Deep down, I know that the box is part of that world and I need to pay attention to it.
CHAPTER 7
“Okay.” I take a deep breath and clench the sides of the box. “I have to tell you something. This box is super-random, but it’s not the only strange thing I’ve seen lately.” I’m a little nervous to tell Maya about the woods, but at the same time, I have to. Maya and I don’t keep secrets from each other.
“I can handle ‘random,’” Maya says. “What’s going on?”
I describe the mysterious dappled horse in the woods, the one Sunny and Sam also seemed to see.
“Are you serious?” Maya asks, her eyes wide. “That’s… honestly, very weird.”
“I know,” I say. “But seeing that horse, or parts of it, I guess—it was really good at hiding—and then finding this box… it feels important somehow. Like maybe they’re connected.”
“Well, we’re obviously going to have to look for this random forest horse,” Maya says. “Like, now.”
“Now?” For once, I’m not sure I want to go back into the woods. I feel like I need to be more prepared or something.
“Definitely now,” Maya says. “What’s the point of waiting? If we see it again, we’ll know there’s really something there, and we can figure out how to deal with it.”
Whenever I can’t decide what to do, Maya can. And she’s usually right. “Well… we can’t take the horses,” I say. “I would get in so much trouble.”
“So let’s walk.” Maya’s voice sounds like itself again, full of music and just on the edge of laughing. That makes me want to stick with her plan even though I have no idea how long it will take us to walk to where I saw signs of the horse before.
I check my watch: 5:35 p.m. We still have half an hour before I need to be back for dinner, and before Maya’s mom picks her up. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s see how far we can get.”
Leaves crunch under our boots, and Maya shuffles her toes forward and to the side, tossing some in my direction. I kick a few back at her.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she says, bending down and scooping a huge pile.
“You started it!” I shriek just as she hurls the entire armful at my face. I blink and laugh, damp earthy smells filling my nose as I grab my own leaves and throw them back.
We’re both laughing, wiping itchy stems off our necks, when I remember my watch hands moving.
“Let’s go.” I jog the rest of the way to the woods, and Maya matches my pace.
Stepping past the threshold between field and forest feels like walking into a church full of stained-glass windows, only the windows are the trees: maples burning red and orange, yellow aspen shivering, and cedars a velvety green. I want to close my eyes and feel the hushed air drifting through bony branches, but I want to keep them open too and see everything.
The trees make me think again about the wisp of tail I saw last time I went into the forest. Hooves, pounding. Ripples of muscle, shining. I’m glad I told Maya about it. I want to tell Andy too, but his letter about liking Starshine Center makes me wonder if he’d want to know, if he still thinks about home as much as I think of him.
From hidden places come the sparrows, fluttering in my chest, and the spinning and whirling I always feel when I’m not sure how something I’m about to do will turn out. But this time the feeling makes me want to go faster. The sparrows never stay long when I’m in the woods.
Ten more minutes in, when Maya and I are both breathing hard and I can feel blood pulsing in my skull, I slow down. The forest has grown perfectly still, but it hums too. We haven’t gone as far as Mom and I did, but the shimmering air makes me think we’re getting close. I start taking more careful steps, then stop and lean against a towering spruce, letting my head rest on its scratchy trunk. Maya stands next to me and looks into the sky. We both stay perfectly still and listen.
At first there aren’t any sounds. I don’t expect too many birds to be singing in fall, but I don’t even hear leaves rustling.
Then, a nudge at my elbow. Soft breath just below my shoulder.
I spin back and a quick thunder pounds away past the spruce, dappled haunches blending into the colors all around. I suck in a quick breath, follow the sound.
I look at Maya, my eyes wide.
She shakes her head, lifts her shoulders in a confused shrug.
I whip my head back around just in time to see a new set of silvery-gray legs lifting away, different hooves kicking up leaves, another black mane streaming past the trees.
A high-pitched peal rings through the air, like the sound of a bell but harsher. Not the trill of a wood thrush, not the tiny shriek of a mouse being caught and pierced, but something fuller. The call of a horse. It’s gone before I’ve fully realized what it is, and I look up, trying to find where it came from.
Over my head, the sky cracks open and raindrops begin to lightly fall. They make curtains between the trees and suddenly everything hides behind little white stars.
But through the rain, I see her. She’s standing in a cluster of cedars, her forelock long and curling. Her ears pricked forward. Her eyes muddy brown and gentle.
I take one step toward the horse. I don’t know if I can squeeze through the narrow spaces between the trees, but I have to try.
“Stay,” I whisper. Her nostrils flare. I hear her breath.
One more step, the crackle of leaves as they give way under my boot. I hold my hand out so she can catch my scent without touching. She jerks her head back, startling.
I stop, take a deep breath in, feel how the calm that always comes when I’m near Sunny and Sam rushes in and blooms through every part of me.
It’s okay. The words are clear, but I’ve just thought them. Sent them her way on a current of air.
We both stand staring, so close that if I reached my arm all the way out and she stretched her neck forward, my fingertips could touch the silver whiskers on her chin. She drops her head, turns enough so I can see the blue and white flecks splattering the darkness of one eye. A moon eye.
Then she spins on her back feet and melts away, leaves and rain dripping from branches to cover her tracks.
Gone.
I can’t believe it at first. I can’t move. I look at the empty place she left, trying to bring her back there with only my wanting.
But I can feel the distance growing. She’s far away now. And overhead, the rain falls faster.
I check my watch: 6:00. Even if we run out of the woods, we’ll barely make it back home before Mom tries calling me on her own phone, or worse, puts her coat on, steps into her boots, and comes looking for me.
“There were two,” I whisper. “Did you see them?”
“I… don’t really know, Claire,” Maya says. “I mean, I could tell you were looking really carefully—”
“No.” My mind races. I keep seeing the matching silvery coats and charcoal-black manes and tails. “There were definitely two.”
“Maybe next time you could get pictures,” Maya says.
“I’m worried taking out my phone will startle them, and besides, the camera on this thing stinks,” I say. “You know yours does too.” But I’m distracted now, worried about time. “We have to go.”
Maya nods quickly, like she’s coming out of a trance. “I’m right behind you.”
Trees spin past as we hurtle down the path, leaves spraying behind us. I’m squinting into cold rain, wiping my eyes so I don’t lose the path blurring in front of me.
When we’re out of the woods, the rain hits harder on the open path to the barn, and I’m relieved when I reach the front door and can lean over, grabbing my knees and letting my heartbeat slow.
Tires crunch in the driveway, and I look past the barn to see Ms. Gonzalez’s car rolling down the lane.
“Wow. Nice timing, Mami,” Maya says. She stands up straight, wipes raindrops off her cheeks, and holds up a hand for a high five as she walks toward the car. I follow.
“Hi, girls!” Ms. Gonzalez calls o
ut the window. “How’s it going?”
“Good!” I call back. “Maya and I were… researching.”
Ms. Gonzalez nods slowly. “In the rain,” she says. “Got it. This History Fair project has certainly captured Maya’s interest. And yours too, it seems.”
You could say that, I think, even though I’m not quite sure yet what the horses in the woods have to do with my project. I only know I need to find them. They remind me of Andy’s stars, of his waving leaves, of the way he seems to see everything.
“Claire, tell your mom I’ll call her soon,” Ms. Gonzalez says. “I’m short on time, or else I’d come in.”
“No problem.” I watch Maya as she watches me, waving out the rear window as the car moves away. Then I adjust my hat, carefully wipe my hair out of my eyes, take a deep breath, turn to the house, and push our door open.
Dad’s car is in the driveway, which means he’s probably upstairs changing, maybe lying on his and Mom’s bed with his eyes closed for a few minutes, thinking about the students he helped that day and the ones he worries he’s not doing enough for. When he comes downstairs, he’ll ask how my day was and I’ll only know if his was harder or easier by the way his neck either bends forward, like it’s being pushed by a heavy weight from behind, or rolls back, relaxed and strong at the same time.
Either way, I expect Mom to be standing in the kitchen doorway with her hands on her hips and her face creased in lines of worry.
But when I open the door, I just hear quiet. I smell chili simmering in the pot on the stove, and the oven light’s on, with corn bread baking.
“Mom?” I call. “Dad?”
“In here, Claire!” Mom’s voice drifts over from the living room.
She’s hunched at her desk, typing on the computer. “Your dad’s upstairs,” she says. “He’ll be down soon. Did you set the table?”
She didn’t even realize I was late. Relief mixes with a sharp pang, a feeling I can’t quite name. I step far enough behind her to see what’s on the screen, and article titles pop out: “Helping Your Child Through Addiction” and “Adolescent Journeys into Recovery” and “A Family Affair: Substance Abuse in Teens.”
“What are you reading?” I ask, even though I know now. I pretend to look only at her eyes anyway, so she won’t know what I saw over her shoulder.
She tells me the truth, partly. “Just some research.”
“June.” My dad’s voice is soft but heavy at the same time. I turn and see him taking the last step down the stairs. He’s wearing sweatpants and the old scratchy sweater Gram knit him before she died. When he runs one hand through his hair, making it stick up at the ends, I can tell it’s been one of his harder days. “Let’s take a break.”
“But I—” Mom shakes her head.
“I know you’re trying to help,” Dad says, his hands on her shoulders. “But it also stresses you out. Plus, Andy’s already getting help. That’s the point.”
Then he turns to me. “Hey, kiddo. Your cheeks are so red. Were you running or something?”
Mom looks at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “Claire was doing chores,” she says. “Right?” I can tell she’s not so sure anymore.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just chores.” But I can feel my face flushing even redder. “I’m going to go set the table. Oh, by the way, Mom—Ms. Gonzalez says she’ll call you soon.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to her,” Mom says. “Thanks for the reminder.”
As I lay out bowls and spoons, sour cream and cheese for the chili, and butter and jam for the corn bread, I feel my fingers itch, wanting to write Andy another letter. I already know how it will start:
Dear Andy,
Guess what? There are wild horses living in the woods.
Maybe if Andy sees that home isn’t only what he remembers, if he also knows it’s full of secrets he’s never seen, he’ll want to come back.
CHAPTER 8
When I come in from the barn late Saturday morning, Mom’s left a note on the kitchen table: Went grocery shopping. See you at lunch!
Dad’s gone too, distributing pizzas for a high school fundraiser. That means I have the house to myself, at least for now.
The silence feels a little strange, but peaceful.
I’m about to grab my latest letter to Andy from my desk and walk to the mailbox when I hear the door open.
It can’t be Mom or Dad; they’d be talking to each other and yelling hello to me. My throat tightens, but when I go to the door I can see it’s just Nate, Andy’s friend from school. We’ve known Nate for a long time, and he’s used to walking right in. But he hasn’t come around since a while before Andy left. Now, he has one foot in the house, one still on the front stoop.
“Hey, Nate,” I say. “Come on in.”
“Claire!” Nate says. He hesitates, then steps the rest of the way inside, letting the door shut behind him. “I didn’t know anybody was home.” He looks tired, his blue eyes bleary.
“Oh, um—okay,” I say. “Did you need something? You know Andy’s not—”
“At home. Yeah, I know.” Nate stuffs his hands in his pockets, looks down at his feet. “I was actually coming by because I left something in his room. I thought maybe I could get it.”
It’s weird that Nate just walked right in. That he isn’t even looking at me. He glances to one side, then the other. “Um…” I chew my lip.
“It’s just—it’s this textbook?” He’s talking a little too fast. “I brought it over before Andy left. I was showing him all the stuff for my community college classes.”
“So an economics book?” I remember Nate saying that’s what he was going to study after graduation. But haven’t classes already started? Wouldn’t Nate have needed the book weeks ago?
“Well…” He looks past my shoulder. “I’ll definitely know it when I see it. Maybe I can go take a look?”
I remember Nate showing me how to put Legos together when he was in sixth grade and I was in kindergarten. He and Andy used to tell knock-knock jokes that left me laughing so hard my stomach hurt. But now sparrows whir above my head.
“I guess so,” I say, even though flutters fill my chest. It’s just Nate, I tell myself. “My parents will be back soon. You could have lunch with us.”
Nate backs toward the door, pushes it open. “Oh, actually, yeah, you know what? No worries. I can come some other time.”
He waves and starts jogging toward his truck.
“Can you at least tell me the book title?” I call. “I can let you know if I find it.”
Nate revs the engine. “Nah, you don’t have to look!” he yells over the growl. “See you around!” The tires screech a little as he peels away. The sparrows still quiver, Nate’s words caught in their wings.
As soon as the sound of the truck fades, I move from the porch back into the house and start up the stairs. When I reach the closed door of Andy’s room, I stop, my hand on the knob.
Then I twist it open and tiptoe in.
The whole room holds its breath. It’s exactly like he left it. His bed in the corner, the blue comforter on top. His desk with the coffee mug full of pens. His backpack, still full of senior-year binders. On the ceiling: those glow-in-the-dark stars, arranged in perfect constellations.
I touch the comforter on his bed. Pull open his desk drawer. Run my finger along the top of his bookcase, where model cars and graphic novels and speakers line the shelves.
No textbook.
I slip into his closet. It’s long and narrow, the ceiling sloping down at the far end to make a sharp angle with the floor. Andy never really kept much in there, just piles of extra bedding and off-season clothes. It’s pretty hard to crouch down far enough to get to the back anyway. But when we were younger, we used to drape his comforter over the rack where he hung shirts and pants, making a kind of curtained fort. He’d light a flashlight and tell me ghost stories.
One tug, and the comforter’s hanging in the closet again. I’m way too big for this,
but I crouch behind it anyway and try to imagine Andy’s voice, how it sounded when he was my age.
And then I remember the Secret Pillow.
The Secret Pillow looks normal from the outside, but under the plaid flannel case there’s a slit in one side that Andy and I used to stuff things inside. Jolly Ranchers, Lego creations, tiny cars, packs of gum, notes. We stopped using it once Andy got into high school. I don’t even know if he still has it.
But when I dig past folded quilts, I find it’s still there after all, nestled with other spare pillows we barely use. I’m not expecting to find a textbook when I reach deep into it, but I’m not expecting what I do find either, which is a bag of something plastic and rattling. Containers of pills.
These must be the pills that Andy took. Why are there so many? Maybe he was saving a lot for later. But then, how did he get them? I riffle through the pillow, not sure what I’m looking for, when my hand brushes against something else. It’s a cell phone, one of those ancient ones, nothing like the smartphone in Andy’s desk drawer. When I press the POWER button, it surprisingly turns on without any trouble, though the battery looks low. The contacts list doesn’t have Mom or Dad or me, though. I don’t recognize a lot of the names. But I do see Nate’s.
I push the bag back into the Secret Pillow and shove it under Andy’s quilts, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s outside of me somehow.
With shaking fingers, I put the comforter back on the bed. Then I tiptoe out of the room, just like I tiptoed in. I shut the door so quietly I barely hear the latch click into place.
All I can think is that I have to mail Andy’s letter. I still remember what I wrote at the end, after telling him about the wild horses:
It probably sounds strange.
But you know how you told me we could grab stars to keep in our pockets?
We were younger then and maybe you didn’t mean it, but still, you showed me how to notice things more. And if you had been in the woods with us, believe me, you would have noticed this!
The Wild Path Page 5