Brush of Shade ((YA Paranormal Romance/Fantasy) The Whisperer's Chronicles)

by Jan Harman

  He chuckled and before I could protest, relieved me of my groceries. On my way to the check-out line, he added peanut butter and jelly along with a bag of apples to his pile. While we waited in line, I twirled my beige-blond hair around my index finger and asked, “How do you know who I am?”

  “That’s easy. My dad’s outside talking to your aunt. They’re old friends.”

  The elderly couple from the bread aisle finished checking out. I pushed my stuff closer to the cashier. A bouquet of white roses tied with a red bow had been added to my pile. “Excuse me, you forgot your flowers,” I called after the couple, holding out the bouquet.

  “The flowers are for you,” the cashier explained.

  “Really? That was nice of them.” I retrieved my wallet from the bottom of my purse and held out a twenty-dollar bill.

  The cashier exchanged a look with Trent that I didn’t understand. “No, dear, they paid for everything.”

  “But I can’t take money from strangers,” I replied, staring out the glass door, scanning the parking lot for the couple.

  “Here, Little Lady, you must be tired after that long trip.” A man dropped two premade turkey sandwiches into my bag. “Put it on my bill, Rosie.”

  “No, sir, that’s not necessary.” I protested, sounding flustered.

  “Course it is. I was sorry to hear about the accident. I grew up with your folks. Your dad and I played football together. Have Trent show you Ethan’s MVP trophy up at the high school.”

  Trent had his hand on my elbow and was angling me towards the door. I think I mumbled a thank you to the gentleman. At the moment, I was distracted by several conflicting thoughts. One, I’d been told my mother grew up on a farm in Nebraska. Two, what was it with these people giving me things? And three, why was Trent practically dragging me out of the store?

  A black Mercedes pulled up alongside the sidewalk. “That’s my dad. I’ll see you at school. You can sit at my lunch table. As for the other items we spoke of, I’ll have those ready for your consideration,” Trent said as though there was a competition. He winked and hopped into the car.

  All four pumps were being used and yet not one person had eyes for anything else but me. I climbed into the car. “Aunt Claire, everyone is staring at me.” I slunk lower in the seat.

  “Nonsense. Have you taken your anxiety medication today? Oh dear, you look exhausted. After the wake tomorrow, you’ll be able to move forward.”

  “Mom and Dad died back in May. I don’t want to hold a wake here with strangers. The memorial in Washington . . . it was awful. All those people wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  “Your father was a well-respected diplomat with many friends and colleagues. A large function couldn’t be avoided. At least here you won’t have to deal with visiting dignitaries and the press. Folks here genuinely care deeply for your family. You’ll see. Before you know it, Spring Valley will feel like home.”

  “I don’t want it to. You had no right dragging me out here. I had a life. I had friends.” I reached for my earbuds and the music that would wash over me.

  “Had, past tense. You pulled away from that life. You dropped out of everything. You weren’t even returning JoAnna’s phone calls, and don’t get me started on how little school work you were getting done.” She turned off the highway, bypassing the town. Her fingers tapped the steering wheel. “I didn’t come to this decision without careful consideration. Dr. Martin’s agreed a drastic change was necessary to snap you out of your listlessness. Take this gift of a fresh start far away from painful memories. Spring Valley is special. It won’t let you down.”

  ***

  My role during our first Saturday in Spring Valley was easy enough. It required little out of me beyond short sentences and expressions of gratitude. With that in mind, my goal was simple. I was determined to face this particular day with dignity while clinging ferociously to normal. I planned on ignoring all references to anything peculiar.

  The sweet smell of gardenias and roses from the early morning wedding still permeated the simple church with its white-washed walls and steeply sloped ceiling. According to the minister, Pepperdines had been christened and wed here since the valley was settled. I’d wanted to ask if I’d been christened here as well, but my aunt had stepped forward, needing a word with the minister before the service. Strangers filed into the pews set aside for the family. Stories were recounted in hushed voices that I couldn’t help but overhear. Someone made an offhand comment about the crowds spilling out across the front lawn. Too many people, I shuddered. Apparently even here my father had quite the circle of friends and acquaintances. As for my mother, I’d learned from those hushed voices that she’d never lived in Nebraska. All these people with their kind, solemn expressions owned pieces of my parents’ past. The fact that neither of them had been inclined to discuss the days before their marriage had never bothered me, until now. Questions that I’d never get the chance to ask squeezed my throat tight.

  Aunt Claire stuffed a tissue into my hand as she stood to leave. “Don’t take too long. People are waiting outside to offer their condolences before our private reception at the manor.”

  Let the mourners wait. They didn’t know my family, and they had no right to the pieces I carried, I thought, shredding the tissue between my fingers. This was just a temporary posting. Next year I’d be at college. Nothing here mattered, no matter how much Aunt Claire said otherwise.

  Muffled voices faded as the last of the mourners stepped outside to enjoy the unseasonably warm October weather. Finally, I had the sanctuary to myself. I propped my crutch against the post for the low railing that extended in front of the first pew. With my clasped hands hovering above the rail, I was able to stand with only a slight wobble. My physical therapist back home would be pleased with my progress. Scratch that; this was home, for now.

  The static, sixteen by twenty inch glossy photos of my parents arranged on easels next to the pulpit reminded me of the posed pictures of strangers in store bought frames. Only in this case, I knew the story of us behind the smiles and the worry lines. Since their deaths, I’d cried over so many things without knowing why the tears were flowing. But here in this setting, the division between then and now had never been so undeniably clear. I remembered how we’d marched valiantly forward when my brother Daniel had died in high school. Now I was supposed to do it again. Only I couldn’t find the way this time. My chest tightened. I wanted to rip the pictures aside and discover flesh and blood. I wanted to be touched and held until the pain rolling over me, gouging and ripping away at my heart, subsided. A tear trickled down my cheek. Behind it, several more pooled in my blue-gray eyes, smudging the faces I needed to burn into my memory. Shoulders quaked. A sob choked off my next breath. My hands gripped the polished rail, holding on for dear life while my crutch clunked onto the bare, plank floor.

  My subconscious had chosen this place, a town that held no meaning to me or ties that I cared about, to finally let loose. It was too much; I couldn’t face this heartache alone. “Aunt Claire, come back,” I said, my voice thick with tears.

  “That’s it, let it out,” a kindly male voice said from the aisle.

  Hands gently gripped my shoulders and lowered me onto the pew. “I can’t do this. It hurts so much.”

  “Of course you can. You’re a Pepperdine.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” I turned and drew a quick breath. Glints of ice highlighted mesmerizing crystal-blue eyes. Comfort permeated my being, loosening my constricted chest. I forgot what we were saying or even that I was crying. A hot hand gently cradled my cheek. An electric shock blazed a trail through every nerve in my body, lifting me off the pew. I gasped. The hand quivered, and the man uttered a startled cry.

  “Forgive me,” he said in a deeply, sorrowful voice. “Close your eyes. Take a moment.”

  Emptiness washed over me. My eyes popped open. I spun about in the pew towards the sound of retreating footsteps. My brows knitted together. The sanctuary w
as empty. I took a shuddering breath. A woodsy scent hung in the air where the man had been standing. I couldn’t resist; I sucked in, filling my lungs.

  ***

  A plate with two pieces of fried chicken and a scoop of coleslaw materialized under my nose. I pushed it to the edge of my desk and continued pretending to read.

  “Eat something, a bite at least,” Aunt Claire said, taking up a position alongside my dresser. She rubbed the back of her neck and with her eyes half open, rested her head against the wall. “It took some maneuvering, but I finally squeezed all the casseroles into the fridge. At least we won’t have to worry about cooking this week, now that we’re giving up our life of leisure.”

  “The truck is here?” I asked, heading over to flop onto my bed. Maybe tomorrow I’d have the energy to unpack.

  “What? No, I was talking about you starting school on Monday, and I’ve got—”

  “Monday!” I groaned. Small town, smaller school, I was destined to be the new oddity.

  “Principal Long and I discussed your situation at great length. It’s time we established normal day-to-day activities, school being one of them.”

  “Does it matter? It’s not like they’re going to offer AP courses here,” I said with what she called my snooty, big-city attitude. She was frowning at me, but I didn’t care. I hadn’t been consulted when she made the decision to come to this civilization deprived valley.

  The furnace kicked on, whooshing air through the vent that rattled behind her feet. She gave it a swift kick with her heel. The grate clattered onto the floor. She tipped her head back and stared up at the ceiling, her lower lip quivering.

  I leaned over the side of the bed and dragged the grate over with my crutch. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix it later. One of my old roommates at boarding school had a thing for borrowing mementoes, so she could pretend her family gave a crap about her. I took to stashing my stuff in a vent.”

  Aunt Claire swallowed hard. “Your parents should’ve sent you home.”

  Did she mean here? She must be confused. Hadn’t she left the valley right after high school and never looked back? Things were different now. She had me, so she’d have to stay. The sick feeling in my stomach weighed in on the matter. I hugged my pillow to my chest.

  She fiddled with the corner of my comforter, smoothing it into place before sitting next to me on the side of the bed. “Principal Long seems confident that you’ll be challenged by the curriculum. Wait till you see the list of clubs and—” She caught up my hand as I pulled away. “One club, that’s all I ask. Please, it’s important that you try. After all, we can’t stay cooped up in this drafty, old house forever, kid.”

  “We?” I replied, trying to sound interested.

  “I’ve got an interview in Gunnison for a photographer position on their local paper. It won’t pay much and the hours could be crazy at times. I’m sorry.”

  “People hire me to watch their kids. I’m a senior in high school. I can look after myself.”

  “Yes, of course,” she replied.

  I picked a fuzz ball off the perfectly serviceable maroon comforter Aunt Claire had dragged out of a trunk in the attic. “You’re a world-famous artist. You don’t take photos of football games and the local garden club. We should’ve stayed at my home in D.C. Several galleries wanted to show your work and I’d already been accepted to a couple Ivy League schools. If there’s somewhere else that you’d rather live, it’s okay by me. It can’t be easy for you to come back to this place with its memories.”

  “How kind and mature of you, dear.” She shook her head. “We’re Pepperdines. When it comes down to it, our desires come last.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You’ve traveled all over the world. You said it was in your blood.”

  “As are other things. It is time for them to take priority.”

  “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me,” I said, sniffing back tears that I didn’t want to come.

  “I’m not. Don’t you go putting wrong thoughts into your head. We’ll figure things out.”

  I wasn’t sure what things she meant. The sad look in her golden-brown eyes told me to let it go for now.

  She got to her feet and headed towards the door. “You’ve had a hard day. Try not to stay up too late. If you need me, I’ve got calls to return.”

  “What am I supposed to do? I finished my book. This place doesn’t even have internet. How am I supposed to Skype JoAnna and update Facebook? I can’t even tweet in this time-stood-still town since you canceled my phone,” I said, my tone bordering on whiny.

  “Sorry, I need to get you added to my plan. Write a letter. The roll-top desk in the den has lovely stationary in the center drawer.”

  “Write a letter? Seriously?” I plopped back onto my bed and shoved my MacBook Pro to the side as Aunt Claire shut the door behind her. “Can’t we get a satellite dish?” I shouted at the closed door.

  After deciding what to wear to school from the limited amount of clothes I’d packed in the car, I wandered about my room wishing the truck had arrived. Then, I’d at least have unpacking to occupy my thoughts. Instead, I had pain to focus on. My knee was sore. If I took a pain pill now it would run out in the middle of the night. Hidden in the quiet, a sadistic voice waited in my memories of that terrible night. It didn’t care about my pain or the hollowness of my life. It claimed ownership. As punishment for my avoidance, it would suck me into my nightmares, holding me captive until morning.

  I pulled back the curtain and yanked open the window. The crisp evening air washed a light floral scent across my face. Simple noises of the night: chirping, twittering, and rustling leaves filled my room, shoving my terrorizing quiet off to the side. My shoulders uncurled and I breathed deeper. Maybe Aunt Claire was right about a healing quality inherent to this valley. I could still make out the screened in gazebo in the back corner of the yard, but the evening light was fading fast. I may have lost the right to be normal, but that didn’t mean I had to be miserable all the time. I tugged on my sweatshirt and shoes and headed outside.

  The mudroom door opened onto a patio constructed out of interlocking pavers in an autumn blend of pale gold, russet, and tan that stretched the length of the house. Aside from the three-foot square brick planters in the corners, the patio was empty and uninviting. I wondered when the last time was that someone had taken the time to fill the planters with flowers or had leaned against the wide railings to take in the view. Aunt Claire readily admitted to preferring life in the big city to spur her creativity. Dad’s career in the State Department had kept us in Europe throughout most of my life. I’d never heard him mention growing old in this house he’d inherited years ago. I’d asked him once about his plans for retirement. He’d said something about Pepperdine’s never retiring, they just fade away. I’d figured he was just having one of his melancholy moods, so I’d let it go.

  The peaceful sounds of the night beckoned. Their soothing balm drew me to the wrought-iron gate that swung open in response to my light push. Aspen leaves in shades of yellow and gold fluttered in the breeze, performing somersaults and cartwheels in their dance towards the ground. Along the perimeter of the yard, burning bushes and yellow mums weaved a bold tapestry against the thick forest bordering the sides of our property. The smell of freshly mowed grass wafted around my face as I strolled down the gentle slope. At the base of the hill, nestled beneath a stand of aspens, the neglected gazebo waited for the next generation of Pepperdines. Vines had been allowed to grow and entwine about its windows. The paint was peeling and several screens were ripped. I frowned at its neglect.

  The first step creaked, but seemed sturdy enough, so I continued up the last two and reached for the handle. I tugged. The old, wooden door bowed out a bit in the middle but refused to open. I yanked as hard as I could, popping it loose. I stumbled off the step, scraping my left hand along the rail, expecting to go down any second. Thankfully my crutch got wedged against a post, keeping me on my feet with only a minor loss to my dignity.
Not that there was anyone to see. With a chuckle at my own clumsiness, I relaxed my death grip on the knob and repositioned my crutch. I hissed and turned my hand over. A half-inch long piece of wood had come away from the rail and imbedded itself between my knuckles.

  Teeth gritted together, I pulled out the splinter. “Ow!” Droplets of blood sprayed the front of my sweatshirt. Ouch, this seriously stung. I thrust my right hand into my pockets searching for a clean tissue. I wavered for a minute. It wasn’t like I’d crossed some great expanse. This was my backyard; I could come down here any time. Still, I’d been wounded in the process that ought to merit a quick look inside.

  I straightened up and pulled the newly loosened door open. Inside was a hexagonal shaped, screened-in-room with a high-beamed ceiling. Years’ worth of dirt had accumulated on the wooden plank floor. I traversed its circumference, careful to avoid spider webs and the wood trim of the windows. I wanted to linger. Maybe hunt for my father’s initials that I was sure he would’ve carved into the wood. Only my hand was stinging and the blood had soaked through the tissue leaving droplets in the dirt. Plus, my arms felt scratchy, like fine sandpaper had rubbed across my skin. Probably from the dust I’d kicked up.

  I pushed the door closed just enough for it to catch but not hard enough so it would stick. The sound of rustling in the bushes didn’t bother me. Our property bordered a small brook and open country. Nature meant wildlife. I’d seen it in books and at the zoo. If it wanted to munch its dinner in the bushes, fine by me. The squeaking of the steps silenced my visitor.

  “Sorry about that,” I whispered.

  Nature answered in what sounded like my name spoken in a raspy voice. My heart jumped to my throat. I stepped closer to the clump of burning bushes, peering through the branches. Stupid, this is what the character does in a movie right before something leaps out to devour her.

  “Olivia,” Aunt Claire called from patio.