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motion, her mind was at rest. As she d wound her way
among the headstones, she found that it wasn t only
her feet that went numb. She liked this the not think­
ing. It felt good.
 I m not a quitter, especially after I ve pinched a
warm coat, she told him.  And by the way, I don t think
you meant to say  cold-blooded. That s like a reptile. A
lizard would die in this cold.
He laughed, and she liked the sound of it, deep and
masculine.  I stand corrected. Hanging out with you is
like dating a teacher.
 Gee. Thanks. But his words made her pulse beat
faster. He d said the word  date.
127
 That sounded sarcastic.
 Really? She grinned.  You think I m sarcastic?
Watch me pretend to care.
 Oh, you re funny, Cameryn. I like that. I like some­
one I can laugh with. And since I am a Scout and I
have pledged to help those in need, I ll now selflessly
help keep your fingers from freezing off. It s the least I
can do.
He held out his hand. Timidly, she placed hers in his.
Inside, her mind was awake again. Now it was scream­
ing, Too fast, too fast, too fast!
 Your hand is so small, he murmured.  It s like a
kid s. His felt surprisingly warm as it closed around
hers.  Let s move out, he told her.
Leaning back as if on a rope tow, Cameryn raced after
him through the graves, weaving around headstones as
though they were buoys in water. It was fun to run this
way. She felt the last of the day s horror fading away as
her feet churned through patches of snow.
She d always thought this was the place she d like
to be buried. Unlike most cemeteries, Hillside, as its
name implied, had been carved into a foothill. Layered
like a wedding cake, with snow instead of frosting and
headstones in place of confectioners roses, it had a
history of miners and prostitutes, mayors and madams.
They wove around a mass grave from the flu epidemic
of 1918. Farther along was a mausoleum boasting a
128
Russian princess, a woman named Edna Harris who d
been embroiled in a bizarre love triangle that included the
man who became the chief architect of Silverton. Silverton
had always been strangely proud of its scandalous past,
and Cameryn was proud, too. She d like to spend her after­
life talking with such an eclectic group of corpses.
They raced past plots where whole families were
buried behind spiked fences, hemming them in like a
prizefighter s ring. Some, like the family she streaked
by on her right, seemed cheerful in death: moonlight
revealed their headstones decorated with beads and
glass trinkets, whirligigs, and Hawaiian leis. Other
graves, though, told a different story headstones erased
by a century of harsh weather, or tipped over by gravity
and neglect. It saddened her to realize that even under
the cover of night, she could easily tell who d been for­
gotten.
 We made it, he said.  Come on, have a seat.
He sat down on a wooden bench positioned to face a
tombstone. Cameryn squeezed in beside him. There was
barely room for the two of them, so their legs pressed
together again, as they had in the restaurant, but this
time she couldn t move away. And she wasn t sure she
would have, even if there d been miles of room.
 Okay, she said,  what am I supposed to see?
Kyle hesitated.  There, he said, pointing to a head­
stone.
129
It was an old-fashioned grave marker made to look like
the pages of an open Bible. Carved on the granite were
letters denoting someone s death. Since it was too dark
for Cameryn to read, she asked,  What does it say?
 It says,  Mary Fitzgerald, 1966. My anam cara. 
 Who s Mary Fitzgerald? she asked.  And what s an
anam cara?
 She s my grandmother. My mother s mother.
 Oh. I m sorry.
 Don t be. Anam cara is Gaelic. Anam is the Irish word
for  soul and cara is the word for  friend. So it means
 soul friend. That was my grandfather s name for her.
When he put his hand on her arm, she could barely
feel it through the coat s thick padding, but her nerves
began to prickle beneath her skin. He was leaning in,
nearer. Too fast, too fast, too fast, raced through her
mind again.
 Aren t you cold? she asked.
 I m warmer, now that we re close.
 I can give you back your coat.
 You keep it.
The bench was at the edge of the cemetery, next to the
tree line, and beyond Kyle s head she could see branches
touching branches, holding hands in moonlight, as if
they could keep back the invisible legion of trees covered
in shadow. Then she had a crazy thought: She d been like
those trees not the ones on the edge that were easily
130
seen, but the ones behind, hiding in that vast, unseen,
evergreen army marching up the mountainside. She d
been hiding from her mammaw and her father and, most
frightening of all, from herself. And here was Kyle, want­
ing to draw her out.
 Anam cara, she said, turning the words in her mouth.
 I like that.
She felt his hand stroking hers.  I was . . . I was think­
ing that you and me . . . we have something like that now.
After today, I think we have anam cara.
 We do?
 We ve got a link to each other. I mean, we re the only
kids in school who saw Brad in that room. There s no one
else who can understand it. Just you . . . and I.
 Why did you bring me here? she asked softly.
 Honestly?
 Yes. Her one word made a single puff in the cold air.
 So we could be alone. Where no one could see. And so
I could do this.
And then he was kissing her, kissing the girl who d
hardly ever been kissed. She could feel the whiskers of
his upper lip against her own, rough as sandpaper, and
beneath that she could taste the lingering taste of choco­
late mint. His hands caressed her neck as he pulled her
closer, but then his tongue entered her mouth and she
pulled away.
 Don t, she said.
131
He didn t seem to hear. He kissed her again.
 Wait, she said, louder this time.  I can t.
Now he did hear. Pulling back from her, she saw he was
frowning, but puzzled, too.
 What s the matter? Are you going with someone?
 Going? No. That s not it. A picture of Justin flashed
through her mind, but she quickly dismissed his image.
Her father said Justin was too old for her, and maybe
that was true. But more importantly, Justin had already
seen inside her head. He understood her weaknesses.
No, if she ever began a relationship, she d want to be
able to show herself in the most flattering light, then
slowly reveal herself. She couldn t do that with Justin. He
already knew too much.
 If it s not another guy, then . . . why?
 Kyle, I just can t. I just can t get involved with some­
one anyone right now.
 Why not?
How could she tell him about Hannah, and how she
couldn t squeeze out one more drop of herself for anyone?
That her life was already too difficult and was about to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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