cross the road with our fingers linked, and when we reach the waterfall and the trail beside it that leads to the top, I wish that I didn’t have to let go of his hand to make the climb.
10
Mom wanders into the kitchen, leaning on her cane and yawning. I’m sitting on the rug in the living room trying to coax Cookie to play tug-of-war with a toy, but he’s not interested.
“Did you have a nice nap?” I ask Mom, hoping she didn’t hear me pull up a few minutes ago.
“Yes, just not long enough.” She takes a glass from the cabinet over the sink.
I tell myself to stop being so skittish, but I keep imagining that she can read the truth on my face like a flashing neon sign: LILY’S BEEN MAKING OUT WITH TY.
Mom glances over her shoulder as she fills her glass with water from the faucet. “Your hair is damp.”
“I washed it.” I cringe inside at the lie. But I won’t risk saying anything that might ruin my chances of seeing Ty again. I can’t remember when I’ve had as much fun as I did with him today.
Mom shuts the water off and walks to my side. Peering down at Cookie, she asks, “How is he?”
“I think he’s depressed. Is that possible?” I scratch the satiny spot between his ears and watch his eyes drift shut.
“He could be,” says Mom. “I’m convinced that dogs have feelings just like we do.”
“He misses Dad,” I say quietly.
“Maybe he does, sweetheart.” Mom squeezes my shoulder. “He’ll feel better with time.” Her slippers make a shuffling sound as she starts off, and the cane taps with a dull inevitability as it hits the floor.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Back to bed. I’m not feeling well.”
“Do you want me to call your doctor?”
“I don’t think it’s the lupus,” she says. “I might be getting the flu.”
I know it’s not the flu. Eager to cheer Mom up, I say, “I think I’ll go into town and pick up that old movie you were talking about earlier. Would you watch it with me tonight?”
“We’ll see how I’m feeling,” she says a moment before her bedroom door closes.
Thoughts of this afternoon at the waterfall distract my worries about Mom as I change the bedding in Cookie’s pen. I settle him on the soft, clean pallet, replaying in my mind each moment with Ty. I’m so giddy I feel like I could jump out of my skin as I go upstairs to grab my wallet, keys, and phone. Before heading down again, I text Sylvie: Going 2 video store. meet me? I hope she can. I want to tell her what happened today.
I’m backing the Blazer out of the driveway when she texts back: there in 30. merry mushroom after? need pizza fix.
Braking, I type: k. see u there.
Iris is restless during the drive, insisting I’m wasting time. She thinks I should be pumping Mom for more information about the Big Secret, or poking around the workshop some more while she naps. But I can only deal with so much at once, and right now I’m obsessing about Ty. And Wyatt. How I feel tugged toward one, then the other. It’s so strange to be thinking about them at the same time. I feel guilty comparing them, but I can’t stop.
Soon, I’m pulling into Silver Lake. The only place to rent movies—Play It Again Flicks—is on Main, between Snowflake Bakery and The Pine Shed bar. The Merry Mushroom is across the street. I parallel park at the end of the block behind a mud-splattered truck.
Downtown is usually pretty busy, and this evening is no exception. High school kids and students from the community college shop in the stores and hang out in the cafés, coffee shops, and bars along Main. I walk toward the video store, and through the window, catch sight of Sylvie browsing the aisle in the horror section. She loves low-budget slasher movies, and is especially partial to anything with dead in the title. Throw in a zombie or two and she’ll even stay home on a Saturday night.
A few minutes later, after the guy behind the counter informs me that they don’t have the movie Mom mentioned, Sylvie and I cross the street to the Merry Mushroom.
“I’ll split a pizza with you,” she says. “I don’t eat anything that once had a mother, though, so you’ll have to settle for veggie.”
“How about sausage on half?” I ask, thinking I’ll take some