The Easy Part of Impossible - Sarah Tomp Page 0,28
have to figure out the details, but it’s going to happen. And if I smack, well the pain is only temporary.”
“Right. Your coach sets reasonable precautions. Like caving.”
She wasn’t sure she totally agreed, but she didn’t disagree, either. That sounded so cut-and-dried. Not like the swirly mix of colors and energy that she’d been trying to describe.
“Show me something, Ria. Make me doubt gravity. I’ve heard it’s overrated.”
She bounce-walked to the center as he crawled to the foam-trimmed edge, out of the way. She jumped. High and straight. Up, up to the treetops. She flipped backward, which was easy but impressive. Handsprings in both directions. The layouts—flips with a straight body—were the thing that made him say, “Whoa.”
She’d almost forgotten she had the power to impress. She knew her own sense of average was skewed, but she didn’t know how far.
She collapsed to her back on the springy bed of the trampoline, letting her breaths return to a steady state. She stared up at the stars beyond the tree branches. Looked at them with only her left eye. Then her right. Thanks to her contacts, the stars seemed closer with the left one.
“I looked for you this week, Cotton. I wanted to go caving again.”
“That was a good day,” he said. “I liked caving with you.”
It was a simple thing to say. Something she agreed with. Somehow it made her feel lighter. Like she could float.
“Where were you all week? Were you caving?”
“No.”
“Were you sick? You look good now,” she said, suddenly thankful for the shadows.
“We had to travel out of town to meet with the police. As part of the ongoing investigation.”
“For Esther?” She sat up.
“Yes. You’ve said her name to me. You remember her.”
“Well, yeah.” She tucked herself into a ball, facing him.
“No one ever says her name. My little brother and sister don’t even remember her. Flutie won’t say what she remembers. No one talks about her. Except for reporters, once a year, on the anniversary of when we couldn’t find her.”
“I think people don’t want to make you sad.”
He tilted his head, into his thinking pose. “I’m always sad about Esther.”
Ria hugged her knees even tighter against her chest.
“The first time I found the cave, I thought she’d be there. I was sure she wandered in and got lost. Or hurt.”
She held her breath, dreading his words, but needing to hear them, too.
“My dad and I searched and searched. The police came too. But we never found any sign of her. And now we’ve gone too far in. There’s no way she would have made it all that way. Not in the dark, not by herself.”
“Is that good or bad?” It was a stupid question, but she felt desperate for the answer.
“Both. Or, neither.”
She stared at the stars still peeking through the trees.
“I’m going to find her. She’s going to come home.”
The lump in her throat made her eyes sting. There was no way to answer. Even if she’d had the right words, they couldn’t possibly squeeze through the tightness in her chest.
“No one else believes that. Not anymore. My parents want closure. . . .” His voice faded into the darkness. Then it came back, stronger, almost harsh with its stiffness. “On Tuesday a man found a child’s bones buried near Lake Manning. But it wasn’t Esther.”
“Do they know who?” Ria wanted to bite back her words as soon as she’d said them.
“Her name was Rebecca Salisbury. She died ten years before Esther was born. But every time there’s a chance we’re going to get an answer, everything stops.”
She nodded, unsure if he could see the motion. Even more unsure if it mattered.
“That’s why I wasn’t at school.”
“That must . . .” Ria couldn’t find the right word but she felt it.
“Yes,” he said.
He gently slapped his hand against the bed of the trampoline, sending vibrations across the fabric.
She tapped in reply.
“I’m going to release stress.” He stood, suddenly, awkwardly, looking unsure but determined.
He got into jumping position, legs straddled, hands out. She kept her distance, so as not to throw off his balance. Finally, she had to laugh. “Jumping usually means actually going up. And then down. Off the surface.”
“Right! Like I’m doing.”
“Give me your hands.” She bounced lightly toward him.
“I can’t. I’m busy jumping right now.”
She bent her legs, pushed a little harder, rose a little higher, lifting him with her bounce. His hands reached toward hers, stopping an inch before they touched. Up and down.