to the mystery are hidden in the workshop, what will they tell me about my parents? In my mind, I see Mom’s gnarled hands trembling as she pulled the blanket higher. That splash of icy blue fear in her eyes. What is she afraid I’ll find out? What did Dad want me to know?
Go out to the workshop and see, breathes Iris.
I nibble my lip. What if the truth is something I’d rather not know?
Do it for me.
For her? I shove aside the curtain over my window, look out at the moon-bathed peaks, startled and shaken by Iris’s plea. I’ve been assuming she wants to solve this puzzle for me, but she sounds like she has a personal stake in putting it all together. What could she possibly stand to gain from learning about my tie to Winterhaven or who Jake is? Iris isn’t even human. She isn’t alive. She’s . . . I go still.
What are you, Iris?
Shaken, I stare at the shadowy east peak. A silent and brooding presence. Always standing guard. The few times I’ve asked myself about Iris’s existence, I’ve always dismissed my questions before they could take hold. What am I afraid of? That I’m insane? Or that there might be more to Iris than I ever dreamed?
Something I’ve never dared to let myself consider pushes to the front of my mind now, refusing to be ignored. “Who are you?” I whisper. “Were you ever alive?”
I don’t know. Help me remember.
Rain strikes the bedroom window and taps on the roof. A few drops, then dozens, then hundreds. The wind kicks up, and the cabin logs creak, as if complaining. Seems Mom was wrong when she told Ty we’d be having dry weather for the next several days.
I put the keys back in the drawer, anxiety gnawing at the pit of my stomach. Maybe it’s not the shop we should be searching, I tell Iris. Returning to the bed, I open my laptop.
For the next hour, I browse the Winterhaven website with thoughts of Ty, of Wyatt and Iris, of my parents and the items in the chest, coiling together like a braid in my mind.
11
Wyatt is busy with school on Friday, so we aren’t able to get together. I don’t see Ty, either. He calls early in the morning to say that he’s not coming to work since it’s raining and not supposed to let up all day. He sounds sad and edgy. I ask if he’s okay, and he claims he’s only tired because he didn’t sleep much last night. He asks if we can postpone our date tonight, too, and the moment we hang up, I start imagining all kinds of things. Mainly, that he’s decided to leave Silver Lake earlier than he’d planned. I can’t believe how much that possibility upsets me.
I spend the day searching the internet for more sites about Winterhaven and doing chores while Mom watches television and Cookie sleeps. Mom hasn’t cleaned the cabin since the accident, and it shows. I’ve been neglecting my chores, too. As I’m working, I have to choke back tears each time I run across something of Dad’s—one of his socks I missed the last time I did laundry, clinging to the back of the dryer; his toothbrush and beard trimmer in the downstairs bathroom; his work boots on his side of their bed.
On Saturday, Mom stays home while I take Cookie to the vet. She’s lost interest in everything, even whatever it was she was doing in Dad’s shop for so many days and nights.
When I arrive at the veterinary clinic, I’m surprised to see Ty’s shabby blue sports car across the street. He’s pacing the sidewalk, talking on his phone with his head down, so he doesn’t see me. Suddenly, he throws the phone, and when it breaks, he kicks his front tire hard.
I park, climb out of the Blazer, and turn toward the street, calling out to him and waving until I catch his attention. Ty waves back, then bends and grabs his phone off the ground, snapping the pieces back together.
Jogging over, he calls out, “Hey. I remembered you said Cookie had an appointment this morning. I thought you might want some company.”
“How did you know my mom didn’t come?” I ask, closing the door.
“I didn’t.” No trace of his anger from a few minutes ago shows on his face as he stops in front of me. “I took a chance. I’ve missed you.”