Blood Beyond Darkness Page 34

  “We got her.” I heard the smile in his voice. A car door slammed in the background.

  “Did you tell her?” My mother’s voice floated faintly through the speaker.

  “I’m telling her now,” Dad said.

  “That’s great. When do we get to pick her up?” I asked.

  “The lawyer has to finalize the paperwork. We’ll close on the deal Tuesday morning. Then we can go pick her up.”

  “Tuesday morning? I have school,” I said, already forming the next question in my mind. Dad cut me off before I could ask.

  “No chance, Whisper. Don’t you have mid-terms next week?”

  I sighed and shifted the pile of books in my hand before the top two slid off the stack. I leaned a shoulder against the wall near the library exit, trying unsuccessfully to flip my thick, black hair out of my face. I needed a hair tie and a free hand.

  It was late, pitch black outside and cold. December in Colorado was ridiculous; even the Eskimos would’ve complained. It was also past closing time. The overweight librarian bored holes into my back, letting me know she wanted to go home, prop her feet up.

  “I can make it up,” I said. I wasn’t completely sure if that was true, but I didn’t want to miss this.

  “No way, Jose. Sorry. You’ll see her when you get home on Tuesday.”

  “She was my idea in the first place. I found her.” Stubbornness crept into my tone. Dad and I both knew where this was headed.

  “Fine. If you can talk your mother into it then you can come,” he said.

  I groaned. We both knew she was the general, an iron horse of reason who could not be swayed, especially when it came to my studies. Her dreams for me were much bigger than a small-town, animal rescue doctor like herself. Dad sad it was the full-blooded Cherokee in her, that his American side made him soft. Mom would always laugh and tell him Cherokee had nothing to do with it.

  Either way, tonight, Dad didn’t give in to my groaning. When that didn’t work, I sighed, long and loud. Still nothing. I didn’t ask to speak to my mother. There was no point. “Fine, after school, then.”

  “You almost done there?” he asked. I could hear him revving the engine, trying to warm it up faster in the frigid air.

  “I’m leaving now.”

  “Us, too. See you in thirty. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  We hung up at the same time. I shoved my phone in my jacket pocket and traded it for my keys. Behind me, the librarian cleared her throat. I didn’t look back at her. I pushed open the door and felt the breath leave my body as the first wave of cold hit and pushed right through into my bones. I gritted my teeth and stumbled forward, so cold it irritated me. We hadn’t even had a decent snow yet this year which, in my mind, didn’t make the sub-zero temperatures worth it.

  The road home was black and empty. The absence of other cars didn’t surprise me. I was close enough to Grant land that there wouldn’t be any other traffic. I was used to the curve of the road and the feel of the steering wheel as it pulled against the turns when I took them fast, so I kept the gas pedal close to the floor and hurried to beat my parent’s home. I wanted to be the first to tell Tinker, my grandpa. It was my project, after all.

  I rounded the last curve and gravel flew up behind me as the asphalt gave way to dirt and rocks. I flew through the front gate, which was never closed for the very reason that it stood so near to the curve, you’d crash right into it if you didn’t know it was there. The porch light gleamed in the darkness, revealing a white F250 parked out front. Tinker was here; my parents were not.

  I rushed up the porch steps, letting the banging door announce my arrival, and hesitated in the entry, trying to decide where to start my search. Tinker poked his head out of his office. I should’ve known.

  “Whisper? What’s all the racket?” He straightened and stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders and long legs only half visible in the dimmed light of the room behind him. His hair, yet to go gray, lay flat on his head, thanks to the trademark Stetson he wore.

  “We got her! Dad called. They took our bid. We pick her up Tuesday.” I grinned like I’d won the lottery. I felt like I had.

  “Well, that’s somethin’ else,” he said. He didn’t sound nearly as surprised as I thought he should.

  “You didn’t have anything to do with that deal going through now, did you?” My hands were firmly on my rounded hips. I tried to look stern enough to make him feel guilty if he had. Or at least enough like Grandma—since he always accused me of acting like her anyway—to make him flinch. My dark, almond eyes weren’t quite the same shade as her clear blues had been, but Tinker always said we had fiery tempers to match.

  “Not a thing.” He winked. “I didn’t doubt your deal-arranging skills for a second. I knew you had it in you. You’re a Grant.”

  He was either way too hard to intimidate or the deal really had been a product of my own determination. My sternness faded, and I grinned again. “Thanks.”

  “You going to pick her up then?”

  My expression fell. “No. I have mid-terms. Dad said it’s up to Mom.”

  “Hmm. So I guess you’re not then.”

  “Guess not. I’ll see her when I get home, though.” I tried to sound like I didn’t mind.

  Tinker nodded. The phone in his study rang and he left to answer it.

  I wandered into the kitchen, my stomach rumbling. I’d skipped dinner to study for my exams next week. Formulaic equations and I weren’t on easy terms. Normally, Erin would’ve tutored me, but she was still away on her skiing trip and wouldn’t be back until the weekend. I was on my own, trying to figure out why x squared equaled y cubed. Good times.

  I found a Tupperware full of spaghetti left-overs, courtesy of Lydia who handled all things domestic in the Grant empire now that Grandma was gone. I popped the lid and stuck the whole thing into the microwave, staring absently as it twirled inside the machine.

  I still couldn’t believe Dad’s good news. Months and months of research. Unceasing energy and determination. I hadn’t allowed myself the belief that it wouldn’t work. There was too much at stake for the animals. Especially Dolly. And now she was coming home to live with me instead of that nasty excuse for a trainer. I’d won!

  I ate standing up. The microwave never cooked evenly so the outside edges were hotter than the middle. I didn’t care. I was starved. I didn’t even bother to chew until the fifth bite.

  Footsteps in the hall behind me signaled Tinker must be off the phone. I waited for him to pick up our previous conversation, or tell me about some part of his day that I’d missed while stuck inside the walls of learning. But there was only silence. I turned and found him standing in the kitchen doorway, his hands limp at his sides and the most confused expression I’d ever seen on his face.

  “Tinker?”

  No answer.

  He stared at a spot on the wood-planked wall that bordered the breakfast nook. My eyes followed his and I found a tiny cross-stitched plaque that read “Home Is Where the Heart Is” in blue thread. Grandma had sewn it years before I’d been born.

  “Tinker?” I repeated. “Who was on the phone?”

  “A friend of mine, lives down by Port Creek.” His voice was distant, hollow.

  I hadn’t been worried until the moment our eyes locked. When they did, it felt like a tidal wave rushing up to meet me. Suddenly, I knew that whatever he was about to say would be very, very bad.

  “Whisper …”

  The doorbell rang, its chime echoing through the otherwise still house. I stared back at Tinker. Something final rested in his eyes. The only time I’d ever seen him look like that …

  “I’ll get it,” I said around the lump in my throat.

  I tossed the spaghetti aside and went to the door, sliding carefully by Tinker on my way. I didn’t want to touch him. It was something about the energy he gave off, and I knew if I touched him it would infect me. He didn’t move to follow.

  I pulled open the doo
r and found a man in a dark uniform staring back at me. The shiny silver buttons on his shirt matched a gleaming badge on his belt loop. His hat was big enough that, had it been yellow, this could’ve been a scene from Curious George Goes to Colorado.

  “Ms. Whisper Grant?” he asked. His thin lips arched into a frown when he spoke.

  “Yes?” I said. Tinker came up behind me. I felt his hand come down heavily onto my shoulder.

  “I’m State Trooper Nelson. This is Hefley.” He gestured to another man off to the side, who I hadn’t even noticed, on the porch but away from the light of the door. His expression matched the first man’s. If they were going for gentle or caring, the twist in their lip ruined it.

  Nelson consulted a single sheet of paper attached to the clipboard he held. “Says here your birthday was three weeks ago. You’re eighteen now. Is that correct?” he asked without looking up.

  “Correct,” I confirmed. “Can I help you?” I asked. I felt the spray of another approaching wave and braced myself.

  “Guess that makes you the official emergency contact.” He sighed like he’d hoped for a different answer. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. There was an accident. On the bridge near Port Creek. A pickup truck went over the embankment. The vehicle was registered to a Shawn and Anna Grant. They are your parents, I believe? A man at the scene said he knew you, gave us your address.”

  Tinker’s hand squeezed into my shoulder.

  That’s the last thing I remember of that night.

  In fact, much of the next few weeks and months that followed is still a blur. Including the night I downed a pill bottle full of Xanax and went to sleep. Even after five months at Skye View, I still can’t remember it all. Over time, it’s become easier to cope with the missing pockets of time. To cope with the numbing sadness, the raging anger, the quiet desperation that came out of that moment of loss. But I’m still not me.

  Tinker says I lost myself. He says it’s what animals do when the pain of loss is too much to bear. He says one day, I’ll find myself again. A new me, a version who is able to live despite the loss I’ve suffered. I told him that sounds like something Grandma would say. He said he learned it from her, and he’s learning to find himself again, too.

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  About the Author

  Heather Hildenbrand was born and raised in a small town in northern Virginia where she was homeschooled through high school. (She’s only slightly socially awkward as a result.) Since 2011, she’s published more than eight YA & NA novels including the bestselling Dirty Blood series. She splits her time between coastal Virginia and the island of Guam and loves having a mobile career and outrageous lifestyle of living in two places. Her most frequent hobbies are riding motorcycles and avoiding killer slugs.

  Heather is also a publishing and success coach bent on equipping and educating artists who call themselves authors. She loves teaching fellow writers how to create the same freedom-based lifestyle she enjoys. For more information visit www.phoenixauthorink.com and find out how to create your own OutRAGEous Life.

  She is represented by Rebecca Friedman. You can find out more about Heather and her books at www.heatherhildenbrand.blogspot.com.

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