But I couldn’t tell him everything.
“What?” he asked, contemplating me seriously with his liquid brown eyes.
“Look. J.C., you believe in God, right?” I asked, laying some groundwork. You would think the answer to that is a given at a Catholic school. It isn’t.
“Yeah,” he said and shrugged his shoulders and looked away. “Sure.”
“And you believe that our souls live on after we die, right?”
“Sure. Yeah,” he nodded. “What does that have to do with your message?”
I took a deep breath. My heart thumped faster.
“I’ve been talking to Michael, J.C.” I paused, and when he didn’t flinch, plowed on. “It…um…makes me feel better about his death.”
J.C. thought about that and then backed up to sit down on one of the benches, motioning with his head for me to join him. “I don’t think that’s weird, Cate. I check in with mi abuelo all the time. He died a few years ago.” I raised my eyebrows, not understanding. “My grandfather. We were tight, you know what I’m saying?”
I nodded.
“So you have a message for Michael? Why can’t you just tell him yourself?” He was quick. I closed my eyes and dove in.
“I talk to him in Lewis Woods. A lot. I feel…closest to him there.” I pried my eyes open to take in his expression. He still wasn’t laughing so I went on. “That’s why I’m grounded,” I groaned. “I’ve been going there, like almost every day, and I told my parents I was going somewhere else. They want to know where only…”
“Why can’t you just tell them?”
“Are you kidding? I can’t believe I’m telling you, and that you’re still sitting here listening. There’s no way I can tell them.” I was suddenly worried. “Look, no one knows, J.C., no one. You can’t tell anyone. It’s just that…I’m grounded, now. Totally. Like, for I don’t know how long, and…I need someone to take my place in Lewis Woods until I can go back. Maybe I could write a letter—”
He was shaking his head.
“I thought you said I wasn’t weird.” My cheeks were burning again. I felt so stupid.
“Maybe not weird for you, but weird for me. I didn’t even know the guy.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, talking fast. “All you need to do is read the letter and—”
“Read it? Can’t I just leave it for him somewhere? People do that, right? Leave letters or flowers or stuffed bears—”
“He has…um…had dyslexia,” I said looking down at my shoes and biting my lip.
He laughed, predictably. I stuck out my chin, and he stopped laughing. “Okay. Okay…if it will make you feel better to keep up the…um…ritual…” He gathered his dark brows together over his eyes. “You get me a letter, and I’ll go take it into the woods and read it, but if I ever find out you told anyone, I’ll kick your butt.”
We walked back into the noisy cafeteria, and it felt as if some of the weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I can do this. Michael and I can make it through this, I thought. I threw a backward glance over my shoulder at Saint Joan as the door closed behind us.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Now, the only problem was what to write.
I stayed up late composing the letter and tucked it into the vent of J.C.’s locker on Tuesday morning. He’d gotten his license at the end of November, but he couldn’t take the letter until Thursday because he had to share the car with his two older sisters. I was unbelievably difficult to live with during those two days.
Mina lingered in intensive care, and my mother spent almost twenty-four hours a day at the hospital, coming home only to shower and change. As it was, the few times our paths crossed, my temper seethed and her guilt overflowed. Fire and gasoline. We managed to avoid a full-out conflagration. Barely. It helped that I wasn’t speaking to her.
Thursday after dinner, my dad insisted we all go to Saint Joan’s home varsity basketball game. Cici was cheering, and he said we needed to show our support. Of course, he came along to babysit me. He’d lost all faith in me.
While Cici changed, we bought some popcorn and climbed up to the top of the bleachers to sit with the Finnegans. Maeve Finnegan, the youngest at only six, sidled up next to me and stuck her hand in my bag of popcorn. She’d inherited the clan’s trademark red hair and green eyes, and had Finn’s sense of humor, poor thing.
Finn made the team but was riding the bench for now. Jason was starting guard. He was tall, and he was good. I’d watched him play before, but he looked sicker today than he had on Monday. Tired. Pale. He lacked his usual quickness. His head obviously wasn’t in the game, and he turned the ball over several times in the first half.
I looked around for the Kings. They were sitting near the top of the bleachers to our left, and Jason’s dad, in a pair of pressed black chinos and a buttoned up golf shirt, was watching the game with rapt attention. Each time Jason fouled his dad’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head in disappointment.
Cici was at home among the cheerleaders, just as I knew she would be. She was the smallest, but she bounced with enthusiasm through the routines and stunts, looking incredible in her gray and white Warrior tank and short pleated skirt. Between cheers, she laughed with her new friends and put up with Spencer’s flirting…which was almost nonstop. He was shameless. He’d only made the JV team and was disappointed, but he sat behind the Varsity team’s bench during every game to absorb and learn as much as he could. Meri sat with him.
As the halftime buzzer rang, the Warriors had the game tied up, and Jason was fouled. He stepped to the free throw line for the go-ahead points.
“Come on, Jason,” I whispered, but he missed both shots, and he lifted his head to glance up at his father. I turned around and saw Dr. King grimace. Jason dropped his chin and followed the rest of the team back to the locker room. What was wrong with him? I was just thinking about trying to sneak in a word to him when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“I need to talk to you.” It was J.C., and he was pale too. His lips were pressed together in a thin line, and he motioned with his head that I should follow him. The look in his eyes said it was urgent. I glanced over at my dad. I was grounded and wasn’t supposed to be talking to my friends, but he was busy talking to Mr. Finnegan, so I slipped off the bleacher and chased after J.C. He moved rapidly toward one of the exits and then led me to a table in the far corner of the cafeteria.
“What’s wrong? Did you take the letter?” I asked, worried he’d chickened out.
“You didn’t tell me everything, did you?” he accused in a hushed voice. His eyes were shiny with a mixture of emotions that were impossible to read.
“What do you mean?”
He reached into his backpack, pulled out a smallish white box and set it down carefully on the table. When I read the words on the box I almost fainted.
J.C. nodded to himself. He could see the answer to his question in my eyes.
“Okay…” he whispered, nodding again. “Okay…”
The words on the box, printed in black and silver lettering, were “Higher Dior.”
J.C. yanked out a chair, sat down across from me and leaned across the table.
“Cate, is that what you smelled the night the coyote attacked? It was him, right?”
I nodded, then reached out with the fingers of my good hand and wrapped them around the box. It was solid and real, and it smelled like…Michael. I closed my eyes and breathed in deep. Tension I didn’t even know I had released from my neck and shoulders.
High-pitched laughter erupted from a group of kids at a table on the other side of the cafeteria, and we both jumped and glanced their way, suddenly worried about eavesdroppers.
“This is, like, totally wacked,” J.C. whispered across the table. He rubbed the thick black stubble on his chin with the back of his left hand.
“Michael was wearing it the day he died…this cologne,” I explained in a halting voice. J.C. was nodding again. How far had his mind stretched to absorb
all of this? What exactly happened in the woods today? “Where did you notice it?” I asked cautiously. He hunched down in his chair and concentrated on his fingers.
“At first it was like, really faint. I thought I was imagining it, but as I got closer to the cliff where you told me to read the letter? The scent got much stronger.” He looked up, both shock and awe evident in his eyes.
“And when I started to read, the scent circled me and then settled next to me. I mean, I could tell exactly where it was coming from! It was like, right there!” He pointed to the chair immediately to his right to illustrate.
“Did you see anything? Hear anything?”
“No! Do you?” His eyes opened wider. I looked down at my hands.
“You should have warned me!” He looked away and then mumbled, “I mean, I wasn’t scared or anything, but it would have been nice to know.”
“But did you read the whole letter?” I asked, hoping he had. Michael needed to hear it. He had to know I was coming back. That I was okay after my stupid temper tantrum.
“Yeah. Then, I swear he followed me back out of the woods, but the scent stopped where that path goes into the forest.”
One side of my lips curled up as I remembered my first encounter. “Did you run?” I asked.
“Hell no!” he said, looking from side to side. “But like, I went straight to the mall after that and smelled at least a hundred different colognes before I found this one.”
I opened the box and set the bottle on the table. It was a silver and white rectangular bottle, with the words “Higher Dior” written in raised white-on-white lettering. It was pale and shimmery, like Michael himself.
“Can I keep this?” I asked, trailing my index finger across the top. I could almost feel it tingle.
J.C. nodded, studying the expression on my face. “So…is he, like, some kind of ghost or what?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Cici bounded up, tossing her noisy pompoms on the table. J.C. raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion, and I shook my head. No, she didn’t know.
“Hey, guys!” she said. “Halftime’s over. We’re taking a break.”
J.C. checked out the back of her skirt with interest and said, “Isn’t that skirt a little short for you, baby sis?”
“No!” she shot back. She flipped it up in his face and said, “See? Spankies!” Then she flopped down next to him, and her face fell a little.
“What am I going to do about Spencer?” she groaned, for once oblivious to the charged atmosphere surrounding her.
“What about him?” I asked, playing dumb. J.C. and Cici both looked at me as if I were blind.
“He wants to go out, and I just don’t like him that way. I mean he’s a great friend, but…”
“Do you want me to talk to him?” I asked. He was my friend.
“No,” she groaned. “Maybe he’ll give up.” I didn’t think that was likely, but I nodded and patted her on the shoulder from across the table.
“So…” she went on, changing the subject. “What are you guys talking about?” Her antenna was back up. She was still trying to get to the bottom of my disappearances.
J.C. covered, saying, “I was just looking for volunteers to come help out at the soup kitchen on Sundays. I’m heading up the committee for the youth group.”
“What time?” she asked.
“Well…we leave around six in the morning,” he said apologetically, already expecting rejection.
“No way,” I groaned. That was way too early.
“I’ll come!” offered Cici, adding, “Some of us like to get up early.” Her tone was sarcastic. Her eyes were on me. Then she reached out and grabbed up the bottle of Higher, asking, “Whose is this?”
“Mine,” said J.C. quickly. “I got tired of Axe.”
“Me too. Too many guys wear it.” She sprayed it on her arm and smelled it.
“Nice,” she said and then looked from J.C. to me curiously.
“What?” I asked, trying to keep my face straight.
“That’s what you smell like, Cate. When you come home from…” She made quote marks in the air with her fingers. “…Jai Ho.”
The straight expression on my face crumbled, and I stood up abruptly and went to the bathroom. J.C. could deal with that one.
TWENTY
THE GIFT
“ARE YOU SURE you’ll be okay?” J.C. wanted to know as he pulled into the parking area in front of the woods. It was Christmas Eve morning. Mina had returned home the day before, and my dad had been too distracted with helping to coordinate her care to resist my tireless pleas to be allowed to Christmas shop with J.C.
It was the perfect cover story. J.C. picked me up early, and we swung by the mall, where I bought a few gift cards, but the gift that mattered most to me was already tucked into my dingy pink bag. It was something for Michael, something I knew he would love.
J.C. looked at me doubtfully as I opened the passenger door and exposed my face to the wintry air. The sky was blue and the sun was out. It reflected so brightly off the massive snowy field that my hand shot up automatically to protect my eyes from the light.
“I’m good,” I said and shut the passenger door firmly. Through the window, I could see curiosity overflowing in J.C.’s eyes. Though we now talked about Michael frequently, he didn’t know I could actually see and hear Michael, but I was sure he suspected. I think he was content just to be part of the mystery. I waved and mouthed my thanks as he drove away. I had my phone. I’d call him when I was ready to go.
Fatigue weighed down my black snow boots as they crunched over the icy path. My throat was achy and congested, and my nose was stuffy. With all of the stress at home and my worries for Michael, sleep had fled from me night after night, and the cumulative effect of that was beginning to take its toll. I didn’t care.
I had given a second letter to J.C. to deliver for me, which had promised Michael I would come on Christmas Eve morning, and there was no place in the world I would rather be. But fear tempered the excitement I felt about seeing him again. Fear that he would still be angry with me for storming out on him, fear that I wouldn’t know what to say when I saw him, and fear that he wouldn’t trust me anymore. Fear seemed to color everything in my world lately. It had settled in my heart like a cold claw, pricking it sharply when I least expected it, causing my heart to race and my lungs to stumble.
By the time I approached the entrance to the forest, the bright sun had made me so hot and sweaty in my oversized coat that I unzipped it to try to cool off.
He was waiting for me at the very edge of his boundary.
His hands were stuffed deep in his frayed cut-off jeans’ pockets, and his pensive gaze flicked between his feet and my face. He was pale, and he wavered in and out of focus rapidly, like he was anxious, too. He backed slowly away from his invisible boundary line to give me room to cross and stand in front of him. The moment my toe crossed the border, his expression changed, and his eyes filled with worry.
“You’re warm, and your breathing’s all scratchy.”
I shrugged out of the coat, but the chill ate its way right through my wool sweater, so I put the coat back on. Then I was hot again.
“It’s warmer out there in the sun than it looks,” I said, avoiding his eyes. I was suddenly overcome with shame for the way I had left him the last time we saw each other. My heart was pounding, and I felt unsteady on my feet. “And I’m…just tired…”
“What is it?” he asked, taking a step closer, my awkwardness having freed him of his own anxiety. He trailed the backs of his tingling fingertips across my cheek, and his worry deepened.
“I’m fine,” I said, looking up.
“You’re not.” He searched my eyes. He could feel everything within me, my heart thumping wildly, my muscles tensing, my tears priming. I’d forgotten. I was a quivering mess beneath the surface, and I wanted to bolt back across the boundary line to hide it from him. But it was too late for that. There was no point now.
&nb
sp; “I missed you…” Tears wet down my lashes. I couldn’t help it. To hell with all of our stupid rules! “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you! I’m sorry I flipped out and ruined everything! I’m sorry—”
“Do you honestly think I never had a melt-down like that?” he broke in, his eyebrows knitting together above sober eyes.
I thought about that. Yeah, I could imagine him flipping out way worse, actually. I heaved a sigh that stuttered a few times as it eased out of my lungs.
Then he leaned forward, glancing self-consciously sideways at the trees to his right, and whispered in a hushed rush, “I missed you, too.”
Before I could process that, he’d turned around and started walking away, though his voice stayed with me and echoed softly in my left ear. I heaved another bumpy sigh.
“The view from the cliff’s awesome today,” he called over his shoulder. “You coming?”
So that was that. He’d already forgiven me. I nodded and fell into step next to him, moving my feet fast to keep up. I cleared my throat and coughed a few times, and he slowed down, almost effortlessly remaining visible and at my side.
Though I couldn’t smell the blissful scent of the pines through my stuffed up nose, the evergreen forest was comfortingly familiar, blessedly shady and unearthly quiet. New-fallen snow has a way of magnifying silence that soothes raw nerves and enlivens the soul. Everything outside of the forest and the two of us seemed far away, but Michael wasn’t willing to leave it that way.
“So…” Michael rubbed his fingers anxiously through his hair. “You and your mom?”
“We’ll be…fine…” I mumbled, and he rolled his eyes.
“Catherine, you’re talking to the ultimate lie detector,” he said. “And besides, J.C. told me you and your mom haven’t spoken since—”
“He talks to you?” I was incredulous. “I mean, besides the letters?”
“Yeah. And by the way,” he pointed out with a touch of sarcasm, “having dyslexia doesn’t mean I can’t read at all.”
I felt my face flush. “I’m sorry. I just—”
“I know, I know. I just thought you should know.”
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