Edgewater Read online

  The love of an animal is an amazing thing, because it’s in the moment and unconditional. Orion didn’t question me or resent me for the long drive he’d just had to take, nor judge me for the fact that our summer plans had changed abruptly. To him I was the same person I always was. I didn’t need to try to be anything else to impress him—just give him another treat. He lowered his head toward mine. I could hear his breaths coming in short, even bursts, more calming than my mantra. In and out. In and out. This moment, as far as Orion knew, was just another good one between us. Maybe I should forget about the rest and be in it, too, the same way he was.

  I heard footsteps coming down the corridor, and I stood and grabbed a brush back off the shelf to look busy. I didn’t want to be seen as taking advantage of Naomi’s kindness, slacking off and staring at a horse instead of doing the work she’d prepaid me to do.

  “She’s down at the end,” I heard Altana say, her voice an octave higher than usual.

  And then a voice—that voice—in reply: “Thank you so much.”

  Excitement rose up inside me, lighter than air. But just as quickly I was filled with dread, because I was so unprepared. My hair was pulled back in the same ponytail it’d been in since eight o’clock that morning and could only generously be called a ponytail now, with so many strands loosened up and falling around my face and with the hay and dirt stuck to it in different places like ornaments on a Christmas tree. You’d think I’d been rolling around in Orion’s stall. I was never the girl to care about whether my hair was out of place or if my jeans were smudged with mud, particularly when I was at the barn. But all of that changed right then, with Charlie’s footsteps echoing in the corridor. Closer, closer. I yanked the hairband out and ran Orion’s mane comb through my own hair quickly—an act of pure desperation.

  I ducked out of the stall and met Charlie in the corridor. “Hey,” I said. “You didn’t tell me you’d be coming by today.”

  “This is why I couldn’t get a haircut,” Charlie said. “I needed to see you.”

  My cheeks warmed, and I didn’t know if it was because Charlie Copeland—Charlie Copeland—had just said the most romantic thing a guy had ever said to me, or if it was because he’d come here, just to see me, and I was such a mess. I dusted a patch of dirt off my jeans as surreptitiously as I could. “Really?”

  “Really.” His fingers reached for the collar of my shirt, and he pulled me to him. I hung on and breathed him in. There was something fresh and salty about him, as if he’d just bathed in the ocean.

  Orion nickered from the stall door. “Hey, boy,” I said.

  “So, this is your guy,” Charlie said.

  “This is my guy. Charlie Copeland, I’d like you to meet Hunting Achievement.”

  “I thought he was Orion.”

  “His registered name is Hunting Achievement,” I said. “Orion is what his friends call him.”

  “What do I have to do to get friend status?” Charlie asked.

  “Give him one of these,” I said, producing a sugar cube. “Just keep your palm open and flat. Don’t worry. He won’t bite.”

  “Of course he won’t,” Charlie said. He held his hand out, letting Orion lick whatever infinitesimal bits of sugar remained. “We’re friends already.”

  “I wish I hadn’t promised Naomi I’d stick around,” I said. “She’s coming back from a show, and I said I’d help her unload and get all the horses settled in. It may go pretty late.”

  Which meant I would get a nice wad of overtime pay—money I would’ve given up in retrospect to be able to have dinner with Charlie, foolish as that may have been.

  “I didn’t come here to invite you out,” Charlie said.

  “Oh, sorry.” Why had I been so presumptuous? “I just . . . never mind.”

  “I came here to see what the Dynamic Duo can do.”

  “You want to watch me ride?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Well, okay,” I said. “I have to get him ready first.”

  “Tack him, you mean? I know the lingo. I can even help.”

  I led Orion down the corridor to an empty set of crossties to get him ready. Altana, along with Jen, ducked into a nearby stall, carrying supplies to clean it out. They were taking much longer than what the task called for, especially since there were two of them. And anyway, mucking a stall was neither of their jobs; it was mine. Their conversation was muffled, but occasionally the word Copeland escaped. My cheeks blazed, and I wasn’t sure why I was embarrassed, especially because Charlie seemed impervious. I grabbed Orion’s lead line and walked him to an empty ring outside, where a small jumps course was already set up. The ground hadn’t been raked since the last ride, so there were spots of dirt kicked up. But I’d paced these jumps on foot a hundred times and ridden them a hundred more. And so had Orion.

  Charlie sat on the small set of bleachers outside the ring, and I mounted my horse. “That’s him,” I whispered to Orion. “That’s the guy I was telling you about. Let’s put on a good show.” We cantered in a wide circle, and I pointed Orion toward the first jump, an ascending oxer. For a split second Beth-Ann Bracelee was in my head, but then Orion was in the air and hurdling over. “Good boy, good boy,” I said.

  I felt Charlie’s eyes on me, but I made myself stay focused. When you’re competing, you know you’re being watched. But you can’t look at the judges. You need to keep your vision trained on the space between your horse’s ears.

  Orion jumped a couple of small verticals—easy-peasy, as natural as breathing. I turned him toward a parallel oxer. He tucked his legs neatly under his body, and we soared over. I eased him into a trot, and only then did I let myself look up at Charlie, who was standing at his seat, shielding his eyes with one hand. A part of me wanted to impress him further, take Orion over to the advanced course and really show off his skills. Unlike Beth-Ann’s horse, my Orion could practically jump the moon. But he’d been traveling all day, and even with Charlie Copeland in the audience, my horse’s well-being came first.

  Orion walked around the outer ring, nodding his head. I patted the back of his neck. “Good boy, good boy.”

  We slowed to a stop in front of Charlie. “Well done, team!” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said. I dismounted on the left; you always mount and dismount on the left—part tradition and part safety measure. Then I came around to face Charlie. “I have to untack and shower him now,” I said somewhat apologetically.

  A lot of girls I knew would pass their horses off the instant they dismounted, but I never minded the follow-up tasks. Until now, when suddenly my love for Orion had to compete with my desire to stay longer with Charlie. And just when I no longer had a choice; it was my job to do those things not only for Orion, but for other people’s horses, too.

  “I’ll help you,” Charlie said.

  “You want to help shower my horse?”

  “Is that all right with you?”

  “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

  “Do you like if I do?”

  “That depends,” I said.

  “On what?”

  “On what the question is.”

  “What if the question is, are you glad I’m here?”

  I blushed. “Yeah.”

  “What question are you answering right now?”

  “Either,” I said. “Both.”

  I was so happy, in a way I would’ve thought impossible when I came back to Idlewild for the summer. We headed back to the barn, Orion between Charlie and me. I clipped him into cross-ties in the shower stall and removed his sweaty tack. Charlie put it aside for me, and I turned on the hose. Per usual, Orion tried to kick me away when the spray hit.

  “Easy,” Charlie said uneasily.

  “He’s okay,” I said. I turned the water pressure down slightly. “This just isn’t his favorite activity.”

  “Has he ever hurt you?”

  “Not in the shower,” I said. “But yeah, I’ve gotten pretty banged up over th
e years. The worst was when I first got him. It was the third or fourth time I was riding him, and this huge horsefly went right for his backside. Orion took off, and I was like a hood ornament, just along for the ride. I fell off and broke my arm.”

  “You could’ve been killed.”

  I shrugged. “It’s the risk you take,” I told him.

  “You say that so casually, like it’s no big deal if you live or die. Death is a big deal, you know.”

  I hesitated. Orion whinnied and stamped his foot. I patted his rump, right where the fly had gotten him all those years ago. “You’re almost done,” I said, and then I turned back to Charlie. “I just meant, you know what you’re getting into when you ride. At some point you’re going to fall off, and you know in advance how dangerous it is. But there are lots of precautions to take. My arm healed, and I got back on the horse.”

  “Literally.”

  I was pretty sure he said literally because of what I’d told him about Nathan, so now we had an inside joke between us. I grinned. “Literally,” I repeated.

  After the shower, we walked Orion out to pasture. Knowing him, there was a fifty percent chance he’d roll around in the dirt. But I’d groom him before our next ride, and we’d begin again. The cycle of life as a horse owner. Charlie came with me to the tack room to put the supplies away. When I stood up from the trunk, he was right behind me, and he pulled me in for a kiss.

  “Wait, Charlie,” I said.

  “What?”

  I shook my head. I knew that the further I let myself go, the more it was going to hurt down the line when he left—which he inevitably would. I could feel the warmth of him all through my body, even though we weren’t touching. Every part of me trembled, from the top of my head to the tips of my fingers and toes. Even though I couldn’t understand why Charlie wanted anything to do with me, even though I wanted to protect myself, I wanted him more. I tipped my head up, and my eyes met his gaze.

  He leaned in and kissed me, closing the gap between us. I felt his face on my face, his chest against mine. He held me tightly against him. I’d never wanted to be so close to another person.

  And then there were voices in the corridor. I heard my name, and Charlie’s name, and I broke away.

  “It’s okay,” Charlie said.

  “They’re talking about us,” I told him.

  “I know,” he said softly, so that his words seemed part of his breaths. “When I was little, I called them the Copeland birds. For the noises they make. They think they’re being so discreet that you can’t hear them, but of course you can. Chirp, chirp, chirp, like little birds.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you?” I asked. “Or distract you?”

  “I’ve never known it to be any other way.” Which, of course, didn’t answer the question.

  “Excuse me?” Altana called. “Lorrie? Are you in there?”

  I moved toward the stall door, but Charlie gripped my hand. “I’m here,” I called back.

  “Oh.” There was a pause, as if she hadn’t thought through what to ask me when I answered. “Did Galaxy get her Farrier’s Formula today?”

  “She did,” I said. Charlie raised an eyebrow. “It’s for hoof growth,” I told him.

  I heard footsteps, more than just one pair, and then Altana was peeking her head into the doorway, along with Jen and Claire Glidewell. As far as I knew, Claire had never before stuck around the barn to hang out with Altana and Jen.

  “Sorry to bother you,” Altana said. She was looking at Charlie, not me. “We were waiting for you guys to come out.”

  “Is everything all right?” I asked.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “I’m Claire,” Claire said, stepping forward and thrusting a hand toward Charlie. “I’m an old friend of Lorrie’s.”

  “Good to meet you,” Charlie said.

  “It’s great to meet you,” Claire said. She turned to me. “And, Lorrie—I heard you’re working here.”

  I nodded stiffly.

  “But you were supposed to be at Woodscape all summer.”

  “There was a change of plans,” I said.

  “So you’re living at home, then?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s got to be . . . interesting,” she said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I mean, I haven’t been to your house in years. Not since your—what was it? Your ninth birthday party?” She didn’t pause for me to reply. “When your aunt said we could each take a kitten home as a party favor? She let me take two, because I couldn’t decide between a white one and a gray one.”

  My cheeks blazed as she recounted the story. I hadn’t had a birthday party since.

  “My mom would’ve gone mad if I’d brought home a kitten, let alone two of them,” Jen said.

  “Oh, my mom did,” Claire told her. “I cried for a week when my mom said I couldn’t keep them.” She turned to me. “I wasn’t allowed to play at your house anymore. Not that you’ve invited me.”

  I could feel judgment all around me, like the dust and grime of Edgewater. The blissful feeling of having Charlie there had been popped like a bubble. I wished I could blink him away from my side. Or blink and make myself disappear. It certainly wasn’t the first time I’d wished to disappear. Instead, I stood there, completely visible, and praying that Claire wouldn’t say any further incriminating things about me.

  Jen started giggling, and my cheeks went hotter and redder, knowing the joke was on me. “What?” Claire asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Jen said. “It’s just that you look exactly like you do in your pictures.”

  “Well, of course he does,” Altana said.

  Oh, good. They were back on Charlie.

  “I think you’re even cuter in person,” Claire told him. “Can I get a picture?” She didn’t wait for a response before she pushed herself against him and held out her phone to take a selfie. Then of course Jen and Altana wanted pictures, too.

  “Listen,” Claire said. “I’m meeting a bunch of people at Crescent for dinner. You guys should come.”

  “Oh, I can’t,” I said.

  “I heard your membership lapsed,” she told me. “But it’s not a problem. You can be my guests. All of you.” She swept her arm in a gesture of generosity.

  Altana and Jen were nodding in assent, thrilled for the chance to have dinner with Charlie. But my heart was racing, and I couldn’t get enough air. It was bad enough to be here with Charlie and these girls who knew too much about me. But to have to stay behind here and work while he went out with them—who knew what stories they’d spill in my absence? Certainly I’d never see him again. Or, worse, he’d fall for Claire, who didn’t live a life of land mines, and I’d see him when he came to the barn to watch her ride.

  Every time I played the movie in my head of what might happen if Charlie found out the truth about me, it never ended well.

  Charlie checked the time on his cell phone. “Thanks for the invite, but I’ve got to get going,” he said.

  A whiplash of relief slammed my body.

  “But I’ll come by again soon, if it’s okay with you.”

  “Yeah. It’s okay with me,” I said.

  He gave me a last peck on the lips. I was too shell-shocked from leftover fear to appreciate the looks of jealousy from the other girls. For one brief, flickering moment, they might have even wanted to switch places with me. “See you around,” Charlie said. “Soon.” And then he was gone.

  16

  GHOST EYES

  HOURS LATER I PUSHED OPEN THE FRONT DOOR AT Edgewater, accidentally knocking it into Prince Valiant, a geriatric, one-eyed orange tabby. “Sorry, old guy,” I said. I reached down to pick him up, something I rarely did with my sister’s creatures, and stroked his fur. Prince Valiant slowly blinked his remaining eye, which Susannah had once told me was a sign that he liked me. A kitty kiss.

  I walked to the floor lamp in the corner, but when I turned the switch, it didn’t go on. I hoped we had extra bulbs, though I suspecte
d not. But I could always switch it out with a lightbulb from a less important lamp in a less important room. I moved deeper into the house, flipping light switches along the way. But the house remained dark.

  I found Gigi in the library at the end of the hall, sitting in a club chair by one of Edgewater’s nine nonworking fireplaces. The room smelled the way just about every other room in the house did. But different, as if each room had been sprayed with a different scent of a line of perfumes. Eau de Decay, I’d call the line. Here in the library you could get a whiff of Decay Number Five: Book Mold.

  I flipped one last switch, by the door. Nothing happened.

  “Gigi,” I said.

  At the sound of my raised voice, Prince Valiant clawed to be put down, and when I did so, he tore out of the room. My aunt turned to me. Above her hung an oil painting of my mother as a child. My grandfather had commissioned somber-looking portraits of all the family members. They were hung around the room in custom-made gilt frames, each under its own spotlight. In the darkness Mom’s childhood brown eyes looked like holes cut out of the portrait. It might as well have been a portrait of a ghost.

  “Oh, Lorrie,” Gigi said. “I thought you were out with Susannah and Brian.”

  “When have I ever been out with Susannah and Brian?”

  “They said they were going to a carnival. I remember taking you when you were small. You insisted on playing ring toss until you’d won enough times to trade up for the exact prize you wanted. Now I bet you don’t even know where that stuffed unicorn is, but I do.”

  “You’ve got to tell me where the money is, Gigi. We’ve got to take care of these bills.”

  “Look at what’s out there.” Gigi stood and stepped toward a window. Her voice was soft, as if it was coming from across a distance.

  “What?”

  “A hundred years ago, we would’ve been living off the fruits of our land. No reason we can’t do it now. We have everything we need right in front of us.”

  “Listen to yourself,” I said. “You sound crazy. This isn’t a hundred years ago, and nothing grows on our land besides dandelions.”