The Secrets of Lost Stones

by Melissa Payne

  A stinging sensation in her arm brought Jess back to her room in Lucy’s house with the window that overlooked the sparkling lake and the warm wood planks that soaked up the afternoon sun. She looked down, shocked to find her wrist a mass of red lines from her incessant scratching, and pressed her cool palm over the hot marks. It seemed to itch more now than when it had been healing.

  She pulled her sleeve down to hide the scars. The only reason she didn’t finish what she’d started was because of Chance. If she died, then her son would truly be gone. Who else would remember the boy who’d loved Matchbox cars and snuggling and eating cookies after bad dreams? She pressed her arms into her belly, waiting for the urge to throw up or cry to pass, and when it finally did, she rose from the bed, pulled her ponytail tight, and smoothed her shirt. She couldn’t hide up here forever. A homeless girl who’d experienced God knows what was downstairs in a yellow dress, and she was probably starving. And Lucy seemed to be having quite a few episodes today. Jess needed to get back to work.

  She crossed the room and noticed the top drawer of her dresser hanging halfway off the tracks, the clothes inside crumpled and unfolded. She rubbed the back of her neck. Odd. She was a tidy person who kept her room clean and her clothes folded. Had Lucy been in her room? When she moved to push the drawer in—she’d have to refold everything later—she noticed Chance’s picture, the school one, sitting on top and in the center of her messed-up clothes. Her hands shook. She had been intending to buy a new frame for it, but so far her days had been full. She grasped the drawer’s delicate crystal knobs and tried to push it back in, but it was stuck and wiggled loosely like it was off the track. She bent down to figure out how to fit it back on and froze when the skin across her exposed neck prickled like she was being watched. She twisted around, small white spots, like tiny feathers, flitting at the edges of her vision. Empty. She shook her head—of course the room was empty—and with a forced laugh turned back to fix the drawer. But she must have unintentionally pulled it out too far; before she knew what was happening, the entire drawer slid off the tracks and tumbled out, landing hard on the floor and upending her clothes.

  “Damn it,” she said, and as she bent to pick everything up, the door was flung open.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  STAR

  Lucy had already disappeared up the stairs. Man, that old woman could move. Star darted from the sitting room and toward the front door. Her hand rested on the knob, but she couldn’t make herself turn it. She chewed on her lip. If she left now, she could be on a bus back to Denver soon. Besides, Jess had probably already called social services.

  But the image of Shred hovering above her last night, his knees pinning her to the ground, stopped her. She shuddered at her pathetic helplessness. Whether she stayed or returned, it seemed like everyone but her got to decide her future. Her hand released the doorknob. Fuck it. She’d hang here, fill her belly with food, and split when she was ready to go.

  Muffled voices filtered down from the second floor, and Star felt a magnetic pull lure her up the stairs and to an open door at the end of the hallway. She peered into the room.

  Jess knelt on the floor with her back to a tall dresser. An upended drawer lay beside her, clothes strewn across a ruby-and-navy-blue wool rug.

  “What were you going to do?” Jess said to Lucy. “Try to pick me up yourself?”

  Lucy sat on the bed. “You looked like you needed a hand.”

  Jess pushed to her feet, and Star noticed the color had drained from her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said to Lucy in a gentler voice. “But you’re one of the only eighty-five-year-olds I know taking nothing but vitamins. I don’t want to add pain pills because of my clumsiness.”

  Star snorted. “Yeah, ’cause when the painkillers stop working, it’s heroin all the way.”

  Both Jess and Lucy turned to stare at where she hovered just outside the room. The silence that followed made Star shift her weight from one foot to the other. Jess’s eyes widened, and her mouth hung open slightly. Lucy raised an eyebrow.

  Star sucked in her cheeks. These two were a pair. Old maid Lucy and bipolar Jess.

  Star moved into the room and lifted the drawer, sliding it back into the dresser. When she picked up a thin blouse, something fell from its folds. She squinted down at it. A picture. But she caught only a glimpse of the back of it before Jess snatched it off the floor.

  “I got this,” Jess said in a strangled voice, and stuffed the clothes into the drawer.

  “How did the drawer fall out?” Star asked.

  A long piece of Jess’s brown hair had pulled out of her ponytail. She pushed it behind one ear, blowing out a forceful breath. “It had shifted off the track somehow, and it fell when I was trying to fix it. Just lost my grip on it, I think.” She bent over to pick up a shirt from the pile and began to fold it.

  Star figured Jess wasn’t too old. But since she’d first stepped through the front door just a few hours ago, she hadn’t seen the younger woman smile much. Something told her that was normal. When Star turned to leave, she caught sight of three bonsai trees on a narrow table behind Jess. Her breath caught in her chest, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. When she noticed Jess staring at her, she pointed at the small plants. “Your bonsai trees are dying.”

  Jess’s shoulders slumped when she looked at the trees. “Yeah, I noticed,” she said with a frown.

  “Bonsai! Aha!” Lucy chirped, and pulled her crossword puzzle from a pocket in the folds of her dress. She scribbled across the paper with her pencil.

  Star shook her head and almost smiled. Lucy was crazy. Then she walked over to the table and looked closely at the trees. “Your problem is that they’re either getting too little sun . . .” She pressed a finger into the soil of one. Dry. “Or too little water.” A few dead leaves lay scattered across the table. “Or both.” Jess was looking at her as though she’d spoken an alien language. Star’s gaze fell on the one in the middle; it looked different from the others, bigger, scrawnier, and less full of the tiny leaves. She rubbed her finger along the smooth trunk. A static shock ran through her hand, and she jerked it back, her heart beating a little too fast. That was weird. “That one is overgrown.” Jess studied her, head tilted, and Star shifted her weight, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. “My mom loved bonsai,” she said simply, hoping nosy Jess wouldn’t ask a million questions now. She didn’t like to talk about her mom; it hurt too much.

  Jess blinked. “Oh, Star. I’m . . . I—”

  Star tensed, tried to come up with something sarcastic to say to change the direction the conversation had taken. But Lucy very loudly cleared her throat, interrupting whatever might have come next, and Star exhaled with relief.

  “Star!” Lucy said, and rose to her feet. Star could have sworn she heard her bones pop.

  “Yeah?”

  “I have a job for you.” Lucy took Star’s hand and led her down the stairs without a word to Jess.

  “A job?” Star pulled her hand away. “What kind of job?”

  “Not just one job, dear.” They stopped in the foyer, and Lucy turned to face her. “But one main job.” She winked. “It’s Tuesday. I like to walk the lake on Tuesdays.”

  Star waited for her to continue, but Lucy was busy rummaging through a hall closet. She pulled out a long black coat and slid an arm inside, twisting around to reach for the other half. It kept slipping down her back. Watching Lucy struggle with the simple act of putting on her coat gave Star a twinge, and she took hold of one side and held it out. Lucy peered at her over one shoulder, smiled, and slid her other arm through.

  “You want me to walk with you?” Star said.

  “On Tuesdays.”

  “You want me to walk with you on Tuesdays?” Star repeated. This morning she’d been nobody. Now here she stood in the foyer of a massive and ancient home, in a town she’d never heard of, clean, not hungry for the first time in forever, wearing a dress, and taking an old lady for a walk.

  “Yes, Tuesd
ay. But only on Tuesday.” Lucy reached back into the closet and pulled out a worn green army coat, handing it to Star. “You’ll want to take this. May’s always colder than it looks.”

  “What about Jess?” Star asked as she opened the door. “Doesn’t she walk with you?”

  “No, of course not. I hardly know her.”

  They walked side by side down the pockmarked cement steps to the dirt sidewalk. Below them and past the town, the icy lake shimmered, reflecting the green of the pine trees that surrounded its banks. Beyond the trees, Star could make out the tips of even higher mountain peaks, frosted white with snow.

  She turned to Lucy. “But you hardly know me.”

  Lucy smiled. “Then stay, and we can all get to know each other better.”

  They walked down the hill to the corner on Main Street and stopped by the Mountain Market just as a small white van with the words FOOTHILLS TAXI pulled to a stop in front of them. A town this small had a taxi service?

  The driver’s door popped open, emitting a tall, skinny kid with curly hair and a wide grin. He jogged around the van and opened the front passenger door with a flourish, his arm extended, head bowed.

  “Lucy,” he said in a deep, formal voice, and took her hand.

  “Jeremy.” She acknowledged him with a nod and entered the van with her head held high.

  “And who is the young lady accompanying you today?” the kid asked, giving Star a quick glance.

  “This is Star from the city,” Lucy answered. “She’s my Tuesday girl.”

  He gave a solemn nod. “’Bout time you had a Tuesday girl.” He flashed Star a quick smile before opening the sliding door for her. “Nice to meet you, Star.” The door slid shut, leaving Star to wonder whose tripped-out dream she’d stumbled into.

  They drove a short distance through town, giving her a chance to see Pine Lake again. It felt as though she’d landed in the Old West. Squat, wood-frame buildings with rusted metal roofs ran along either side of the main street. Covered walkways lined the two-lane road, with colorful signs boasting a coffeehouse, saloon, and gift shops.

  They drove past a small dam situated at the far end of Main Street. Water from the lake poured over in icy streaks, falling into the pond in arcs of misted rainbows. Star sighed. She could be happy here. But the thought of being happy anywhere hit her like a blow to the stomach.

  Jeremy pulled the van into a parking spot near the lake house. He jumped out and opened Lucy’s door with as much dramatic flourish as before. He was younger than she’d guessed at first, not much older than Star, but old enough to drive. Her door slid open, and he extended a hand to her. She ignored it and climbed out, joining Lucy.

  “Happy Tuesday,” he said.

  “Same to you,” Lucy responded.

  “Take care of our girl, Star.” He winked and hustled back to the van.

  “O-kay,” Star mumbled to his back. People in the mountains were weird.

  They stood alone in the middle of a deserted trail. Had she ever been to the mountains before? A vague memory came to her of snuggling into her mother’s lap in front of a hot campfire, hands sticky from marshmallow, a million stars sprinkling the sky above. She could almost taste the sweetness of melting chocolate on her tongue mixed with the sharp tang of bug spray. Then it evaporated, leaving Star colder than before. She glanced into the dark woods surrounding the lake. The openness of the mountains made her feel conspicuous, exposed, and her back itched from a strong sense that something lingered between the trees. Maybe she actually preferred city life. She shrugged. It would make leaving that much easier.

  Lucy had ambled ahead, and her stooped figure moved at an unexpected clip. Star hurried to catch up. They followed a gravel path that cut around the boathouse to the wider dirt trail circling the lake. It felt good to stretch her legs, and the uneven ground made for a challenge she hadn’t had during her months on pavement.

  She studied Lucy from the corner of her eye. Today she wore another black dress that buttoned up to her neck with a skirt that brushed the ground. The dark color did nothing for her skin, pale as it was and littered with age spots. And her hair. Star’s grandmother had died when Star was a baby, and the only old people she knew were drunk, homeless, and mostly mean. She didn’t know what to make of Lucy, who was the most bizarre person Star had ever met. And considering Star’s circumstances, that was saying something.

  They walked in silence. Star had little experience with old people and had no idea what to say. They rounded the farthest point of the trail where the path switched back in the direction of the boathouse. Lucy walked on, placing one foot in front of the other as she carefully navigated the uneven trail.

  Star surprised herself by talking first. “Jeremy’s . . . interesting,” she said.

  “Who, dear?”

  “The kid who drove us here.”

  “Ah yes, Jeremy. Always there when I need him.”

  “So you don’t drive anymore?”

  Lucy turned her head sharply and stared narrow-eyed at Star. “That’s the right question.”

  “Okay.”

  “But you’re right, I don’t drive anymore.”

  “Because you’re old?”

  Lucy laughed then, a sound so light and airy it made the corners of Star’s mouth lift.

  “Yes and no,” she said. She began to walk again, but her pace had slowed, and Star noticed how she worried the hem of her sleeve with her fingers, rubbing back and forth across the cuff. “I stopped driving because something bad happened with my car.”

  “What happened?”

  Lucy waved a hand in the air. “Nothing, really. I pushed the gas instead of the brake and took down my mailbox.” She sniffed. “Benjamin thought it best if I retired from driving after that, and I suppose he was right, but . . .” She trailed off, her eyelids lowered, and for a second Star thought she’d fallen asleep in the middle of their conversation.

  “Lucy?”

  A look of confusion drew Lucy’s eyebrows together. “I didn’t see it coming when I should have. Mother always said I could be blind when I wanted to be.”

  Star waited for her to say more, but Lucy lapsed into silence, her eyes trained on the path, her back rounded a fraction more than before. She suddenly looked very old.

  The conversation stalled there, and when they came to the end of the loop, Lucy took a seat on a bench and looked out over the lake. Star followed her gaze, and her eyes widened at the sight. The icy water sparkled like someone had spilled a million diamonds across its surface. Flapping wings sounded above her, and Star gasped when she saw a big black bird with a long skinny neck skim across the still surface. It dove gracefully through patches of melting ice and into the water, disappearing briefly before it burst out with a watery spray a few feet away.

  After the bird flew beyond the lake, Star turned back to Lucy, who sat straight backed on the bench. Star shifted her weight from one foot to another. The silence was both awkward and comfortable, but Star was growing impatient. She shook her head and blew out through her teeth. “Why am I here?” she blurted out.

  Lucy sat very still, her cheeks flushed a faint pink from the walk, and Star wondered if she’d heard the question at all or was ignoring her. She mentally reviewed places along Main Street that would do as a temporary bed.

  “Ever since I was a very little girl,” Lucy said, “I could see them. But it was my mother who taught me how to understand them.”

  “Understand who?” She slumped onto the bench. Getting a straight answer out of Lucy obviously took some time.

  Lucy turned to her. “The loose ends, of course. That’s how I like to think of them.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Lucy studied her. “Of course you don’t, dear. It’s my gift to see them and my job to help. Sometimes it’s unfinished business or forgiveness.” She frowned. “Sometimes they want revenge.” Her lips flattened into a thin line. “I don’t like those.” She sighed. “But I’ve learned to be patient with the
things I don’t understand because often all that is needed is time.”

  “Time for what?”

  Her eyes were like blue fire, and her smile made Star feel important in a way she couldn’t explain. “It takes time for all the loose ends to be in one place, but once they are, things tend to move very quickly.”

  Star peered over her shoulder toward the parking lot, hoping to catch sight of Jeremy or his van. Lucy sounded mental. And Star didn’t care about her “loose ends.” She cared about what Lucy knew about her and Jazz. “The letter you sent me. You know about the accident. You know I was there.” Saying it out loud stung, and she blinked rapidly, turning her face toward the lake. “How do you know about that?”

  Something brushed across her wrist, and Star looked down to see Lucy’s fingers covering her hand. Her skin was smooth, soft as velvet, and the tenderness of her touch scratched at the hard layer that protected Star’s heart. She pulled her hand away and stuck it under her thigh.

  “I don’t know much yet, except that this one is yours,” Lucy said.

  “What’s mine?”

  “It’s your loose end.” Lucy’s hand returned to her lap. “And his. And hers. And . . . it’s hard to see. Something’s different about it . . .” She trailed off, and Star noticed how Lucy’s jaw had slackened, her eyes faded to a dull blue.

  “Are you okay?”

  Instead of answering, Lucy slipped her fingers into a pocket hidden among the folds of her dress and pulled out a handkerchief. The old woman’s skinny forearm trembled when she patted the cloth to the back of her neck. Only then did Star notice a thin sheen across her forehead. Her pulse sped up. What would she do if Lucy passed out?