“Tell me.”
She talked until the room grew dark. Then she lay still and quiet, listening to the surf crash.
“I was the first person to hold you,” Maggie said. “Did you know that?”
Shasta shook her head.
“It’s true. I pulled you out and held you before I gave you to your mother. You were so small you fit in my two hands.”
Shasta smiled.
“Do you want something to eat?” Maggie asked.
“I’m just tired.”
“Get some rest. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
“Bowie needs to be walked,” Shasta said.
“I’ll let them know.”
“Tell them I’m sorry.”
“Sleep, now.”
She woke late, still wearing her soiled hiking clothes, and padded downstairs to the kitchen.
Maggie was at the breakfast table with her mother and Jason.
The three of them stopped talking when she entered. The way they looked reminded her of a word from AP World History: tribunal.
Maggie said, “Good morning, young lady. How are you feeling?”
Jason pulled out a chair. “Please sit, kitten.”
Her mother said nothing.
Shasta shuffled to the table.
“You must be starving,” Maggie said. “What can I get you?”
“Coffee.”
“Coming right up.”
“Here,” Leonie said, sliding Shasta a plate of toast.
“I’m not hungry,” Shasta said.
“You need your strength.”
Shasta picked up a piece of toast. It was cold.
Maggie brought a mug. “There you are.”
The coffee was lukewarm, too. The three of them had been there awhile. A conclusion had been reached. Jason delivered it.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
That made her feel worse. Whose fault was it, if not hers? She wanted it to be her fault.
“What do I do now?” she said.
“You don’t do anything,” Leonie said. “We’re handling it.”
Shasta knew what that meant. They’d do nothing.
She said, “Shouldn’t we, I don’t know. Call someone?”
“Who would you like to call?” Leonie said.
“I don’t know. His mom?”
“Do you have her phone number?”
“No, but... The police? Don’t they need to know?”
Maggie said, “It’s better not to involve them.”
“So what,” Shasta said. “We can’t just... Leave him out there.”
Jason said, “I’ll get the map, and you can show me where he is.”
“I’m coming with you,” Shasta said.
Maggie and Jason exchanged a look.
“You don’t need to do that,” Maggie said.
“I want to.”
“I think you’ve gone through quite enough already.”
“He’s dead.”
“It was an accident,” Leonie said.
“No.” Shasta buried her face in her hands. “No.”
“This is not your fault, kitten,” Jason said.
“Don’t say that. You don’t know that.”
“That’s what you told Maggie,” Leonie said.
“No,” Shasta said, shaking her head.
“No? It wasn’t an accident? Did you lie to her?”
“I—” Shasta uncovered her face and focused on Maggie. “Why did you tell them that?”
“Because it’s the truth,” Leonie said, “and beating yourself up won’t bring him back.”
Maggie said, “The important thing, now, is to protect you.”
“I don’t want to be protected,” Shasta said. “I didn’t ask for that.”
“The thing is,” Jason said, “this affects all of us. Not just you.”
“How.”
“What?”
“How does it affect you.”
Now they were smiling at her, all three of them. Fearful, frozen smiles.
“You’ve had a terrible day,” Leonie said. “Why don’t you take a nice hot shower.”
“I don’t want to take a shower.”
“It’ll make you feel better.”
“I don’t want to take a shower, I want you to tell me what’s going on.”
Jason said, “Kitten—”
“Stop it. All of you. Just stop.”
Maggie said, “She deserves to know.”
Leonie glared at her.
“It’s only a matter of time.”
“Shut up,” Leonie snapped. To Shasta: “Go take a shower.”
“No,” Shasta said.
“I’m not asking you. Go.”
“No.”
Silence.
“Last year,” Leonie said, “you wanted a new bike. Do you remember what it cost?”
“I don’t know. A lot.”
“How much?”
“You don’t have to lecture me about money.”
Leonie slammed the table. Plates jumped. “How much.”
“I... I don’t know.”
“Eleven thousand dollars.”
“Fine.”
“No. Not ‘fine.’ You want to know? You deserve to know? Then close your spoiled brat mouth, and pay attention. Your bike,” Leonie said, ticking off on her fingers, “your horses. Bowie. The food you eat. Everything you have, that we have, it comes from somewhere.”
“Stop, all right? I get it.”
“I don’t think you do. Our house.” Leonie pointed to Maggie. “Her house, and everything that she has. Everything you see, when you walk outside. It comes from somewhere.”
Each word took a bite out of her heart.
“Do you know what a trust is?” Maggie asked.
Shasta shook her head.
“This land belonged to your grandfather. He gave it to your father, who gave it to you. That land is what helps pay for things.”
“For everything,” Leonie said.
“Right now,” Maggie said, “I help make the decisions for you. Until you turn eighteen.”
Shasta looked back and forth between them, her mother and the woman who’d first held her. She felt sick, she felt dizzy, her throat had gone dry. “Then what happens.”
“You make the decisions,” Leonie said.
“It’s going to be fine,” Maggie said. “You’re a smart girl.”
Shasta said, “What if I don’t want to?”
Nobody answered.
A new and frightening awareness spread through her.
They were afraid. These three adults she’d always relied on.
More than afraid. Terrified.
Of her.
What she might say.
What she might do.
Of her power.
Electricity rippled over her skin.
She looked at Jason. “I’m coming with you.”
The following day the two of them drove to Whitethorn Court. Jason parked on the grassy verge, took a shovel from the trunk, and unfolded a topo map, marked with the route and a square quarter-mile area beneath the roadside memorial.
They moved swiftly over the ridge and through the valley. It was a rare windless day, screaming hot.
He said, “Your mom loves you. I know it probably doesn’t always feel that way, but she does. And she’s had it hard. Take it from me.”
Shasta said nothing.
They picked their way along the base of the cliff till Jason drew up short.
A scrap of fabric hung limp from a snapped branch.
“Wait here,” he said.
He climbed through brambles; came back shaking his head. “You don’t want to.”
She pushed past him.
“Shasta. Please don’t.”
Thorns pricked her hands as she parted the thick, woody stalks and saw it.