urn in a perfect arc. The lake’s dark surface ripples when they hit. The reverberation lingers, echoing inside of me.
“Good-bye, Dad,” I whisper. “I love you.”
In that moment, I feel Iris’s warmth and hear her words, hushed and reverent in my head: I loved him, too.
Needing her comfort too much to send her away, I mentally fold into her, and when my knees threaten to buckle, it’s as if Iris bears my weight and holds me up.
Sylvie is a high-energy person—a walking nerve ending. She’s never struck me as overly sensitive. Sylvie’s more of a tough girl. Which is why I know she’s sincerely emotional when she walks to the edge of the lake and hugs me as people are starting to leave.
“Sorry, chica,” she murmurs.
“Thanks for coming.” We step apart.
“I figured you’d need your friends around you,” she says in the raspy voice I’ve always envied. “What happened to your dad just sucks.”
I’m grateful for her bluntness and the fact that she’s not treating me as if I’m made of glass. “He was the best,” I tell her, my entire body throbbing with loss. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.”
We’re both quiet for a few moments, uncomfortable with each other all of a sudden. Death does that, I’ve discovered. Makes it difficult to know what to say, even for no-nonsense people like Sylvie.
Suddenly, she lifts a silver-studded brow, and nudges me with her elbow. “What’s his story?” she asks in a low voice.
I glance at her. “Who?”
“Mr. Intense.”
I follow her gaze past Paula and Sal, and my stomach flips over as I zero in on the hiker who helped me with Dad and Cookie after the accident.
“He’s been watching you,” Sylvie whispers.
I duck my head, embarrassed. “Everyone’s been watching me.”
“Not like that. Who is he?”
“He’s the hiker who found us on the mountain.” I glance at him again. He’s talking to Dad’s old friend Tony Dimitri, but Sylvie is right; he’s looking at me. “I should go say hi,” I tell her.
“Sure. Go ahead. I’ll call you later.” Sylvie waves at Wyatt and calls out, “Hey, Goob!” He glances in our direction and makes a face.
“At least he knows his name,” she says smugly. “Guess I’ll go see what he’s been up to.”
As she heads for Wyatt, I start off toward the hiker and Mr. Dimitri, weaving through a scattering of people and acknowledging murmured words of sympathy.
“I missed your name the other day when you were in the coffee shop,” Mr. Dimitri is saying to the hiker when I join them.
“I’m Ty Collier.” They shake hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself.”
Mr. Dimitri notices me and offers his condolences. I slip my hands into my coat pockets and say, “Don’t let me interrupt.”
He smiles. “You aren’t.”
I look at Ty and instantly blush. “Hello,” I murmur, mortified by my reaction to him.
“Hi, Lily,” he says in that same soothing voice I remember so well. “It’s great to see you.”
There’s something about him that’s sweet and gentle, yet also strong. I think again of how much he helped me when Dad was dying, how his calmness kept me afloat when I was about to drown. I was too frantic to notice much about him then, but I take in everything now. Ty isn’t tall, but he isn’t short, either, and he’s thin rather than lanky. Something makes him seem more mature than the guys from town. I try to look at him discreetly as he and Mr. Dimitri resume their conversation. He’s a little rumpled, his dark hair longish and shaggy, like he’s past due for a cut, and the dark blue shirt beneath his open coat is wrinkled. His eyes are deep set and brown, his mouth wide . . . and disarming. I feel myself starting to blush again and quickly glance up from his lips, noticing the thin scar that slices across his right cheekbone. It looks fairly new.
Mr. Dimitri asks, “Why Silver Lake, Ty?”
“I was just driving through and it caught my attention. I’m a freshman at Columbia but I took this semester off to do some traveling. Silver Lake’s a pretty place. I thought I might stay awhile and do a little hiking if I can find work to tide me over.”
“Construction?” Mr. Dimitri asks.
“Yeah, that. Or anything, really,” says Ty.
Dad’s friend pulls a card from his pocket and hands it to him. “Call me later and I’ll give you Tommy Carter’s number. He’s a contractor. He’s building a couple of