Wings Free with Bonus Material

  “It’s okay. It’s not for another couple of hours.” He was quiet for a while. “I’d invite you again, but…” He gestured at the petals, and Laurel nodded ruefully.

  “Wouldn’t exactly work.”

  “Can I come see you afterward, though? Just to make sure you’re okay?”

  Tears built up in Laurel’s eyes. “Do you think I will be okay?”

  David joined her on the bed and draped one arm around her shoulders. “I hope so.”

  “You don’t know that though, do you?”

  “No,” David replied honestly. “But I certainly hope so.”

  She rubbed her arm across her face. “Thanks.”

  “So can I come?”

  She smiled up at him and nodded.

  SEVEN

  LAUREL WAS LOUNGING ON THE COUCH WHEN THE doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she called. She opened the door and smiled at David in his black tee over bright yellow board shorts. “Hey,” she said, stepping out onto the porch and pulling the door shut behind her. “How was the party?”

  David shrugged. “Would’ve been more fun with you there.” He hesitated. “How are you?”

  Laurel looked down at the ground. “I’m okay. Same as this morning.”

  “Does it hurt or anything?”

  She shook her head.

  She felt his hand trace down her arm. “It’ll be okay,” he said softly.

  “How’s it supposed to be okay, David? I have a flower growing on my back. That is not okay.”

  “I meant, we’ll figure something out.”

  She smiled sadly. “I’m sorry. You came over to be nice, and I’m just—” Her voice cut off as bright headlights flashed across her face. She held a hand up to block the glare and watched a car pull into the driveway. A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out and began walking toward them.

  “This the Sewell residence?” His voice was low and gravelly.

  “Yeah,” Laurel said as he stepped into the light on the porch. Laurel wrinkled her nose involuntarily. His face didn’t look quite right. The facial bones were sharp and rugged and his left eye drooped. His long nose looked like it had been broken a few times without being set correctly, and even though he wasn’t sneering, his mouth was set in a permanent look of disappointment. His shoulders were enormously broad and the suit he was wearing looked out of place on his bulky form.

  “Are your parents home?” the man asked.

  “Yeah, just a sec.” She turned slowly. “Um, come on in.”

  She held the door open and both the man and David stepped through. As the three of them stood in the entryway, the man sniffed, then cleared his throat. “You have a bonfire or something today?” he asked, looking critically at David.

  “Yeah,” David said. “Down at the beach. I was in charge of lighting it, and let’s just say there was a lot of smoke before there was any fire.” He laughed for a second, but when the man did not even smile, he fell silent.

  “I’ll go get them,” Laurel said hurriedly.

  “I’ll help,” David said, following her.

  They walked into the kitchen, where Laurel’s parents were having tea.

  “There’s a guy here to see you,” Laurel said.

  “Oh.” Her dad set his teacup down and marked his place in his book. “Excuse me.”

  Laurel lingered in the doorway, watching her dad. David’s hand was at the small of her back, and she hoped he wouldn’t move it. It wasn’t precisely that she was afraid, but she couldn’t shake a hovering sense that something wasn’t quite right.

  “Sarah,” her dad called. “Jeremiah Barnes is here.”

  Laurel’s mom put her teacup down with a loud clatter and hurried past David and Laurel to the front door.

  “Who’s Jeremiah Barnes?” David asked under his breath.

  “Realtor,” Laurel answered. She looked around. “Come here,” she said, grabbing David’s hand. She pulled him to the stairs behind the couch where Mr. Barnes was taking a seat. She tiptoed up a few steps, just out of sight. She let go of David’s hand, but as they sat, he laid his arm across the stair behind her. She leaned in a little, enjoying the feel of him beside her. It chased away a little of the unease that had been building since Mr. Barnes drove up.

  “I hope you don’t mind me just dropping by,” Barnes said.

  “Not at all,” Laurel’s mom said. “Could I get you a cup of coffee? Tea? Water?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Barnes said.

  His deep voice set Laurel’s whole body on edge.

  “I had a few questions about the origins of the property before we submit our official offer,” Barnes said. “I understand it is family land. How long has it been in your family?”

  “Since the gold-rush days,” Laurel’s mom said. “My great-some-odd-grandfather claimed the land and built the first cabin there. Never found gold, though. Everyone in my family has lived there at one time or another ever since.”

  “No one ever tried to sell it?”

  She shook her head. “Nope, just me. I imagine my mother’s turning in her grave, but…” She shrugged. “As much as we hate to see it go, there are more important things.”

  “Indeed. Is there anything…unusual about the property?”

  Laurel’s parents looked at each other then shook their heads. “I don’t think so,” her dad said.

  Barnes nodded. “Have you had any trouble with trespassers? Strangers trying to squat there? Anything like that?”

  “Not really,” Laurel’s dad said. “We occasionally have people take walks across the land, and we see people here and there. But then, we’re right up against Redwood National Park; we don’t have a fence and we don’t post any warning of property lines. I’m sure that if you did, you wouldn’t have any trouble.”

  “I wasn’t able to find out what your asking price is.” Barnes left the unspoken question hanging in the air.

  Laurel’s dad cleared his throat. “It’s been difficult to get a good appraisal on the land. We’ve had two appraisers out and both have managed to lose our file. It’s been very frustrating. We’d prefer that you name your price and we’ll go from there.”

  “Understandable.” Barnes stood. “I hope to have my written offer to you within a week.”

  He shook hands with her parents, then left.

  Laurel held her breath until she heard the car roar to life and back out of the driveway. David’s arm loosened from around her and Laurel made her way down the stairs.

  “Finally, Sarah,” her dad said excitedly. “It’s been almost six months since he first approached me. I was beginning to think I’d gotten all worked up over nothing.”

  “It would make things so much easier,” Laurel’s mom agreed. “It’s not a done deal, though.”

  “I know, but it’s so close.”

  “We’ve been close before. There was that one woman last summer who was so excited about the house.”

  “Yeah, real excited,” Laurel’s dad argued. “When we called her to check up on things she said, and I quote, ‘What house?’ She’d completely forgotten about it.”

  “You’re right,” her mom agreed. “Guess she wasn’t that impressed.”

  “You’re not seriously thinking of selling our land to him?” Laurel said vehemently.

  Her parents turned to her with questioning eyes. “Laurel?” her mom said. “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, come on. He was totally creepy.”

  Laurel’s mom sighed. “You don’t refuse a life-changing sale to someone just because they’re not very charismatic.”

  “I didn’t like him. He scared me.”

  “Scared you?” her dad asked. “What was scary about him?”

  “I don’t know,” Laurel said, feeling a little cowed now that Mr. Barnes was gone. “He…he looked funny.”

  Her dad laughed. “Yeah. Probably a football player who took one too many hard hits. But you can’t base your opinion on the way someone looks. Remember that whole book-and-cover th
ing?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Laurel relented, but she wasn’t convinced. There was something odd about him, something strange in his eyes. And she didn’t like it.

  Finally David cleared his throat. “I gotta head home,” he said. “I just stopped by for a minute.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Laurel said quickly, leading the way to the door.

  Laurel took just a second to double-check that the driveway was empty before she stepped out onto the porch.

  “Did he seem weird to you?” Laurel asked as soon as David closed the front door.

  “The Barnes guy?” He waited a long moment, then shrugged. “Not really,” he admitted. “He was kind of weird-looking, but I think it’s mostly that nose. It’s like Owen Wilson’s. Probably got smashed playing football like your dad said.”

  Laurel sighed. “Maybe it’s just me. I’m probably just being oversensitive because…” She gestured at her back. “You know.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” David pushed his hands into his pockets, then withdrew them and crossed them over his chest. After a few seconds he changed his mind and shoved them back in his pockets. “I have to tell you, Laurel, this is the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard of. I can’t pretend it’s not.”

  Laurel nodded. “I know. I’m a total freak.”

  “No, you’re not. Well…you know, kinda. But it’s not you,” he added hurriedly. “You just have this weird thing. And I…I’ll do what I can to help. Okay?”

  “Really?” Laurel whispered.

  David nodded. “I promise.”

  Grateful tears threatened, but Laurel forced them back. “Thanks.”

  “I have church with my mom tomorrow and then we’re going out to eat in Eureka with my grandparents, but I’ll be back in the evening and I’ll give you a call.”

  “Great. And have fun.”

  “I’ll try.” He hesitated for a minute and looked like he was about to turn and leave. But at the last second, he stepped forward and hugged her.

  Surprised, Laurel hugged him back.

  She watched as David’s bike disappeared into the murky dusk and stood looking after him for a long time after he was out of sight. She had been so frightened when she went to his house that morning. But she knew now that he had been the right person to tell. She smiled, then turned to head back inside.

  Monday was Laurel’s first day of school with the huge bloom on her back. She considered faking sick, but who knew how long the flower would stay? Forever, maybe, she thought with a shiver. She couldn’t fake being sick every day. She met David in the front atrium before school and he assured her several times that he couldn’t tell there was anything under her shirt. She took a deep breath and headed off to her first class.

  At lunch, Laurel sat and watched David. The clouds broke for just a few moments, releasing a bright beam of sunlight, and Laurel noticed the way the sun shone on him—it glinted off the subtle highlights in his sandy brown hair and caught the tips of his eyelashes. She hadn’t thought much before about how handsome he was, but the last few days, she’d found herself looking at him more and more, and twice already during lunch he’d turned and caught her. He was starting to provoke the butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling she’d always read about in books.

  When no one was looking, Laurel held her own hand up to the sun. It didn’t look quite the same. David’s body had blocked out the sun entirely, and it came snaking around the sides. Her hand appeared to only block out part of the sun, and the light seemed to glow as if it had found some route through her skin. She shoved her hand in her pocket. She was getting paranoid now.

  The petals around her waist were rather uncomfortable, and she longed to free them—especially with the bright sunlight that she knew would be so scarce in the coming months. But it was a discomfort she could—and would—deal with. She hoped the sun would reappear later this afternoon when she could sneak off for a walk.

  Chelsea was home sick, so David walked with Laurel to her English class by himself.

  “Hey, David?” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  “You want to take a little trip with me this afternoon? Me and my parents,” she added.

  David’s face fell. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m getting my driver’s license in a few weeks and Mom’s decided I need to work enough to pay for gas and insurance. She got me a job at the drugstore and I have to start today.”

  “Oh. You didn’t tell me.”

  “I only found out yesterday. Besides”—he leaned in close—“your problems are a little bigger than mine at the moment.”

  “Well, good luck,” Laurel said.

  David sighed. “Yeah, nothing like a little nepotism to make all your coworkers like you.” He laughed shortly. “Where are you going?”

  “Down to my old house. My mom’s been talking about nothing but the sale for the last two days. She’s excited about it, but she’s kind of having second thoughts too.”

  “Why? I thought they really wanted to sell.”

  “I thought so too. But Mom’s getting sad about it. She grew up there. And her mom before that. And back and back. You know?”

  “I think that’s awesome. I wish you didn’t have to sell.”

  “Me too,” Laurel said. “Not that it’s not great here,” she said quickly. “I’m glad we moved. But I kinda like the idea of being able to go back and visit.”

  “Have you been back since you moved?”

  “No. We’ve all been so busy getting the store going and moving in and, well, we just haven’t had time. So Mom wants to visit and make sure she’s really certain about selling and rake the leaves while we’re at it. And wash the windows. And Dad’ll probably want to trim the hedges.” She smiled with fake excitement. “It’s gonna be fun, fun, fun,” she said sarcastically.

  David nodded, then looked at her more seriously. “I wish I could go,” he said. “I really do.”

  Laurel looked down; his eyes were so intense. “Another time,” she said earnestly, trying not to sound too disappointed.

  “I hope so.”

  EIGHT

  LAUREL’S HAIR WAS WILD AND TANGLED WHEN THEY arrived. It would take ages to brush out later, but it was worth the forty-five-minute drive in the old convertible with the wind whipping across her face. They pulled into the long driveway, and Laurel held her breath as it curved around a clump of trees and the cabin came into view.

  The appearance of her old house was accompanied by a wave of nostalgia Laurel hadn’t expected. The log cabin was small but quaint, nestled in a large circle of thick green grass surrounded by a rickety fence. Laurel had often missed her old home since moving but never as intensely as the moment it came into view for the first time in four months. For twelve years she’d lived in this house and on this land. She knew all the twisty paths through the vast forest behind the house and had spent hours wandering them. It wasn’t precisely that she wished she lived there again, but she didn’t want to let it go.

  Her parents began unloading rakes and buckets and cleaning supplies. Laurel pulled her guitar from the backseat, and her mom laughed. “I love that you play that old thing.”

  “Why?”

  “It just reminds me of when I used to play it back at Berkeley.” She grinned at Laurel’s dad. “When we first met. We were such hippies back then.”

  Laurel eyed her mom’s long braid and her dad’s Birkenstock sandals and gave a snort. “You’re hippies now.”

  “Nah, this is nothing. We were really hippies back then.” Her mom slipped one hand into her dad’s, entwining their fingers. “I used to take that guitar to sit-ins. I’d play ‘We Shall Not Be Moved’ terribly off-key and everyone would bellow along. Remember that?”

  Her dad smiled and shook his head. “The good ol’ days,” he said sarcastically.

  “Aw, it was fun.”

  “If you say so,” her dad relented, leaning in for a kiss.

  “Do y
ou mind if I wander a bit?” Laurel asked, slipping the strap of the guitar over her shoulder. “I’ll come back in a while to help.”

  “Sure,” her mom said as she dug through the trunk.

  “See ya soon,” Laurel said, already walking toward the back of the house.

  The forest was filled with both broad-leaf and pine trees that shaded the soft green foliage carpeting the ground. Most of the tree trunks were covered with dark green moss that hid the rough bark. Everywhere you looked was green. It had rained lightly that morning and the sun was out, turning the millions of droplets of water into sparkling orbs that made every surface twinkle like sheets of emeralds. Paths twisted into the darkness between the trees, and Laurel slowly headed down one.

  It was easy to imagine she was walking through hallowed ground—the ruins of some great cathedral from ages before memory. She smiled when she saw a moss-clad branch illuminated by a thin beam of sunshine and rubbed her hand across it so the glistening drops of water dripped from her fingers and caught the light as they fell to the ground.

  When she had been out of her parents’ sight for several minutes, Laurel slipped her guitar to the front and untied the scarf. With a sigh of relief, she lifted her shirt a bit to let the flower petals spring free. After being tied down most of the day, they ached to be released. The petals stretched out slowly like sore, cramped muscles as Laurel continued down the thin, leaf-strewn path. She heard the distant gurgle of a large stream and picked her way through the vegetation in its direction, finding it in just a few minutes and plopping down on a rock at its edge. She kicked off her flip-flops and let her toes dangle into the chilly water.

  She’d always loved this stream. The water was so clear in the still current that you could see to the bottom and watch fish flit back and forth. Where it splashed over rocks in small waterfalls, it churned into a perfect white foam that looked like thick, frothy soap bubbles. The whole scene belonged on a postcard.

  Laurel began picking out chords from her favorite Sarah McLachlan song. She hummed along quietly as the scent from the flower enveloped her.

  After the first verse, a rustle off to her left made her head jerk up. She listened carefully and thought she heard soft whispers. “Mom?” she called tentatively. “Dad?”