The Noctalis Chronicles Complete Set Page 13

  She was fine, but a little miffed at us for making such a big deal out of things. She smiled and asked me where I'd been. I lied and told her I'd been working, even though we both knew I had the night off. She stared at me for a second and closed her eyes, saying she was glad I was home. I squeezed her hand and waited with her until she fell asleep. I'd barely talked to Dad since then. He wanted to cancel the trip, but she stomped her foot and said we were going. So here we are.

  “Okay, let's try this again,” he says.

  Dad's wearing this old flannel shirt he unearthed from the back of his closet. I don't think it's seen the light of day since the last time we went camping. It's odd seeing him in anything but a button-up shirt and dress pants. Even on the weekends, he wears khakis. Never jeans. He's sweating and he's got dirt on his hands. Not that my dad isn't a guy's guy, but he isn't the one who gets his hands into the dirt and digs and does the messy projects. That's all her.

  We finally get the tent up. I check my cell phone for the millionth time. Tex is treating me like I've gone off to prison instead of into the woods. It isn't even really the woods. The highway is five seconds away, along with a really nice hotel, lots of restaurants and a ton of quaint inns. We're not roughing it too much. More than enough for me, though.

  After a lot more cursing, we finally get the tent up and Mom starts making it all homey, unpacking sleeping bags and hanging a wind chime at the entrance. Dad keeps banging his head on it while he unloads things from the car. I almost laugh and then remember that I'm still pissed at him.

  Dinner is hot dogs — in my case, the veggie kind — corn and sweet potatoes roasted on the fire. I eat twice as much as I normally would. There's something about eating something next to a fire that makes it taste like nothing else. We're not talking much, but that's okay.

  “I missed this,” she says, looking into the fire. It moves across her face, casting shadows. “I didn't know how much I missed it. Just being out here with nothing else. No doctors or treatments.” She sighs and rubs her arms. “You know?”

  “Yeah.” Dad gets up and puts some more wood on the fire.

  “I want to keep this.” She leans over her chair and puts her arms around me. “Right here.” She says it in my ear and it tickles. I laugh and she giggles with me. “Remember that time the tent flooded?”

  I do and we laugh about the old times. Even Dad joins in, talking about the time the raccoon got into our food and ate everything except the Pop Tarts, so we ate those for two days. The fire pops and we have to keep changing our seats to avoid the smoke getting in our eyes.

  Tex messages me about three-thousand times to make sure I haven't been eaten by bears, so I finally turn off my phone, even if it means I won't get a text from Peter. Not that I'm thinking about him.

  I'm so exhausted from the tent odyssey that I go to bed right after supper. My parents stay by the fire, drinking coffee and talking softly as the fire dies into coals.

  My sleeping bag is lumpy and musty, but I fall asleep so fast I barely get a chance to put my mp3 player on shuffle.

  I wake, however, in the middle of the night. One of my earbuds is still in, and the music is really loud. My dad is snoring so much, it almost drowns out the music. My back cracks as I move, and I wish for my memory foam mattress from home.

  I struggle out of the sleeping bag cocoon and unzip the tent. I hope it doesn't wake Mom, but she's still in her sleeping bag, her face peaceful.

  The fire has burned itself down to coals, but I go and sit by their glow, rubbing my hands together. The night still has a bit of bite to it.

  I've five missed texts from Tex. Nothing from Peter. I want to send him a message, but I don't know what to say. I feel like we can't go back to normal conversation after the whole I'm-an-angel-vampire reveal. Not that our conversations are normal in the first place.

  I watch the smoke curling into the stars. It's so quiet.

  Thinking about Peter is nice. Much nicer than thinking about my mother and how many times like this we have left. Part of me wants to wake her up, just so I can whisper ghost stories with her and watch her face and snuggle with her. I should have brought a camera.

  My phone buzzes, and I recognize the number as my old one. It's Peter. My heart does a little leap. I can't stop thinking about how I've shared one of my biggest secrets with him. Still, he shared a bigger one with me, so we're even.

  How are you? I guess he does know how to text. I can't picture someone like him with a phone.

  Fine. How r u? I type back.

  Watching the stars.

  Me 2. Don't you ever sleep?

  I have no need of it. His text messages are just like his speech. Simple and to the point.

  Oh. Right.

  Why are you awake?

  Couldn't sleep.

  Why?

  Lots of things. I kind of hate doing this via text. It means I have to type everything out.

  Seconds later, the phone rings.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hello. I couldn't stand typing on those keys anymore. It is really a cumbersome form of communication.” The way he says it makes me laugh.

  “Yeah, I know. It feels impersonal, you know?” I put my feet up on the rocks surrounding the fire, hoping I don't burn my slippers.

  “I do.”

  “What are you doing right now?”

  “Reading.”

  “What you reading?” I feel like I have to interview him to get him to talk, like I should be recording all his answers on a legal pad in shorthand.

  “Nothing.” There's silence while we listen to me breathe.

  “I can't stop thinking about it. How I'm going to lose her.” It's just as easy to tell him on the phone, even when I'm not in the cemetery. Maybe it's the night. Maybe it's Peter.

  “Everything is not lost.”

  I swallow a smile. “That sounds like something she would say.”

  “What else would she say?”

  “It's always darkest before the dawn. That's her favorite. She has it painted on her bedroom wall.” Moths flutter around me, and I swat at them.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “That I don't understand how you can speak to me the way you do,” he says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You tell me things I feel that you do not tell anyone else.” I hate how he guesses things about me so easily.

  “I know. For some reason it's so easy to tell you things.” I also hate how I blurt out whatever I'm thinking when I'm talking to him.

  “Because I'm not human.” Like I need a reminder. I can't freaking forget.

  “It doesn't feel that way.” Yup, my slippers are getting a little melty. The rest of me is freezing, of course.

  “But I am not.”

  “I know.” Talking to him on the phone makes me even more aware that he doesn't breathe. I don't like being reminded of things like that.

  My head snaps up as something rustles in the leaves, distracting me. Stupid squirrels. Tense, I glance back to the tent, but Dad's snore is going strong.

  “I should go to bed.”

  “I would not wish to disturb your sleep.” Only he can put it that way. “Goodnight, Ava.”

  I breathe for a second before I say good-bye, trying to come up with something better. I can't.

  “Goodnight, Peter.”

  ~^*^~

  I sleep late the next morning. Both my parents are up and making pancakes before I roll my way out of the tent.

  “Ugh.” I put my hand up to shield my sensitive eyes. I feel like they've been scraped by a grape peeler. The fire's already going and the scent of fresh coffee tickles my nose.

  “Good morning, sunshine.” My mother looks amazing. Fresh as a daisy, wearing her everyday wig. My hair is already greasy, and I'm regretting not taking off my mascara. I wipe my hands over my eyes and they come away with black smears.

  “Want some pancakes?” She looks up from the frying pan balanced on a metal rack over the fire.
How she doesn't burn them, I don't know, but they always come out good. Mom magic.

  “After I brush my teeth.” I walk down to the bathroom, which is in a big cement building a short way from our site. There are even hot showers, but they cost a quarter for five minutes. I know I'm going to get desperate in a few hours and have a roll of quarters in my bag, just in case.

  A couple of people smile at me on their way to the sinks to wash their morning dishes. I smile back, trying to be friendly. I scrub my face with cold water, trying to wake up. My eyes have taken the train to puffy town, but there's nothing I can do about that. Stumbling back to our site, I nearly get attacked by someone's cockapoo. There's a plate of golden pancakes waiting for me at the picnic table. My stomach snarls in response.

  “So we've got a big day planned. We're thinking of taking this hike, since we've never done it before.” She points to the map, tracing the path we'll take with a marker. It looks twisty and windy and probably difficult.

  “Sounds great,” I say around a bite of pancakes. I have to open my mouth and suck in air so I don't burn my tongue.

  After piles of pancakes and a quick wash up, Mom is itching for us to get going on our hike. Even though Dad clearly slept, due to the snoring, he looks like he got less than I did. I slather my skin with sunblock and bug dope, ignoring him as he packs up the water, gorp and maps. By the time we're ready, I'm so slippery, if someone tried to grab me, I'd slide right away.

  I'm wearing hand-me-down hiking boots from my mother, since our feet are the same size. She's wearing a newish pair that Dad bought her a few months ago that she's been breaking in ever since. Dad's boots are so old they're falling apart, so he's taped them up so they'll stay on his feet. We're quite the ragtag bunch of outdoorsmen.

  “So, Ava-Claire, your father and I were talking and wondered if you'd like to take a few weeks off from school. It's almost the end of the year, and I could help you study for your exams at home. What do you think?”

  The sun comes through the leaves, lighting up her face in patches that move with the wind. Her skin is pale, but she doesn't look as worn out as she should. It's like these woods and this air revive her, breathing life into a body that's been ravaged by something unnatural. I shift my bag on my shoulders, trying to get the straps to sit just right.

  I think about what she's asking. It's not just if I want to spend time with her, but if I'm willing to spend all my time with her. If I want to give up what little normalcy I have left, which is really the opposite of what we've been talking about all along. Dad's ahead of us and I can feel his disapproval. That's all it takes for me to say, “I'd love to.”

  “I knew you'd say that. We'll talk about it when we get back,” she says, glancing ahead at Dad. She speeds up to walk with him, doing that thing parents do when they have a silent fight so the kids don't see. It's clear who the winner is when she kisses him on the cheek and he turns to smile at her. I speed up and go around them. I can't stand looking at him.

  I look back at her, nearly stumbling. Dad helps her over a root, making sure she doesn't trip. The image hits me, making me almost fall over. They look so happy. So free. It's a Kodak moment of the purest kind. I wish I could be like that. The closer I get to losing her, the less free I become. Her laughter calls to me. I turn instead and try to swallow the lump that climbs up in my throat.

  We stop at noon, a little ways from the top of the mountain. My legs are already tired, and I'm sporting quite a few bug bites despite the spray I used.

  “You've got sweet blood,” Mom says, handing me the spray again.

  I want to laugh, but it makes me think of Peter. Yuck. I scratch at one of the bites and try not to look at the red that smears on my skin. I plug my earbuds back in, cranking up Linkin Park.

  Somehow we make it to the top. Mom scrambles up the last bit as graceful as a mountain goat. Dad's right behind her, hands held out toward her in case she slips. I stumble along, bringing up the rear.

  We're alone at the top. It's strange with just the three of us. The trees grow scraggly needles on only one side, owing to the wind that constantly blows. They look like half-trees. There is almost nothing else up here, save a few blueberry bushes, some hardy grass and lots of rocks. It's still beautiful. It almost takes my breath away. The air is thin and I have to work harder to get my breath back after the final climb.

  “We made it,” she says, still panting from the last push to get to the top. The word top is confusing when applied to mountains, because they aren't flat. When I was younger, I used to climb to the highest point I could find. That was the top, I thought. I look around and find a boulder, about the size of a couple of cars stacked up. It's the highest place I can see, so I pull myself to the top, adding more scratches and banging my knee. It's totally worth it, though. I shut my eyes and pretend I'm flying, the wind streaming through my hair.

  I think of Peter.

  Dad gets obsessed with watching a hawk, hogging the binoculars while we eat lunch. I still want to hit him, but it's hard to hate him when he hands Mom his Cracker Jack prize.

  It's too chilly to stay on the top long in the open air. With protesting legs, we tromp back down just as it gets dark.

  Dinner is hot dogs again, and I fall asleep in my chair before s'mores. No further messages from Peter. Twenty texts from Tex.

  It rains the next day while we pack up, so everything's wet and I'm miserable. Mom flutters around, making sure everything that we took out of the car fits back into it. She keeps shoving Dad and me out of the way, saying we're packing wrong. There's a little kerfuffle when Dad puts the tent in the wrong way, apparently, and she orders us to stand in the rain while she repacks everything.

  At this point, I'm ready to go.

  The trunk of the car barely closes, but after Dad jumps up and down on it, success! I'm grubby and tired and I miss my nights in the cemetery. I miss Peter. I'll be happy to get home, selfish as it is. Mom is the last one in the car when we leave. She sighs as we pull out, smiling at me in the mirror. I slump over in my seat and fall asleep.

  I don't want to want to go see Peter that night, but I've to stop lying to myself, because really, I do.

  Sixteen

  “You survived!” Tex throws herself at me, as if I've just barely made it back alive from the big bad woods. I wish I'd been allowed to skip school, seeing as how I haven't done any of my homework, including studying for a geometry quiz, but my request was denied.

  “Yeah. Imagine that,” I say against her shoulder.

  “God, did you take a shower? You smell all...” She waves her hands in the air, groping for a word.

  “Woodsy?” I say, with more than a pinch of sarcasm. “It's this new perfume I'm working on. The bottle is shaped like an axe. I'm thinking of calling it 'Lumberlust.' What do you think?”

  She sniffs me again and pulls back.

  “I think I'll stick with Clinique.”

  I stick my tongue out at her and she honks my nose.

  “I thought I was going to get a phone call to come get you. I can't believe they forced you into that.” She leans against my locker as I slowly pack my bag for the day, trying to forget about the reading and assignments I also didn't do.

  “They didn't force me. It was nice.” I'm back to the lies. I change the subject. “Did you go to the O'Hurley party?”

  “Nah, it wouldn't have been the same without you. It got busted anyway. Four arrests.” She wiggles four fingers.

  “Surprise, surprise.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Anyway, there's a Grayson party this weekend,” she says in a singsong voice, eyes gleaming. Chuck Grayson is a bit like the Ferris Beuler of Maine. Only he's less cute and wears Carhartts and holds a Budweiser. His parties are pretty legendary, which isn't saying much. Still, everyone wants to go to them, or so I hear.

  “Sooo?” I draw out the word.

  “And we have to go. It's going to be awesome. The theme is White Trash.” Chuck's also big on themes. He plans
them out months in advance, keeping up with the current trends. It's a wonder he's not gay with all the party planning he does.

  “Classy.”

  “Oh come on, it's going to be fun. I have the best outfit.”

  “A white t-shirt with a red bra and ripped Daisy Dukes?”

  “How did you... You're totally missing the point.” She's frustrated with my lack of enthusiasm. “You have to come. Jamie's going.” Only because he is driving the drunk van.

  “I don't know.” I reeealllllyyy don't want to go.

  “Come on, you have to come.” The whine seeps into her voice, making my ears burn. She's worse than a two-year-old.

  “I'll think about it.” Of course she knows I'm going to cave. I should tattoo doormat on my forehead in swirly lettering, with a butterfly perched on the D.

  “Then I have a whole week to convince you how awesome it's going to be.” She isn't deterred. Tex never says die when it comes to a party.

  “I'll think about it,” I say again. Maybe a drunken party would be a nice change from all the other crap I've been dealing with. Or, it could be a huge mistake. It can really only go one of two ways.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  I drop my Ava's fine face just for a second when I think she's not looking. Long enough for her to notice. Damn.

  “What?” I say.

  She's looking at me like I'd just told her my grandmother died. All concerned-like. It immediately rings my alarm bells. Here we go.

  “Are you okay?” She says it slowly, as if I'm hard of hearing.

  “Yeah, fine.” Even to me my voice sounds flat and fake.

  She breathes out her nose and puts on her serious face. “So, here's how this is going to go. I'm going to suggest things and you can say yes or no? Okie dokie? Does this have to do with school?”

  She's pissed now, and I risk poking the dragon in the eye if I don't answer. She's never going to guess that I'm hanging out with a noctalis in a cemetery and my mother is dying of cancer. There's just no way.