The Shadows We Know by Heart Read online

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” His sympathetic look nails it. The anniversary, the one day of the year we publicly acknowledge the loss, ripping the wounds open again, giving ourselves another twelve months to reheal before doing it all over again. I love my life.

  “Ben!” Matt yells.

  “I’ll see you later,” I say.

  Ben waves, walking slowly backward down the steps, watching me until I grin. “There’s that smile.” He vaults over the fence again and jogs back to the field house. Matt punches him in the arm and gestures wildly, but whether he’s talking about me or the practice, I can’t say.

  Ben laughs all the way across the field.

  Whatever I may have thought about him in the past, regardless of my crush, Ben has been almost perfect. The initial doubt I had about his intentions has faded, though sometimes he still looks at me like he knows something I don’t. Still, that cocky, smug boy who used to crash on my couch and toss popcorn at me and call me “little Leah” has disappeared.

  In his place is a real, decent guy who looks at me with something that verges on adoration.

  It scares the hell out of me because I’m responsible for that, and I never meant for it to happen in the first place. A month ago, sure. But now? No, everything has changed. I’ve changed. I know I’m probably leading Ben on at this point, but if I break it off, I can’t give a legitimate excuse for why. It will draw too much attention, and I’m afraid someone will figure out my secret. Ashley would never let this go, and eventually I’d crack. This double life will eventually catch up with me, likely with disastrous consequences.

  But even knowing that, knowing what I’ve initiated, both in the forest and out, all I want is to see the boy again, apologize for what I said, and go back to where we were.

  And if that’s out of my reach, then I’ll risk anything to get it back, no matter the cost.

  chapter eighteen

  A week has passed since I’ve seen his face. It keeps me awake at night, leaves me restless and drifting during the day. Yesterday I finally used the memorial excuse as an explanation for my behavior. Ben was understanding, even brought me flowers at school this morning.

  But I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. Everything feels wrong, like I’ve gone too far with the lies, and I’ll never get out of the pit I’ve dug.

  It’s nearly eleven when my family gets home from Matt’s game. I pleaded sick, desperate to just be alone for a while, so anxious I haven’t been able to do anything but sit at my desk and stare at the window. Mom and Dad’s voices reach up through the floorboards from their room, then fade into silence. I can hear the click of Matt opening the refrigerator door. I should go down and ask him about the game, but I can’t move from this spot. From my desk I can watch the forest, the field, and the apple tree as the moon fades in and out of the clouds, losing track of time. Matt eventually goes into his room, where the sound of Halo reaches my room through two closed doors.

  At midnight, when my eyes are beginning to burn from staring, shadows move near the house. I jump up, thinking it’s the boy, but it’s the last thing I expect. Mom and Dad walk into the blackness, toss some bags into the trunk of the car, and leave, turning on the headlights only when they near the trees at the end of the driveway.

  I don’t even know how to deal with what I just witnessed. They left, in the middle of the night, without a word to us. As if they didn’t want to be seen. I’m trying to decide whether to tell Matt when another shadow moves outside, slipping over the fence.

  It’s him. It’s him.

  Still dressed, I tiptoe down the stairs and hurry out the back door, barely slowing to close it.

  When I leap off the porch, he’s running as fast as I am.

  I literally throw myself into his embrace. I don’t care about anything else when his arms wrap around me like they were made to fit there. My face is buried in his hair, pressed against his shoulder, and nothing in the world feels as right as this madness.

  “I thought you weren’t coming back,” I mumble against his skin. “I’m so sorry for what I said. It was stupid, and my fault, and I’m just so sorry.”

  He holds me at arm’s length. “Leah?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You thought I wouldn’t come back?”

  “Yes. Because I said— Wait. Did you just . . . You just asked me a question. In a complete sentence!” I slap a hand over my mouth and glance at the house in elated horror.

  When I look back, he’s grinning. “You . . . want to get out of here?”

  All I can do is nod in shock. He takes my hand and we run across the field, until a shadow greets us at the edge of the trees. “Bee.” I reach out to touch her palm with mine, her dark eyes reflecting starlight.

  She drops her hand and walks away into the night. He tugs my hand to follow, but I stop. “Where have you been?”

  “Away. Not safe.”

  “What do you mean? Safe from whom?”

  He stares, like he knows the answer but isn’t going to tell me.

  “Okay. Why can you speak? I mean, you know, better. What happened?”

  His shoulders relax. “I practiced.”

  “You practiced,” I repeat. “With who?”

  He points to Bee’s fading silhouette.

  “She . . . Please tell me she didn’t actually talk back?”

  “She listened.”

  “I don’t understand. If you didn’t know how to talk . . . ?”

  “The words were always in my head. I can read, and Bee and I take books when we find them. It’s just . . . saying them out loud took practice. It’s been so long, and I wanted to get it right.”

  “So if you remember the words, do you remember who you are?” Because I’m afraid I do, even though it’s not possible.

  He’s quiet for a moment, his face hidden in shadows. “Some things are gone.”

  “But someone must have said the words to you. Your parents?”

  “I remember nothing but them.” He nods in the direction Bee went. “They are my family.” Disappointment floods me, cutting deep, even though I know what I hope isn’t conceivable.

  “Your family kind of scares the life out of me sometimes.”

  “He won’t hurt you.”

  “Then why does he keep warning me away?”

  “He’s very protective. They work hard not to be seen.”

  I guess Dad isn’t the only overprotective father around here. And neither of them wants me in the woods, another thing they have in common. I can’t blame the Sasquatch for wanting to protect his family; I just wish he could get his point across without frightening me to death. “But I’ve seen them many times. For years.”

  “Because you were meant to.” He laughs softly and pulls me into the shadows. Home is now gone from my mind. I’m alive and free, just another piece of the forest.

  It’s strange that in this moment, one of Dad’s sermons comes back to me. It was one of those times where I drifted in and out, catching the barest phrase here and there in my boredom and impatient desire for the clock to strike twelve.

  The concept has never really had this sort of clarity until now. Here in the pitch black of night, I should be afraid. But even knowing I am now far from home or anything familiar, the words of my father hit me from out of nowhere, and they are more comforting than I ever thought they would be.

  I can only try to imagine Dad’s face if I told him where I was when I finally grasped one of his most valuable concepts, something I’m not even sure he gets, or at least he hasn’t in a long time. Because as I hold the boy’s hand, following the footsteps of a Bigfoot as she leads the way through the trees, this is the phrase that keeps running through my mind.

  This is how it must feel to walk by faith.

  To walk blindly by faith, because there is literally no other description for what I am doing. I mean, I could walk into a tree in two seconds and not even realize it. I can’t see anything.

  But I trust this boy, and, Heaven help me, I think I trust this creatu
re that leads us deeper into the woods.

  At some point I simply close my eyes, letting the feeling of complete and utter surrender wash over me. With the loss of my sight, every other sense is on high alert. The wind lifts my hair as it drifts through the pines, carrying the faint scent of rain and earth, and the heavier scent of animal. The ground is soft beneath my boots, an endless path of pine needles and ferns. An owl calls from somewhere ahead, answered by a distant pack of coyotes, their cries sending chills down my arms. A symphony of crickets and frogs rises up around us, so loud that I want to cover my ears, and the only answer must be water.

  Just as I hear the steady drip, confirming my suspicions, we stop.

  For a moment nothing happens, until I realize my eyes are still closed. I open them and am greeted by two sets of eyes peering at me, one filled with amusement, the other curious. We are in a narrow clearing, and above, millions of stars shine down on us.

  I glance past Bee to see a darkness behind her, a black space in the otherwise moonlit forest. “What is that?”

  “A cave,” he whispers.

  “There aren’t snakes down there?”

  “Nothing, I promise.” We begin to walk down a rocky slope. “Careful, the rocks,” he says as he navigates it with ease, but I can barely stand, even holding on to him. Baby Bigfoot just clomps down the slope like it’s a casual stroll, her massive shape making it to the bottom before I’m even halfway down.

  The faint quarter moon catches her eyes as she watches my progress. When she makes a huffing sound, I swear it sounds impatient.

  “I’m doing the best I can here.” I slip, going down on one knee and both hands as rocks scatter around me. Before I can scramble to my feet, hands wrap around my waist. I am lifted to my feet. And then off my feet.

  “Hey! What are you—” My words are cut short when I am slung very unceremoniously over Bee’s shoulder. She takes two leaping strides, my nose banging into her shoulder with each one, and then reaches the bottom.

  I mumble a grudging “thank you” when I am on my own feet again, smelling less than desirable now. We are standing in something that looks more like a grotto than a full-blown cave. A small, glass-like pool sits in the center of the rocky hollow, reflecting the stars above like a mirror. Along the opposite side, a deep depression in the rock is protected by a low overhang, dripping with moss and vines. “What is this place?”

  “Sometimes home. She likes the water.” The boy leads me carefully around the pool until we reach the shallow cave. The lichen and moss are thick along the ground and create a sort of hollowed-out bed. One big enough for a couple of Bigfoot. Bee sits down, patting the ground around her until she shifts into a comfortable position, and then leans back against the wall. Her hand reaches out and pats the ground next to her. I sit, and the boy follows, placing himself just far enough away so that we don’t touch. Bee scooches closer, taking my hand and holding it loosely.

  I am going to need a serious shower by the time I get home. Bee’s intelligence is obvious, and I can’t find the line that says, This is an animal, not a person. She has a way of expressing her feelings that blows my mind. Emotions move across her face as easily as they do his. Her dad may scare the life out of me, but they are far from common animals. The question is, what exactly are they?

  “This is unreal,” I murmur. Bee stares out at the still, black water, her gaze unblinking. Suddenly she releases my hand with a grunt of excitement, leans forward, and points. The reflection of a plane crosses the pool, the blinking red light signaling its course across the sky. When it leaves, Bee leans back, her gaze steady again. A few minutes later, when another plane appears, she does the same thing.

  “How do you communicate with her?”

  “We just . . . know each other. I don’t need to talk to her to tell her what I’m thinking.”

  “And do you know what she’s thinking?”

  “She’s usually hungry, so it’s easy.” The grin in his voice is obvious.

  We watch her for a while, and I use the time to get my thoughts together. I’ve got fifty thousand things I want to ask him, but I don’t want to overload him with questions either. I’m still in disbelief that he’s talking so easily now. He must have talked Bee’s head off to be so eloquent in such a short time. How can he not recall learning the words or remember the voice that first said those words to him?

  “You’ve never talked to anyone else? No one other than me?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever wanted to? You’ve seen campers and hunters before. You’ve never wanted to go up to them and ask for help?”

  He sighs. “I never wanted to be a part of what they were. The forest is my home. She is my family.” He gives me a sad smile, and I wonder if it’s painful not to remember what made you human.

  A satellite comes into view, the tiny star tracking its way across the reflection of the pool. “Look, Bee.” I nudge her and point to the light moving across the water. “See the satellite?” She leans forward, a picture of complete curiosity, eyes steadily following it. Even after it disappears from view, she stays like that, waiting for the next one.

  “Why me?” I ask, as if it will answer everything.

  For a while he’s silent, staring at the mirrored sky with Bee. “You were the first one I wanted to see . . . me.”

  “I definitely see you.” I glance down at his bare chest and realize what I said. I turn away, feeling heat flood my face, my heart rate accelerating at the increasing tension between us. I force my brain to think, to find some other question to ask him that might ease this tension building inside me. Unable to stand the feeling of him watching me any longer, I glance over to find him grinning.

  “What?” I say, unable to stop the embarrassed grin from spreading across my face.

  “You,” he says, his tone suggesting he understands why I’m blushing.

  “What do you mean?” I run my hands over my face, hiding.

  “You say what you think.” He moves closer.

  “I shouldn’t. I usually have a filter, or I try to. But . . . it’s like you said. This forest is my home too. I don’t have to pretend here. It’s always been that way. This has always been the place I can run to, to escape my family and all the expectations that go with my life.”

  “Why do you want to escape?”

  I stare at him, wondering if I spoke the words, what would happen. What if I told him the story? What if I told him that I’m afraid I know his name and that to speak it out loud would be devastating? Because if I’m wrong, it will tear me apart, and if I’m right . . . If I’m right, I don’t know what that means. The consequences are too vast to comprehend.

  “I feel like this is spinning out of control. There is so much at stake. I shouldn’t even be here.” It’s only when I see his face that I realize I spoke the words out loud.

  His eyes are locked on my lips, and a rapid progression of emotions moves across his face. It’s the vulnerability that tugs at me, makes me curl my hands into fists to fight the urge to touch him. “You don’t want to be here?”

  The look he gives me is so unsure that I grab his hands and turn toward him, my knees pressed against his stomach. “That’s the whole problem. There is nowhere else I’d rather be than here. I think about nothing else when I’m with you, and nothing but you when I’m not. There are things I can’t ignore in my other life, but I swear it can all go to hell as long as I can be with you. And that’s not normal, right? It’s crazy. I’m crazy. And you’re . . . just . . . so damn beautiful.” Once again I cover my face in horror, completely mortified that I said that out loud. “I’ve got to stop talking,” I groan.

  “Leah,” he whispers, pulling at my hands.

  “No,” I mumble. “I’m embarrassed.”

  “Of what?” I can hear the smile in his voice and I press my hands harder.

  “What I just said. I’m so stupid.”

  “Look at me, Leah.”

  Finally I do, because he says my name l
ike no one else. Like a gift, something precious. All traces of humor are gone from his chiseled face. He reaches out a hand to skim my cheek, his fingers sliding down my skin to rest on my collarbone. I can feel my pulse beating an erratic rhythm beneath his fingertips, and he slides one finger along the ridge of the bone.

  One second I feel like I could melt into a puddle and join the pool below, then next I’m frozen, my body humming with energy, hands shaking, and head spinning. When he tilts his head, watching me in that curious way of his, I don’t stop myself. I reach out to move the hair that falls across his forehead. His eyes close, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath forever, his body as still as the black water beside us.

  The boy is beautiful. The layers of sun, wind, earth, and rain that he wears only enhance his features, rather than mask them. Every wisp of scent I catch of him only draws me closer, a magnetism I can’t escape. He is the forest embodied; mist and soil, trees and air, all combined into this heady scent that is distinctly him.

  “I think”—he turns my hand over, running a calloused finger across my palm—“you’re anything but crazy.”

  I watch in breathless fascination as he slowly traces each of my fingers with his own, leaving trails of fire in his wake, making me believe it would be a relief to combust into flames and simply cease to exist.

  The only thing he’s touching is my hand, and I feel like I could die from the sensation. What would happen if I felt like that everywhere? What if he kissed me? My heart stutters, sending a wave of something close to nausea through me. It’s like the drop that waits at the top of a roller coaster, the unbearable rush that is unavoidable, but you know it’s coming and there’s nothing you can do about it.

  I feel like I’m dropping, but the fall is endless.

  His eyes are black in the darkness, and rivers of chills course over my skin. The corner of his mouth lifts, and he looks positively wicked. He brings my hand to his mouth, brushing his lips across my achingly sensitive palm, and then to each fingertip, his touch barely more than the brush of a butterfly’s wing. I suck in a ragged breath and press my lips together.