As my heart rate returns to normal, I reach over and grab the phone I left charging on the night table.
No messages from home. Nothing. Even the social worker didn’t respond to my message telling her I’d arrived safely. Aunt Maggie will be happy; I’ve effectively cut every last tie binding me to Allentown. Now I can truly be Ryan Shipley the Perfect.
Yeah, right. Maybe on the outside. But I’ve been having nightmares like that for a decade. On the inside, I’llneverbe normal.
It’s barely six in the morning, but there’s no way I’m falling back asleep. Rolling out of bed, I duck into the bathroom that adjoins Jasmine’s and Connor’s rooms, where I pee and quietly brush my teeth. Then I slip into my ripped jeans and tank top from last night, scrape my hair back into a ponytail, and rummage in my backpack for my camera, a sweet Canon DSLR my grandmother bought me a few Christmases ago. Other than my necklace, it’s my favorite possession. I carefully check to make sure it’s ready to go, then pull the strap over my head and reach for the doorknob.
It creaks a little too loudly, and I wince as Jasmine sits up on her elbows. “Where you going?”
“Taking a walk.”
“Crazy. It’s too early,” she murmurs, still half asleep. Sheyawns and collapses back in bed, pulling the blankets over her head. “Watch out for bears. And bear hunters.”
There’s no further interruption as I make my way through the silent house. Outside, the grass is covered in dew and the air smells crisp and earthy. It’s cold, but not frigid like Allentown in the fall.
Connor said something last night about a trail behind the house that goes on for miles. Not sure where to pick it up, I step off the porch and meander through the tree line. As I do, two blue blurs, chasing one another, glide into the branches of a tree overhead. I look up and they bow their little heads, regarding me as well.
Indigo buntings.Blue as the sky on a summer’s day, and just as beautiful.
That’s what my father used to say, anyway.
I feel a stab in my heart. I hadn’t remembered that, until now. The last time I was out here, in woods like these, was with him.
That’s when I notice a birdhouse high in the trees. Someone has left one, just like we used to do for all the birds around our cabin. But this one must belong to someone else, because it’s too boring, not intricately carved, and not painted. My father was an artist. In addition to his portraits and black-and-white drawings, he constructed cages and houses for birds and transformed them into beautiful works of art, letting me paint the different wooden pieces any color I wanted. There’d be a whole rainbow of them, peeking out from the branches of the trees around our home.
For a moment, I picture my old house. The smaller cabin Dad used as his studio was about a quarter mile from the bighouse. They’re both in these woods somewhere. I could probably find the address online.
Maybe I will…one day. After all, this is home now. Or rather, it’s homeagain. But I’m here until June, so I have plenty of time to gather that courage.
The birds fly off, landing on a far branch, and I remember my camera. I should’ve taken a picture. I continue through the forest, following them but never quite in the right spot to snap a photo. The trail is narrow and marred with a few footprints, and seems to head upward, where it disappears around a bend.
I’ve lost the birds, so I follow the trail. Whenever the trees part, I stop to take in the Smoky Mountains looming in the distance. I don’t notice the elevation changing, but soon the trail winds and I find myself on a rather steep ledge with gorgeous views of the valley below. A placid blue lake, the roofs of a few homes, and the steeple of a church are visible among the tree branches, but other than that, it’s a blanket of soft green, with a backdrop of the larger mountains fading into the clouds.
A perfect picture.
This time I remember. I raise my camera, twist the lens to focus, and right as the shutter snaps, something comes tearing around the corner, obstructing my line of sight.
“Hey!” I step back, at first worried it’s a bear, but then I hear a very human “Whoa!”
Relaxing, I pull my camera down and look at what I’ve captured. A gray blur. Lovely.
The figure stops and turns, breathing hard. “Shit. Sorry.”
My face is twisted into a scowl of annoyance, but it doesn’t last long. Because at that moment, my gaze lands on the singlemost attractive thing I’ve seen all day, even surrounded by all this natural beauty.
He’s wearing track shorts, a faded gray T-shirt, and white sneakers. He has earbuds stuffed in his ears and a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Looks about my age, with brown hair and a diamond-cut jawline and cheekbones. His eyes are blue-tinged diamonds too.
This guy just demands you do a double take. Which means he’ll turn and run away without another look. Gorgeous, clean-cut jock types like this one usually do.
So I’m surprised when he pops his earbuds out and taps his sports watch. “I’ve run this trail a thousand times. Never saw you before.” He shrugs. “Not that I’m complaining. You’re a much better view than trees and dirt.”
I rarely find myself at a loss for words around guys. Especially snarky words. But here I am, utterly devoid of any speech.
He grins, baring perfect teeth lined up like a regiment of angels and two dimples that make him even hotter, as if that’s possible. With the way he’s watching me, entirely comfortable in his skin, I get the feeling he’s used to having this effect on girls.
“The only house anywhere near here is the Shipleys’. You friends with Jasmine?”
I nod and finally find my voice. “I’m Ryan Shipley. Her cousin.”
