Part 9

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When I appear at the river to visit Sam his face is hopeful, and I hate to see it extinguished when I tell him I’m not ready to go yet.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just wanted to visit you.” I shuffle my feet, flattening grass under my shoes. “I’m still going to do something but I need a break…”

            Sam nods, and gestures at the grassy river bank. “Welcome, have a seat.” Like he’s inviting me into his parlor.

            I grin, and drop down onto the ground, kicking my sneakers off so I can put my feet in the cool grass. I can only feel it faintly. “Why can’t I feel anything? I mean, I can’t feel things properly. But I can put my feet on the ground. If we go through everything else, how come we don’t just fall clean through the earth and into outer space?”

            Sam laughs, and he sits beside me and slides his own shoes off, wiggling his toes. “I have no idea.”

            I pick up one of my shoes and run my fingers over it. The canvas fabric feels real under my fingers. I twist the shoe laces between my finger tips.

            “So is this a ghost shoe? If I throw it at someone will they feel it?”

            Sam quirks one eyebrow at me and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “Well, you can try. I suspect it’s sort of just part of you now though. I don’t think it would work.”

            “Let’s see.” I thrust my shoe at the nearest tree, and it sinks inside up to my fingers. “Ugh!” I yank my shoe back and toss it on the ground. “I hate seeing that.”

            Sam shrugs, he lies back on the grass and tucks his hands behind his head. “You get used to it. It freaked me out the first couple times, but it’s pretty useful actually. We can take short cuts through doors and walls.’


            “True.” I flop backwards beside him and stretch out in the grass. My fingers brush his and I draw my hand back sharply, worried that he’ll think I did it on purpose. “Sorry.”

            “That’s okay.” Sam turns his head to look at me and I flush a little under the intensity of his stare. “I don’t mind.”

            I blink rapidly, pretending to stare at the clouds. Did he mean “I don’t mind” in a way that meant he liked it? Or in a that’s-okay-but-don’t-touch-me-again kind of way? I stay frozen in the grass, not daring to twitch a finger.

            Something brushes the palm of my hand and my heart races. I glance over to see that Sam has slid his hand sideways and the tips of his fingers are resting in my hand. He’s telling me it’s my move now. I swallow, my stomach fluttering excitedly. Come on, Bree, I tell myself, this isn’t high school. Just relax. Sam is different though, somehow just the touch of his fingers on my hand is making me flush hot and cold. I curl my fingers upwards, weaving them through his, holding onto his hand like it will save me. There’s something so reassuring about his firm grip on mine. Something that tells me everything will be all right.

            Beside me Sam sighs, a happy sound, and shuts his eyes. His lips curve upwards in a smile. “Do you remember that time we made mud pies?”

            I laugh. “Yes. It was your brilliant idea as I recall. We were going to create a mud pie bakery and sell our pies all over the world.”

            “It would have been a smash hit,” he murmurs, and I grin.

“Yeah right. It was sure a smash hit with my mother. She freaked. I had mud everywhere possible.”

            My smile fades a little when I picture Mom’s face, and that hollow ache starts up again. “Sam…I don’t know how I’m going to say goodbye to my parents, when we eventually go over. They can’t hear me. I can’t communicate in any way. It isn’t like the movies where I can move alphabet magnets on the fridge, or there’s an etch-a-sketch waiting for me. I can’t spell out a magic message. I can’t do anything…” I trail off miserably.

            Sam sits up, pulling me up with him, and we sit side by side looking down into the river. He’s still holding my hand tightly, and I’m glad, because I think it might be the only thing keeping me from shattering into little pieces.

            “It doesn’t matter if there’s no magic etch-a-sketch. You’ll find a way, Bree,” he says. “You love your parents, and even if you never get to tell them that, they know that.”

            I shake my head, eyes watering. “I said horrible things to them the day before I left. I told them they were bad parents, I told them they should just go and not come back…” I choke on my tears, unable to go on, and Sam lets go of my hand and reaches around my shoulders, pulling me close to him. I lay my head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. He smells like the woods, like fresh air and pine.

            “Come see me tomorrow too,” he says quietly. “Come see me every day if you can. Even if you aren’t ready to come with me, I need to see you.” He hesitates. “and I think…I think you’re going to need to see me.”

            I nod silently. Something tells me he’s right.

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