Awakening Page 2

  Today Jackson and I would go to the shore; it was the understood destination when he and I entered the trail alone. With others, we might wander, picking blueberries or taking side trails, but when it was the two of us, we went to the ocean. It was a love he and I shared.

  He was already on the trail, his head facing me, his tail wagging vigorously, a low happy growl coming from his throat as if to say “Why aren’t you running yet?”

  I took an exaggerated runner’s stance. He barked in excitement, and the two of us began running down the trail. I wasn’t running hard and neither was he. He easily stayed in front of me, though only by a few feet. He was a people dog. He loved to be with his people.

  I stripped off my sweatshirt, leaving me in the T-shirt I’d slept in. I tied the sweatshirt around my waist and picked up my pace. Jackson had slowed to a trot, waiting for me. I took the opportunity to brush his long thin tail with my hand. My touch startled him, causing him to run faster. I moved beside him on the wide path that long ago was a winding dirt road. The fall leaves scattered beneath our feet as the wind cooled the sweat forming on my skin. By the time the trees began to thin and the rocks and sand of the beach came into view, Jackson’s tongue was hanging loosely out of his mouth.

  We slowed to a jog. When we reached the beach, our run ended. I inhaled the thick salt air, a stark contrast to the damp autumn leaves of just a few steps ago. The waves in our little cove were silent, or as close to silent as waves could be. The tide was low, creating an expansive beach of soft sand and smooth rocks. Beneath each rock there were treasures of the sea, making low tide Jackson’s favorite time to come to the beach. High tide was in a lot of ways more majestic, with the sea encroaching on the forest, but during high tide Jackson was limited to a sliver of beach to play on. He had the most fun during low tide. There were so many things to sniff. Creatures and objects which had been at the bottom of the ocean a few hours before were now on display. He didn’t wait for me as he began exploring, scaring the crabs who were trying their best to hide under rocks and avoid the ferocious hunter that was my dog.

  Our beach was a cove, bordered on either side by cliffs that protected our tiny piece of the ocean and beach from both nature and man. To get here from either edge of our property would be difficult for most and impossible for others. It would never happen by accident.

  The cliff, as I called it, was the start of a mountain, with a cliff above the old inn that sat on the far northern side of the cove. The southern side of our cove was also a cliff, though not one which could be hiked up—only climbed. Its face was pretty much straight up and down. It wouldn’t be a problem for someone who was a rock climber; it had plenty of places for feet and fingertips. Though it was certainly not something anyone would climb up or down by accident. It marked the boundary between our land and the land of the national forest, and there were no sanctioned trails anywhere near our property. Dad had made sure of that.

  Our land was as secluded as we could get, without living on an island.

  We rarely, if ever, had trespassers, and Dad, who worried about everything, never worried about Lisieux or me exploring our land by ourselves. Avi was not quite old enough. That was because an eight-year-old alone in the woods could be dangerous, not because anyone would hurt her, but she could get hurt and not know what to do.

  That’s probably why I wandered halfway to the waves before I realized I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t used to others being around. I narrowed my eyes and held my hand at my forehead to block the sun. It was Luca. He was out at the far edge of the water, about five hundred feet away, where the shore sloped drastically to meet the sea. This made him appear short, though he was as tall as my dad and a foot taller than Jason and much lankier than both. As I slowed my pace Jackson noticed him as well. The fur on the back of his neck rose as he lowered his body and growled, baring his teeth. I continued to shield my eyes from the sun that seemed to hover above Luca. Jackson barked and started forward.

  “Jackson, hush,” I commanded.

  The dog stopped moving, but continued a low, threatening growl.

  Luca turned. His dark skin was made even darker by the bright sun behind him. From his jerky movements, he seemed as surprised to see us as we were him.

  I hesitated, unsure of what to do. I wasn’t afraid of him—at least that’s what I told myself—but I was cautious. He was the first to wave. I returned the gesture. Then he turned and continued fishing. I exhaled a long breath, grateful he was content to stay where he was and I could do the same.

  “It’s all right,” I told Jackson, who took me at my word and began sniffing the rocks around my feet. I found a boulder dry enough to perch on as Jackson dug for sea creatures. From time to time I’d glance at Luca. His curly hair and dark skin were framed by the sun. He remained focused on the water and catching fish.

  I remembered the scene from last night and every other night this week.

  Should I fear him?

  He spent his nights watching my house, he had a “troubled past,” and he and I were now alone, miles from anyone else. Yes, I thought, I should fear him. But I didn’t. I wondered why.

  He caught one fish and then another. After the second one, he swung his pole to his shoulder and started back toward the shore. He carried three fish; he must have caught one before I arrived.

  Luca came slowly toward me, cautious of Jackson. Luca’s T-shirt was ripped and his shorts frayed a little at the hem. Somehow, the raggedness of his clothing didn’t matter. I had been around Luca a handful of times and, each time, things on the outside, things I would ordinarily be focused on, faded away.

  It was not until after our first meeting when my sisters were talking about how cute he was that I realized they were right. He was quite attractive, though not just physically; it went deeper. Perhaps that was why I hadn’t told anyone about him watching my house. If my dad knew, he’d send him away. Some part of me didn’t want him sent away.

  I stood as he neared, not because I wanted to—I was comfortable on my boulder—but because Jackson was growling. He was good at protecting me, even when I didn’t need protecting or didn’t think I did.

  “Jackson, hush,” I said, putting my hand on his head, trying to reassure him.

  “Hey, Jackson,” Luca called.

  At the sound of his voice, Jackson relaxed and wagged his tail. So much for my protector.

  Jackson went to Luca and sniffed at him and the fish Luca held above Jackson’s head.

  “Nice catch,” I said.

  “Aunt Sam asked me to catch some for dinner,” he answered, avoiding my gaze.

  “Where did you learn to fish?” I asked, trying to be polite. Why did I care to be polite, I wondered, as he took a few more steps toward me. The wind was still and the sun hot on my bare arms.

  “I used to spend a lot of time at the beach, watching people fish. Aunt Sam sent me money for my birthday once and it was enough to buy a pole.”

  “Is that it?” I asked, gesturing to the pole he held in his left hand.

  He nodded.

  “It looks nice,” I said.

  “It works all right,” he said as his thumb rubbed the smooth fiberglass.

  “Sam will be grateful for the fish, I’m sure,” I said, still trying to be friendly.

  “We’ve had lobster every meal since I’ve been here,” he said, sounding slightly nervous.

  I forced a small giggle. “Lobster does get tiring. I bet your friends back home are jealous, though.”

  He made eye contact for a brief moment and then averted his eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was shy or creepy.

  “I don’t have many friends, or any, really,” he said softly. “But yeah, I never figured I’d get tired of lobster. It’s so cheap, so we keep eating it. That’s why she asked me to go fishing.”

  “Cheaper than chicken,” I said. Which was the summer mantra at our house and probably every house on the coast of Maine—at least when the harvest was good—and this year was one of those year
s. Though we never ate it for more than two nights in a row.

  He nodded slightly.

  “I don’t have many friends either, or any, really,” I said, surprised I was telling him something so personal.

  He smiled. It was a nice smile, warm and sincere.

  “You don’t leave your property much, do you?” he asked.

  “How do you know?” I asked, suddenly worried he was watching us during the day as well as at night.

  “Aunt Sam, she told me how your family is the most like a family she’s ever known, and she said, for the most part, you all stick around here.”

  “Did she tell you why?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice even.

  He lowered his head and dug the toe of his flip-flop into the sand. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you,” I said, relaxing a little. “I’m sorry for you, too.”

  He nodded and turned his head away. He looked like he was trying not to cry.

  I felt bad. I hadn’t meant to make him upset, or even to talk to him. I started toward my rock, a signal that he could leave.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said, taking a small step in my direction.

  I stood facing him. “I guess so.”

  “What is that?” he said.

  I followed his gaze. The old inn was there, mostly engulfed by trees on the edge of the rising mountain.

  “An inn my great-great-grandparents ran,” I answered.

  “Have you ever been inside?” he asked, eyes curious and cautious at the same time.

  I shook my head.

  “Good,” he said, his body shuddering as he spoke.

  He’d have a difficult time when the temperatures dropped. This was the mildest of autumn days and, still, he was cold.

  “Why?” I asked. When I was younger, I had wanted to explore the inn, but my parents and Gigi said no.

  “It looks dangerous,” he said, his eyebrows pulled together.

  “That’s what my dad says. He says a good sneeze will bring it down. It survives the ocean winds year after year, so it can’t be that fragile,” I said, watching Luca.

  “There are other ways for something to be dangerous,” he said, eyes focused on the dilapidated two-story cedar shake building.

  “What?” I asked.

  His voice had been slightly muffled by the waves and what I thought I heard him say didn’t make much sense. How else could a building hurt a person, other than falling on top of them?

  “Nothing,” he said, shifting his attention to the sea. “You have a nice backyard,” he said, changing the subject.

  “Yes, I do.” The wind blew the strands of my ponytail to the side of my face.

  He shifted his load and began moving forward, toward the trail. Our moment together was over. I wasn’t sorry to see him go. I was happy to have the solitude of the waves and sand. I sat down on my rock, Jackson coming beside me. My hand slid down his back, his fur soft and sleek to the touch. We watched together as Luca made his way off the soft sand and onto the beginning of the trail. He turned as he was about to enter the woods.

  “Will you walk back with me?” he shouted above the rhythmic waves.

  It was an odd request and an even odder expression. Even from a distance, I could sense he seemed afraid.

  Jackson and I exchanged a look. I stood and so did he. He trotted beside me as I brushed the sand from the sweatshirt I’d been sitting on.

  When I reached Luca, I said, “Why did you want me to walk with you?”

  He started up the trail, hesitated, and then said, “Do you know much about that place?”

  It took me a moment to understand what place he was talking about. “The inn?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m not sure there’s much to know. It’s an old run-down inn, built by Gigi’s grandparents.”

  “Do you know anything else about it, or them? Did anything happen there?” he asked with intense curiosity and fear, though he was trying to hide it.

  “I’m sure things happened there,” I said. “It was an inn. Things happen in inns.”

  The wind blew and he shivered.

  “Are you cold?” I asked. “Maine is a lot colder than Florida,” I said, trying to be kind to my strange neighbor.

  He turned to face me, his expression sending a chill through my body. “No,” he said.

  I stepped away.

  In his expression, I saw the guy who stared at my windows. The guy who frightened me, the guy who made me want to never let my little sisters out of my sight. My body became rigid. Jackson responded to the change. He watched me, not sure why I was scared, yet sensing it. I was glad for his presence. He’d protect me. If Luca tried to hurt me, Jackson would stop him.

  “I scared you. I’m sorry,” Luca said. “I didn’t mean to.” His voice and gaze became softer.

  “No, I’m not scared,” I lied—but not well. “I’m going to run up. I told my father I’d be back from the beach soon. I don’t want him to worry or come looking for me.”

  “I understand,” he said.

  The words sounded sad. I’d hurt his feelings. I didn’t care.

  He made me feel scared on my own property, and that made me angry. This guy—this man who was barely older than me had taken away the one place in this messed-up world where I had felt safe. Or maybe he had shown me how naïve I’d been to ever feel safe.

  My mother had felt safe, volunteering at the food bank. She’d been wrong. Had she felt safe before she was stabbed? Or did she realize what her killer was about to do? She must have realized, but not soon enough.

  “Enjoy your fish,” I said, and before he could say anything else, I sprinted up the path with Jackson at my side.

  Three

  “You weren’t gone very long,” Lisieux called when I reached the yard, chickens scattering around me.

  I ran up the hill, panting as I entered Lisieux’s favorite reading spot, the weathered gazebo on the side of the yard. My mother had it built for Sam and Jason’s wedding.

  “I was gone as long as I wanted to be,” I said curtly, placing my hands on my thighs.

  I’d pushed myself hard on that run, much harder than I typically did. Though I was not typically running from anyone.

  I didn’t want to discuss my time on the trail. I especially didn’t want to reveal my encounter with Luca. Or how stupid I felt for getting scared. I was safe now, no longer alone with Luca. The emotion was clearing and I realized I was a coward for getting so terrified. Why had I even been scared? He asked about the inn and had a creepy expression. He was weird; that’s just who he was. It didn’t mean he was going to hurt me. I glanced up at our house. Asking about the inn didn’t make him someone to be scared of—staring at my windows did.

  Jackson lay down in the sun outside of the gazebo. I sat on the opposite side of my sister; she wouldn’t ask me any more questions, not with a book so close to her. To her, books were like a drug; she was unable to resist them. She rarely got punished, but when she did, it was typically the same punishment—no reading. Gigi always said something about that was wrong. Dad countered, saying there was nothing Lisieux loved more than reading, so why shouldn’t he take that away when she misbehaved. I leaned forward. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. How she could reread the same book over and over again, I didn’t understand.

  I sat back. Jackson stood and trotted toward the chickens.

  “Jackson,” Lisieux cautioned, not lifting her eyes from the page.

  He slowed, caught in the act, as the chickens clucked and moved from him.

  “How do you do that?” I asked her.

  “What?” Her face was still in her book.

  “Know what Jackson is up to and read at the same time.”

  She lowered the book. “Once you understand a person—or in this case, a dog’s pattern of behavior—it doesn’t take much to predict what he or she will do next, even while reading.”

  “You’re sort of strange,” I said, “in the best possible
way.”

  “Being different doesn’t offend me. Why would it?” she asked, her book in front of her again.

  “You’re back!” Avi shouted as the kitchen door slammed against the stone wall, and she ran toward the gazebo.

  Avi, on the other hand, was often punished and it was never done by taking away reading time. To Dad’s credit, he was equally creative with his punishments for Avi. A recent favorite was having her do a hundred jumping jacks. This wasn’t meant to actually punish as much as it was meant to make her body become too tired to do whatever dangerous thing she had been caught doing.

  On the outside, she and I looked a great deal alike—red hair, pale skin with freckles, green eyes—on the inside, we were opposites.

  She viewed danger as an invitation, an attraction she couldn’t refuse. If she felt fear, it was at the precipice of a mountain or the top of a tree and she relished in it. Meanwhile, I felt fear at the first branch, the first step up a slope, and I ran from it. Luca’s startling expression entered my mind. Avi wouldn’t have been scared of him. She would’ve asked him why he was looking at her so weird.

  Avi pounced with exuberance into the gazebo. “Gigi and I are going for a walk. Want to come?” she asked, bouncing on her tiptoes.

  “I just got back from a run,” I said, desperately wishing I could be more like her.

  “Please! Please!” She begged. “If you come, I’ll let Gigi make you blueberry scones instead of blueberry pie.”

  We’d been discussing this at dinner last night. Gigi said she wanted to do some baking today. I wanted scones, and Avi wanted pie. The blueberry part was always a given. If it wasn’t blueberry season, which this wasn’t, we had plenty in the freezer.

  She held her hands together as if praying, begging silently for me to go.