeffrey said you two like each other,” Shelly counters, confused.
I almost spit out my tea. “What?”
“You’re both always staring at one another.” Jeffrey leans forward on the table, all elbows.
“That’s because I’m trying to make sure he’s not going to learn the family secret. And he … James stares at everyone.”
Shelly smiles at Jeffrey. “I get what you mean now. Entertaining.”
“No. No, no, no.” I hold up a hand and point at both of them in turn. “I’m not your entertainment. This. Is. Horrible.” I try to punctuate the problem. The very real problem.
“Too late, Farren. You’ve always been our entertainment,” Shelly laughs.
I throw my arms wide like I can cut this line of questioning. “Nonetheless, I’m here for what’s been promised.” I stare Shelly down. “I need to know everything about the proposal.”
Jeffrey straightens, dramatically affronted. “I already told you.”
“And I reject your insubstantial summary.”
“I knew he couldn’t be trusted,” Shelly says, sipping her tea.
“I’m right here,” Jeffrey stammers.
“Yes, right there being untrustworthy to tell Farren the full story.”
“Okay then.” Jeffrey leans back in his seat. “Go ahead, tell her how good I did.”
Shelly’s smile lights up her whole face. “He did pretty good.”
For the next thirty minutes, I receive the romantic account of Jeffrey sweeping Shelly into his arms and taking her on a dragon ride.
Something she hasn’t been able to do recently.
Carved into the sandy beach down the coast was the inscription just for her.
I savor every detail. What Jeffrey said in her ear as he held her close. Exactly how happy they both are.
When Shelly asks me to be a bridesmaid, that same bubbling happiness seems to migrate into my chest, lighting me up.
I was there when they met, when Shelly admitted she liked him. Then like the child I was, I blabbed immediately. I’m pretty much responsible for them getting together and now I get to be there when they get married. It’s the best thing to happen in ages.
“When’s the wedding?” I suddenly remember to ask.
Jeffrey squeezes Shelly’s hand. “A little less than two months.”
“Two months?” I ask. “That’s … quick?”
They share a look. And it’s not a look of giddy overwhelming love that means they can’t wait a minute longer to be married. There’s something they aren’t telling me.
“My doctors told me the cancer isn’t just back … it’s spread,” Shelly finally says, because I know Jeffrey can’t.
No.
I bring out the vial in my pocket so quick it jumps from my fingers and rolls across the table in a clattering tumble. The metal gleams in the sunlight.
“I brought—I brought…”
Shelly noticeably leans away. “Farren, you shouldn’t—”
“I’m not asking you to take it all in one dose. Just the smallest of flakes.”
Even Jeffrey shakes his head as he cups his palm over the vial like he can forget it exists if we don’t see it. “We’ve been talking. It’s too risky.”
Riskier than dying?
“I have doctors looking after me,” Shelly says like it’s a reassurance. Like I should sigh and say, yes, of course. No worries then. Let’s return to the ludicrous insinuation I have a crush on James Murphy. Let’s laugh and pretend the medical system is always fair.
“And have they given you even an ounce of silver?” I volley.
No one makes eye contact with me. They are both iron-crafters so I can surmise the answer for myself.
“Please,” I beg. “I’ll learn to craft better. I’ve never been taught how to make the tea, but I know the flakes still work. Not as well, I understand that. But maybe I could teach myself—”
“Farren, it’s not you or your abilities. You know that. Those doctors though. They’ll run their tests and—”
“You can’t risk it,” I fill in. I glance between them before placing my hand over Jeffrey’s, over the hidden tube. “Then stop going to the doctors and just take this.”
Shelly slowly shakes her head. “They already have my charts. If I’m miraculously cured…” She takes a heavy breath like it’s a struggle. “I would never betray your family like that.”
My family who would be investigated, my family who could lose our house, our livelihood.
“Besides,” Shelly shrugs like she’s trying to lighten the mood. “Grandma doesn’t want me near any upper metal.”
Ugh, I want to scream. For a moment I forgot I’m fighting not just potential suspicious doctors, but deep-rooted misconceptions about metal. “But this can help you!”
Jeffrey studies me, hard and yet tearful. “Farren, you can’t fix everything. Some things are bigger than us.”
I know this well. It’s why I’ve pretended. It’s why we all have pretended. And if any of us stop, all our lives could be in jeopardy, especially Nity’s. The hollowness inside tenses, caving in on itself like a black hole.
Jeffrey slowly turns his hand under mine and presses the vial back into my palm. “This doesn’t mean there isn’t hope.”
“I beat it once before, remember?” Shelly lifts her chin and smiles. “I’ll just beat it again.”
I want to tell them I’m not nine years old anymore, like when she was first diagnosed. Mom doesn’t need to sit down and explain lymphoma to me. I can take the truth. But the reality is, I can’t.
I leave shortly after, only letting myself cry when Shelly can’t possibly hear.
I glance down at the little tube. The black hole only grows.
If taking this to ensure Shelly will be okay is so risky for Nity, then I’ve already messed up.
Because I gave James Murphy the same type of vial four weeks ago to save his life. A vial filled with gold.