Last Dance Page 4

  A wind whipped up, a storm brewing with thunder and black clouds.

  Don’t go near the cliff, I tried to warn the girl. But everything sped up as if I was being swept along in a tornado. Someone was running, flying through rocky ground, and over the cliff. Falling, down toward the jagged trees below. Only it wasn’t the girl this time—it was a man.I couldn’t see his face, but a startling fear jolted me awake.

  And I had an awful feeling that the falling man was someone I already knew—or someone I would know soon.

  The next morning Nona remembered her breakfast date with her friend Violet, but forgot to change her clothes. If I hadn’t run in front of her car to stop her from leaving, she would have shown up at the diner in a silky blue nightgown and pink fuzzy slippers. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so tragic.

  I was ready to cancel everything and stay home to care for my grandmother. But Nona wouldn’t hear of it. I begged her to let me miss school, but she got that stubborn look and I knew it was hopeless. Besides, we both knew this trip offered hope of curing her illness.

  After school, Thorn drove up in a yellow jeep and I climbed into the passenger seat. Once on the road, Thorn popped in a CD and cranked up the volume. I didn’t recognize the band, but the lead singer was brilliant and he was very sad about something. She mouthed along to her music like I wasn’t there.

  Just great, I thought in dismay. There’s nothing more fun than being ignored on a long road trip.

  Shifting in my seat belt, I stared out the window at crowded developments with houses so close together you could walk from roof to roof. The San Jose neighborhood my parents lived in was like that; massive houses with tiny yards, landscaped to appear as natural as the forests and fields they’d replaced. I’d had a back bedroom with a small patio where I’d sit for hours, doing crafts, drawing, or dreaming. Sometimes Amy would sit beside me and read quietly. Then Ashley would join in, get us talking, until we were all laughing.

  I miss them, I thought, the world outside the window blurring. But they probably hate me now, thinking I don’t care enough to go to their party.

  Swallowing a bitter taste, I shut off my thoughts. The scenery changed as we gained elevation; housing developments gave way to rolling green hills with spindly elms and maples brilliant in golds and reds. Dying leaves flamed with glorious beauty. I imagined myself as a falling leaf, letting go, flying free, soaring away on a strong breeze.

  Then the jeep hit a pothole and I smacked my elbow against the door.

  “Ouch!” I rubbed my elbow. I glanced over at Thorn to see if she even cared, but she kept on mouthing along to her ear-shattering music.

  How do I get her to open up? I wondered. I’d hoped to get to know her better on this trip. Thorn was the first person my age I’d met who had a psychic ability. And her aura, unlike her dark clothing, glowed with lavender and yellow. She intrigued me like a wrapped package, the contents unknown. And they’d remain unknown if Thorn wouldn’t even talk to me. I needed to shake things up a bit.

  So I reached out and shut off her CD player.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Thorn demanded. With exaggerated black eye makeup and painted black fingernails like sharp claws, she reminded me of an angry raccoon. “I was listening to that!”

  “So was everyone within a hundred mile radius.”

  “Great music should be shared. The louder, the better.”

  “Tell that to my aching eardrums.”

  “You could have asked me to turn it down.”

  “I tried, but you didn’t hear me.” Then I added, “Besides, I want to talk.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m just uneasy about—” She jerked to a stop at a red light.

  “Uneasy about what?”

  “Nothing important. Besides, what would we talk about?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “My friends and I usually talk about poetry, graveyards, and vampirism. What do your friends talk about? Planning what to wear to the Fall Fling Dance?”

  “Well … more than that.” I didn’t add that I was on the decoration committee. Afraid she’d turn back on her loud music, I added quickly, “But that doesn’t mean we don’t have stuff in common. Like being psychic.”

  “So I can find things.” She shrugged. “It’s nothing special.”

  “Manny thinks it is. He calls you a ‘finder.’”

  “He’s full of crap, but a good guy.”

  “I know what you mean.” I nodded. “He’s outrageous, yet so honest about it you can’t help but like him.”

  “It’s crazy what he gets away with. The more outrageous he is, the more girls want him. Every week he’s got a new girlfriend.”

  “Sometimes two,” I joked.

  She laughed, giving me a quick glimpse of a silver stud in her pierced tongue. “Since you want to talk, I got a question for you.”

  “Fire away,” I told her.

  “What’s the deal with your grandmother? I heard you tell Manny she was sick, only she looked fine to me.”

  I frowned. “It’s hard to talk about.”

  “Talk or I’m turning up the CD full blast.”

  “Well …” I paused, finally deciding I owed her an explanation. “Okay, but swear you won’t repeat this to anyone.”

  “Done. My promise is sacred.” She crisscrossed her black-painted fingernail across her chest. “So what’s wrong with your grandmother?”

  “Yesterday she got up early to feed the livestock. Then an hour later, she went to feed them again and asked me if I’d fed them. She tried to cover up by joking, but I knew she’d totally forgotten. And this morning she almost went out to breakfast wearing her night clothes.”

  “So what? Older people forget stuff a lot.”

  “It’s more than that.” I took a deep breath and then described Nona’s illness. When I finished, I was surprised to see compassion in Thorn’s gaze.

  Neither of us spoke again for miles. Silence hailed around us, a harsh third companion. I was tempted to turn the radio back on and blast away the quiet.

  Instead, I turned to Thorn. “You asked a question, now it’s my turn.”

  “Whatever,” she said with a shrug I guess meant yes.

  “Is Thorn your real name?”

  “It’s real enough. Better than what my parents chose.”

  “Which is?” I prompted.

  “Not something I’m going to tell you or anyone else.”

  “So tell me about your family.”

  “I’m nothing like them. My parents are okay, I guess, although they don’t know what to do with me. And putting up with three sisters and two brothers is insane, so I don’t spend much time at home.”

  “What about a boyfriend? Do you have one?”

  “Not at the moment,” She pursed her purple lips stubbornly. “What about you?”

  “Yeah,” I nodded proudly. “Josh DeMarco, you’ve probably seen him around.”

  “Dark hair, looks hot in tight jeans?”

  “That’s him,” I grinned. “So can I ask you one more question?”

  “Depends on the question.”

  “Why a banana-yellow jeep? I figured you’d drive something wicked to go with your Goth look, like a black hearse.”

  “A dead mobile would be cool.” She glanced up at her rearview mirror, then turned back to me. “But this is Mom’s jeep. She insisted I take something with a four-wheel drive since a storm is predicted. She worries too much.”

  “At least she cares.”

  “Yeah. For an uptight suburbanite, Mom is okay. I don’t have to pretend with her anyway. I just wish that other …”

  “Other what?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Just family issues.”

  “Well … your Mom sounds nice. You’re lucky.” Sadness washed over me, and suddenly I didn’t feel like talking. I turned back to the window and Thorn turned her music back on.

  It was dark when we reache
d our turn off. I noticed Thorn tensing up, twisting her hair and chewing her lower lip. I was tempted to ask what was wrong, but figured she’d just blow me off.

  Closing my eyes, I tried to read Thorn’s energy. But there was nothing. Like tuning into a radio station and only getting static.

  “Why are we stopping?” I asked when Thorn pulled into a gas station. “You still have half a tank of gas.”

  “I won’t be long,” she said briskly, grabbing her duffel bag. “Wait here.”

  Then she hurried off into the gas station.

  And I waited.

  Five minutes, then ten, passed. I know because I was staring at my watch, counting each second. Worry jabbed me like sharp needles. What if she’d gone to the restroom because she was sick? She hadn’t looked good when she’d left. Even underneath ghostly-white face makeup, I could tell she was pale. And she seemed really uneasy. Was she afraid of something?

  Another five minutes passed and I’d had enough.

  Flinging open the car door, I headed for the public restroom. The door wasn’t locked, and when I peered inside I saw a young girl with a sweet face and short dark blond hair, wearing a striped blue skirt and virgin white sneakers that reminded me of a prissy school uniform. She didn’t look up and continued washing her hands in the sink. I moved past her and checked out the three bathroom stalls. The doors hinged open and no one was inside.

  Thorn had vanished.

  Stunned, I turned to the young blond girl. “Where’s my friend?” I asked.

  “Huh?” She turned off the faucet and gave me an amused look. “What friend?”

  “The black-haired girl. She came in but she never came out!”

  “Oh … her.” She wiped her hands on a paper towel and tossed it in the trash. “She’s gone.”

  “Where’d she go?” I asked anxiously, all the while staring at this girl and getting the oddest vibe. Her aura was familiar … and that wasn’t all.

  When I gasped, she doubled over laughing. Then I knew for sure. But I still didn’t quite believe what I was seeing.

  “Thorn, is that really you?”

  “Well, duh.” Even with a fresh scrubbed face and different clothes, I recognized her sarcastic grimace. “Don’t make a big deal about it.”

  “But you’re so different.”

  “So what?” She shrugged.

  “Without any makeup, you look about twelve.”

  “I do not. And I’m seventeen—older than you.”

  “What happened to your black hair?”

  She gestured to her duffel bag. “It’s in there.”

  “A wig?” I said in amazement as we climbed back in the yellow jeep. “You’ve been wearing a wig all this time? And your real hair is blond?”

  “Dark blond. Boring like everyone else in my family.”

  “Why not just dye your hair?”

  “Tried that, but had an allergic reaction. So I mix it up with black wigs. Short, long, spiked—whatever fits my mood.”

  “Why switch back to blond now?”

  “You’ll find out,” she said ominously, then started up the engine and snapped on her CD. Conversation over.

  As we drove, I kept sneaking glances at Thorn. The illuminated car panel cast a soft yellow glow, making her appear angelic, as if she wore a mask.

  It was dark and drizzly when we slowed to turn into a rural gravel driveway. A single yellow bulb glowed over the front door of a ranch-styled house. As we drew near, rubber on gravel rumbled like a warning, lights flashed on from inside. And the door burst open.

  “Brace yourself,” Thorn murmured, and I wondered if she was talking to me or herself. She killed the engine, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the jeep. I hesitated only a moment before following.

  “You’re here!” a middle-aged woman exclaimed, rushing forward with her arms outstretched. She wore a pink robe, slippers, and had her brown hair pulled back in a waist-long ponytail. “Charles,” she shouted back toward the house. “Come on out and greet your niece!”

  A thin scarecrow of a man appeared in the doorway, and he buttoned up a coat as he hurried forward. While the woman embraced Thorn, he came up beside them and affectionately patted Thorn’s shoulder.

  I stood back, not sure about my role in this happy reunion. Then the woman glanced up and noticed me. She broke away from Thorn and suddenly I was wrapped in a soft, warm hug.

  “You must be Sabine,” she gushed.

  I nodded shyly.

  “Why you’re as pretty as a sunflower.” She stepped back to look at me. “But much too thin. How long has it been since you girls ate? Well, no matter, come on inside, I have dinner warmed up for you. I hope you like spareribs, broccoli, and mashed potatoes. And I baked a carrot cake for dessert.”

  My stomach growled appreciatively. “Thanks Mrs. … uh. …”

  “Matthews. I should have introduced myself right away, only I assumed you’d know all about us.” She patted Thorn affectionately on the arm. “But then our baby-girl Beth has never been very talkative.”

  I opened my mouth to say, “Who?” Only Thorn moved quickly to my side and jabbed me with her elbow. The look she gave me translated to “Shut up!”

  But I just covered my mouth so I wouldn’t burst out laughing.

  Rough, prickly Thorn was “baby-girl Beth.”

  *

  “It’s bad enough being named after a character from Little Women.” Thorn scowled a few hours later, as she hung a red skirt in the closet of the guestroom we were sharing. “My sisters are Jo, Meg, and Amy.”

  “I have a sister named Amy, too.”

  She shrugged, like having something in common with me was just another annoyance. “And my brothers are named after the book too. Laurence and Al—for Alcott. But I get the name of the sister who dies. How pathetic.”

  “It could be worse,” I said, squeezing toothpaste onto my brush from the doorway of the adjoining bathroom.

  After I was finished, I plugged in a candle-shaped nightlight and climbed under a hand-stitched patchwork quilt. Crystal bowls with pine needles and roses gave the room a sweet, fresh scent—a homey touch that added to the warm hospitality we’d received. Mrs. Matthews was an excellent cook and a gracious host. Her husband hadn’t said much at first, but then he opened up with funny stories about “Beth.” When she was little she found a “lost kitty” which turned out to be a baby skunk and another time she’d made a secret fort in her room by smashing a hole in her closet.

  Thorn snapped off the bedside lamp between our twin beds. “What’s with the nightlight?” she asked curiously.

  “Nothing.” I pretended a sudden interest in fluffing my pillow.

  “Are you afraid of the dark?”

  “Why would you ask such a thing?” I said sharply. “If the light bothers you, I’ll turn it off.”

  “No, it doesn’t bother me. I kind of like it.”

  I said nothing, but felt relieved.

  “Although there is something bothering me,” Thorn added more seriously. “You found out stuff today about me that I don’t want to get around.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

  “You’d better not.”

  I couldn’t resist teasing, “Not even Manny?”

  “Especially not him!” She rolled her eyes. “I’d never hear the end of it.”

  “Your secrets are safe with me,” I assured, pulling the blankets up around my shoulders. “But why pretend with your aunt and uncle? They seem really nice.”

  “It’s because they are nice that I can’t disappoint them. They never had any kids and they kind of half-adopted me. They think I’m a sweet, innocent little girl and they’d freak if they saw me in black makeup. I couldn’t hurt them.”

  “Watch out Thorn or you might develop a heart,” I said lightly.

  “You watch out or I’ll smash your face.”

  “Anything you say … Beth.”

  “Don’t call me that!” she growled.

  I ducked as s
he threw a pillow at me.

  I awoke to the delicious smell of bacon and sound of sizzling eggs. Thorn’s bed was empty, and when I glanced at my watch, I was startled to see I’d slept past nine-thirty. Quickly, I slipped on my clothes and raced downstairs.

  Before I could say “good morning,” Mrs. Matthews had me sitting at the dining table and was serving me a plateful of hot blueberry waffles. She insisted I call her “Aunt Deb” and kept urging me to eat more.

  Mr. Matthews sipped coffee and told more stories about “Baby-Girl Beth.” He chuckled over the time two-year-old Beth, who wasn’t quite potty trained, had an accident in a neighbor’s brand new hot tub. Thorn turned as red as the strawberry preserves spread on her toast. I would have felt sorry for her if I hadn’t been laughing so hard.

  Afterwards, Thorn and I offered to wash and dry dishes. When we were through, her uncle gave us directions for Peaceful Pines Senior Resort. We were finally on our way to learning about my ancestors. I was excited, but nervous, too.

  “We should have called first,” I said as I buckled my seat belt.

  “And spoil our element of surprise?” Thorn started up the jeep. “Not a chance. We’ll learn more if we just show up.”

  “As long as we aren’t the ones surprised,” I added with a glance up at dark clouds blowing across a gray sky. The temperature had dropped and the air smelled of rain. I didn’t need psychic skills to know a storm was brewing.

  Pine Peaks was a small mountain town with only a few blocks of quaint businesses along Pine Street. So it was a shock to get stuck in a traffic jam. A posted sign announced a population of only 835, but it looked like that number had tripled. Cars were squeezed in every available space and the only motel had a no-vacancy sign.

  “What’s the slow-up?” Thorn slapped the dashboard. “Don’t they know small towns are supposed to be peaceful?”

  “Nothing small or peaceful about Pine Peaks today,” I said, looking around curiously. “Wonder what’s going on.”