In the Arms of Stone Angels - By Jordan Dane Page 0,93
my face. The last thing I wanted to do was call his attention to hair. My hair was sort of a disaster.
“Did they?” He ran a hand through his short dark hair. “Yeah, guess so, but you’re one to talk. You’ve got short hair, too.”
“Oh, yeah. Long story, but it’s growing on me, literally.” I smiled as I touched the hair on the back of my neck.
A comfortable silence filled the room. And White Bird stared at me the way he used to. With any other boy, I would have turned bright red. But seeing him look at me felt…right. And when I stared back, he didn’t look away.
“I’m not sure about what happened to me, but I’m sure that I’ve missed you, a lot.”
“Yeah. And I’ve missed you, too.”
He had the same soft brown eyes, colored with flecks of gold and green that reminded me of wheat blowing gently in the breeze. And with his skin darker than mine—the color of sweet caramel—I liked how we looked together. Like a two-scoop vanilla sundae with nuts on top…me being the nuts.
“You’ve grown up, Brenna.” He smiled and reached for my cheek. I noticed his fingers shook, but I pretended not to see it. “And you look…beautiful. More…beautiful.”
When his fingers touched my cheek, I reached for his hand and held it, with his warm skin pressed against my face. And I kissed his palm as a tear slid down my cheek. I wanted to talk with him forever, just the two of us. I had a new school in North Carolina that I wanted to tell him about. And he didn’t know my grandmother had died and how sad that made me. And his sweat lodge…I wanted to tell him how proud I was of him, but all of that would have to wait.
I had to clear the air about what I’d done, mostly because I didn’t feel worthy to talk to him unless I told him. And a guy like White Bird deserved to know the truth. He’d always been honest with me. If I’d learned anything in the past two years, it was to face my fear head-on. Ignoring shit didn’t make it go away and demons only got stronger. I was tired of hiding. And if I didn’t tell him, I’d be a hypocrite to pretend I was his friend.
“White Bird, I’ve got something to say. Promise me you’ll listen.”
“What’s the matter, Bren? Are you crying?” He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “Talk to me. I’m listening.”
The tears came harder now. And I choked on my sobs to get out what I needed to say.
“Two years ago, I was the one who turned you in to the sheriff.”
“What?” He grimaced as he stared at me. And I saw his body stiffen, but he didn’t pull away.
“You promised that you’d listen,” I cried. “I didn’t see anything except you kneeling over Heather’s body. What was I supposed to think?”
I should have rehearsed what I would say to him. Words were spilling from my mouth like puke, each one more rank than the last. I was grasping at anything to say. And everything came out wrong.
“I should have believed in you. You were my friend.”
“Were?” This time he pulled his hand away and crossed his arms. “You mean I’m not now? From what the doctor said, it’s been two years, Brenna. Guess a lot of stuff has happened since then.”
“Yeah, but Joe thinks you might’ve been a witness.”
I told him about Joe’s theory, that under the influence of peyote, he might have gotten separated from his spirit guide and lost his way in his quest. And that Joe believed he might have been a witness to what had happened to Heather.
“Joe thinks that? So what do you think, Brenna? Do you think I killed her?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “Guess so. You were the one who called the cops.”
“But you don’t know what’s happened since I came back. Lots of stuff. All you have to do is tell us what happened that night. And maybe all this will be over.”
“Oh, is that all?” He raised his voice and pressed fingers to the side of his head. “I can’t remember anything. And I’ve got a headache the size of Oklahoma. Now probably isn’t the best time for us to be talking about this.”
He was right, but I wasn’t sure I’d get another chance, especially when the hospital door opened and Sheriff Logan walked in.