“That’s ’cause only real wrestling fanatics know about him.”
“What’s his signature move?”
“He mows the other guy down with his Zamboni, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
They looked at each other then, bemused. They used to laugh a lot, Zadie remembered fondly. Maybe that was why they stayed together as long as they did. Then Joel’s expression softened, his gaze settling into hers. It was the kind of gaze that felt like being touched. Zadie squirmed and turned her attention back to the TV. She could feel Joel’s eyes linger on her for a moment longer; then he, too, turned back to the screen.
“How about a movie?” he said, flipping the channel.
“A movie sounds good.”
NINETEENIF TREES COULD TALK
Finn hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the room was dim and the bed was soft and she was tired, so tired it felt like moving underwater. Sealed off from the memories of the main house, her mind had been given a much-needed reprieve, and so it did the first thing it could think of, and that was to not have to think. She hadn’t even had time to crawl under the covers before she was climbing out of them again in a dream:
Close the window.
The bird in the tree had stopped singing. Shards of clay scattered across the tile floor. A helpless cactus lay on its side, root ball exposed. Finn/Zadie combed her fingers through the spidery roots, scooped the sandy soil up with her hands, poured it into an empty coffee can.
Close the window.
Finn/Zadie picked up a piece of clay pot sharp enough to draw blood. She pressed it against her palm—a test—then set it aside.
The bird started singing again. Finn/Zadie could see its tiny apple head, its pinstriped wings. She had never seen a bird like it before.
Close the window.
She didn’t want to close it. She wanted to listen.
Close the window.
Finn/Zadie moved toward the window, the bird. She leaned inuntil she could feel fresh air against her cheek. Then something out of the corner of her eye moved.
Finn awoke to not one, but a chorus of songbirds outside her window. The bed she was lying on was pushed up against the wall, so she barely had to lift her head to see the ruddy limbs of cedar trees. Light twinkled through their scaly needles as they swayed gently like a queen’s wave. Finn waved back. After seven hours of undisturbed sleep, she finally felt like herself again, and was invigorated by the prospect of a day spent retracing her mom’s footsteps.
She quickly changed her clothes and pushed open the bedroom door. In the living room, Zadie and Joel were both fast sleep on opposite ends of the couch. The TV was still on at a low volume, airing a generic drama from some three-letter cable network. Not wanting to wake them, she crept across the living room, then slipped out the front door and down the stairs.
Finn stepped out into the dewy dawn. The yard, the house, the mountain: all were still. She liked the feeling of being the first person awake. It was a comforting kind of solitude, like listening to a song with your headphones on. It was also the time of day when, generally speaking, her echoes were least active, when her memories were hers and only hers.
In contrast, the flock of starlings overhead were hungry for attention, flitting from branch to branch, sharing worms and gossip (both juicy). Finn watched them and wondered what had happened to her pigeon, Chris Five. She hoped he was okay on his own and hadn’t ended up in some street magician’s hat with a deck of playing cards and a chain of multicolored scarves.
Finn turned in the direction of the main house and spotted Rowan slipping out the back door carrying a small trowel. Finn waved, but Rowan must have not seen her, because she darted across the yard and into the forest without so much as a glance in Finn’s direction.Why is she sneaking out this early in the morning?Finn wondered and decided to follow.
When she reached the bank of trees through which she’d seen Rowan disappear, she noticed a narrow trail leading up the hillside. It wasn’t an official trail but likely one that had been carved out over many years by many pairs of boots. Even the bulbous tree roots that protruded from the earth had been worn smooth in places like river rocks. Without hesitation, Finn began to climb.
She moved as quietly as possible, not wanting to frighten Rowan before she’d had a chance to announce herself. The only noise she made was the occasional swish of her calves against the fern fronds. The vegetation was strangled, jungle-like, but that only made the blazed trail more obvious, like the first set of tracks in newly fallen snow. Finn ducked under a half-fallen spruce that looked like it had been the victim of a lightning strike, charred and peeled down the middle like a banana. Several of the surrounding trees had burns as well from the ensuing fire, although the damage was minimal.
The trail hooked sharply to the left. Then Finn spotted Rowan crouching in a small clearing at the base of an enormous maple whose branches were dripping in tree moss. She paused, unsure of how to approach, then realized what Rowan was doing. She was digging. The girl drove the trowel she was holding into the dirt, then deposited a small clod of soil on the ground next to her. There were dozens of holes like this one surrounding the tree, not more than a few inches deep and a foot across. It was like she’d stepped into a gopher colony.
Finn hazarded a step forward. “Hey.”
Rowan nearly jumped out of her skin as she spun around to face her. She gasped, eyes flashing. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw you sneak out of the house. What areyoudoing?”
“I’m not doing anything,” Rowan said, defensive.