A knock interrupts our tortured staring at the floor, windows, and counters. Anything but each other. Both my mother and I start. She glances at the clock, and I follow her gaze. It is high noon.
Mum straightens and starts toward the door. “Most likely Nightshade is here. He checks on you every day around this time.”
I lay my head on the counter and groan. Then I glare at her. “Send him away! I am not talking to him right now. I am talking to no one. You don’t understand the team dynamic between us. I can’t do this. Please don’t! Mum!”
She barely gives me a glance as she walks to the door. “You are going to be talking to the person who has cared enough about you to help me by watching you when I work and telling me about your organization. Don’t move, Lark.” Oh. Dear. Me. She never calls me by my first name. No use arguing now, don’t I know it.
I move faster than I thought possible. It makes my head split, but I am determined not to talk to him. Quickly, I jump down from my barstool seat and run for it. As I scoot out the door, the stool squeaks quietly as it turns in the now vacated room. I hear the front door opening and Mum greeting Nightshade. He replies. How in the world did I forget about that voice? So deep and calming. He always thinks about what he does before he does it, which makes him seem wiser. This does not change my mind about talking to him, but it is an interesting thought.
A moment later, I am standing on the mossy path beside our house wondering which way to go. This path goes almost anywhere on this mountain range. It has been worn down by generations of goats and bare feet.
Hesitating will never do. I can hear my mom yelling for me inside and Nightshade’s quiet voice saying confidently that he will find me. He probably will, and that makes me annoyed. I whirl in a circle. Which way to go? The porch door squeaks and I barely glance his stubborn profile as I follow a goat trail deep into a ravine.
I slip down a few boulders, bruising my toes and getting slime all over my butt. I look down, and realize suddenly what I am wearing. My favorite jeans. The jeans my father got me. Now, they are stained for good. I consider crying about it. Nope. No time.
When I finally reach the bottom of the ravine, thick moss cradles my already sore feet. The stone cliffs on either side of me are covered in slime and dripping water. The ravine is made up of hairpin turn after hairpin turn. I run harder than I ever have. Slower too, it feels like. This last month of doing nothing has really taken a toll on my strength and stamina.
Stolen novel; please report.
Cold water inside the moss I am running on squirts between my toes and I remember that I usually wear shoes for the climb to the particular place I have in mind. I sarcastically tell myself, “Well, me, since you are so worried about shoes why don’t you just yell for Nightshade to grab your tennies?” Only, I don’t think of him as Nightshade. I pause. Just as I start digesting that nugget of information, I hear his footsteps in the ravine behind me. Crap. Crud. Shucks. Drat. Blast it off. I forgot how fast that kid was.
Taking all the confusing turns with no hesitation due to the fact that I have lived here for years, I run to the only place he won’t know about. The Nest. Up, out of the ravine. Down a brushy slope. Up a slippery, stony hill. If feet could cry, mine would. I gingerly prance along the base of the cliffs right to the lakes edge, trying to spare my toes.
As was my brother’s habit, and now mine, I throw a quick prayer up into the sky at this special place. I thank God for the fantastic view. I may also mention that there are plenty of convenient places for Nightshade to break both his legs between where I am and where he is.
Then, I continue up the shore to the boulder graveyard. Weaving my way through the awesome boulders that come in all different shapes and sizes (like people, my brother always said), I find my favorite one. It is bowl shaped, and my body fits perfectly in its stony, sheltering curves. It always has.
I curl up, and pull my arms into my favorite sweatshirt and tuck my knees up inside as well. And there I hide. Oh, and cry. I cry too.
My head hurts. My feet hurt. I am freezing and getting colder by the second as the boulder absorbs my body heat and sucks my motivation right out of me (it seems). I simply have to wait for Nightshade to give up. As I wait in misery, I think.
My father always said to avoid thinking too much when your emotions are out of control. Today, I ignore his advice. What will I do now? I have no friends, my mother is much too controlling. Should I run away? What is my purpose without my organization? Should I start a new one?
I hear heavy breathing some distance away and shrink farther into myself. I wish he would just go jump in a frozen lake, drat it. Didn’t God hear my little suggestion? I wiggle a bit deeper into the Nest. The stone is starting to warm up now.
My heart rate goes up as Nightshade moves closer. I have been laying here for maybe five minutes. How did he find me so fast? I almost sigh in frustration, but hold it back just in time. Nightshade walks right by me with no change in his walking speed. I must not have left obvious tracks. I relax, just slightly.
The Sun peeps over a mountain peak and warms me more than ever. With the edges of my stone bowl blocking the wind, I could almost sleep here. In fact, my mind and body are tired from this whole ordeal. Maybe when I wake up, my headache will be gone. Maybe all my problems will disappear. We can only hope.