No amount of prodding will get her to say more, and when I go to bed that night, all I can think about is Dare and his dark eyes staring at me as that car disappeared down the driveway.
When the screaming starts, I close my eyes against it, trying to tune it out, because when I hear it, all I can do is imagine those beautiful dark eyes filled with pain. It crushes me, and I sleep to escape it.
Chapter Eight
Price Funeral Home and Crematorium
The Oregon sky hangs misty and cloudy and dark. I watch the lightning stretch from one end of the horizon to the other, illuminating the darkness, exposing the night. It casts a purple light upon everything, and the world seems mystic.
I hold Dare’s letter in my lap because it’s precious. He seldom writes to me and when he does, I save them.
Dear Calla,
This one says.
How are the dead people? Whitley is the same. I’m practically living with dead people too, you know. Eleanor is close to 200, or at least she looks like it. And Sabine, God. Who knows how old she is?
I’m sending a picture of Castor and Pollux. They were swimming in the ocean and Pollux caught a fish. Someone on the beach thought he was a bear and started screaming. It was the funniest thing ever. Castor hunts for you when you’re gone, and he sleeps next to your bedroom door, until I make him come with me.
See you this summer,
Dare
His words are etched on the paper, scrawled with a nonchalance that is typical of Dare. Somehow, he makes me miss Whitley, even though the estate is huge and scary and everything there feels wrong. But Dare is there, and my dogs are there. I miss Dare during the winters, although I’d never have the guts to tell him.
I pin the picture of the dogs on my bulletin board, and do my math homework, and then when I go to sleep, I dream about Dare.
I dream a
nd dream and dream. My dream turns my stomach to warm sunlight, and a weird sensation travels through my thighs and belly, a hot feeling like fire.
I dream that sunlight filters in through the Carriage House windows, and that I’m seated on the couch, lounging on my side. I’m completely naked but for high heels and my cheeks are flushed, and I’m older. Maybe seventeen? My hair is long and red and curls around my shoulders, flowing down my back .
Dare sits in front of me and he’s got a pencil in his mouth, chewing on it as he studies me, then he draws on the paper. He’s drawing me, and he’s beautiful and he’s beautiful and he’s beautiful.
“You’re so beautiful, Calla-Lily,” he murmurs. “You’re so much better than I deserve.”
The light shines into his eyes and they seem like gold instead of black, and his teeth are ever white. A silver ring gleams on his finger and it spins in my mind,
Spinning
Spinning,
And I startle awake,
And when I gather myself,
I realize my cheeks are flushed, just like in my dream.
It’s hours before I finally go back to sleep, and even the next day in school, I find myself thinking about that dream. It’s a situation that I would be unlikely to be in… exposed like that in the sunlight. It’s so out of my character.
I manage to focus my attention for long enough to take my math test, and then Finn and I are out for the day, and on our way home in the brisk cold Oregon air.
As we hike up the road lugging our heavy backpacks, our Chucks squeak on the rocky road, the light sheen of rain making it slippery. I curl my hands inside my mittens while I inhale deeply. Breathing in the salty smells of the ocean, I absently stare over the side of the cliffs toward the beach below.
Something bright blue catches my eye in the rocks below. The blue is out of place against the drab winter background of the beach. I pause, interested, dropping my backpack as I inch closer to the edge to get a better look.
Someone stares back at me, and the eyes aren’t friendly.