“Merri?”
“Okay,” she said. “Try to do better.”
And then she hung up.
NINETEEN
I
t was Abigail who wanted the rings. Patience said not to. And, of course, Sarah said nothing because she never had an opinion of her own. She swayed between the two of them, following whoever was stronger, not unlike Finley.
Finley had noticed the rings a few times, when she’d been up at the chalkboard, working through equations with Mrs. Frazier. Finley knew all about diamonds from her mother, who never tired of leafing through Tiffany catalogs, showing Finley the jewelry she liked, teaching her about cut, color, and clarity. And Amanda had plenty of gems of her own, a drawer full of glittering stones—some costume, some costly. Finley had grown to associate jewelry with apologies. When Phil screwed up, a little blue box appeared shortly after.
Mrs. Frazier’s engagement ring had a cushion-cut stone, more than a carat, but not quite two, with a neat row of smaller stones, alternating diamonds and blue sapphires around the band. It glittered and drew attention to itself, and Mrs. Frazier always had her nails done. And such pretty, soft hands. The wedding band was a simple matching ring of small diamonds.
Finley could tell how proud her teacher was of those rings. Leading up to her wedding, there had been a stack of wedding magazines in her drawer, along with a binder of all her plans. She was all business in the classroom; but Finley could see how happy she was, how excited. She’d slide the magazines out as soon as the classroom was empty; Finley would see them when she stayed after class for one
thing or another. One afternoon, Mrs. Frazier had showed Finley a picture of her dress, her ring and manicured nails glittering as she pointed to the picture. So pretty. Finley wondered what it would be like to be so happy, to be in love. Had her mother been so in love with her father once upon a time? Amanda said, yes, she’d never loved anyone like she’d loved Phil. And she probably never would again and maybe that was a good thing.
Mrs. Frazier took her rings off sometimes, put them in a little ring dish on her desk.
Take them
, whispered Abigail one day. Finley had been taking a make-up test, and Mrs. Frazier got up to go to the bathroom, an act of tremendous trust.
Finley knew better.
“No,” she whispered. “Go away.”
But wasn’t there, deep beneath what Finley knew was good and right, a throb of desire? Was it hers? Was it Abigail’s? The room was cold, smelled of chalk dust and mold, the fluorescents flickering their sickly blue-white light. Finley really
liked
Mrs. Frazier, formerly Miss Grant. Finley would
never
steal from her, or anyone. But those rings were so pretty. And what would it be like to have something like that?
He’ll buy her another one. No one would ever suspect you.
Sarah stood by the chalkboard looking uncertain, glancing at the door. Her dress was long and sky blue, in tatters around the hem. The girls all smelled faintly of smoke. Patience was by the window, staring at Finley with dark eyes. Her dress was black, buttoned high up the throat, her hair tightly pulled back. She looked the most like Faith, though Finley didn’t know that at the time. She never met Faith until she moved to The Hollows. There was anger etched deep around Faith’s eyes and into her brow, even around the corners of her mouth. It was righteous, the anger of a person who had been done wrong. Abigail, Faith’s most unruly daughter was angry, too. But she wanted to do harm. She wanted to hurt because she had been hurt. She didn’t give a damn about justice. Finley knew all of this without exactly having words for any of it.
Follow her lead and you’ll know nothing but heartache. Trust me,
said Patience
.
Shut up
, said Abigail venomously.
“Go away,” said Finley. “I have to finish the test.”
She ignored them and went back to work, using all her mental resources to block them out. When she was done, she put her head down on her desk. She was so tired when the girls were around; they exhausted her.
She must have drifted off, and Mrs. Frazier was leaning over her, her walnut hair falling in a pretty sheet, her cornflower eyes thickly lashed and worried. “Finley. Finley? Are you all right, sweetie?”
Finley roused herself as if from the deepest slumber, disoriented, a little confused, and with the sense that something was terribly wrong.
“You must still be a little under the weather,” Mrs. Frazier said, putting a hand to Finley’s forehead. Finley had been sick with the flu for a week, that was why she had to make up the test. She didn’t feel totally better. “I’ll wait with you out front until your mother comes.”
Somehow—
and Finley honestly and truly did
not
know how—those pretty, glittering rings wound up in her pocket. She must have gotten up from her seat, walked over, and put the rings in her pocket. But she had no memory of doing it. Had she discovered them herself, she’d have tried to find a way to return them without getting caught. Instead, they dropped out of her jeans when her mom was cleaning up her room that evening.
The shit storm that followed was epic. The suspension from school and grounding were bad enough. The disappointment of her parents and a beloved teacher was worse still. More than that, from that day forward Finley felt like she was a “bad kid.” Like there was something wrong with her that could not be fixed. She was a thief, a liar. Maybe that’s what attracted her to Rainer and his friends; they were bad, too. Her kid shrink believed Finley when she said she didn’t remember doing it. And he had suggested that it was some kind of fugue state, a dissociation, which in turn was a suggestion that Finley was seriously mentally ill. Which was scary enough that Finley tried to tell her mother the truth.
Naturally, her mother wouldn’t even hear her about The Three Sisters.
“Stop it, Finley,” she said. “Just stop it. You have to start taking responsibility for your own actions. I’m not buying this whole I-see-dead-people routine. It’s pure bullshit.”
What made it worse was that she knew her mother
did
believe her but just couldn’t accept that something she had tried so hard to control was beyond her abilities to manage.
“I want to go live with Mimi,” Finley had said miserably, using the name she’d used as a little girl for Eloise, during one of the million arguments that followed. “At least she understands.”
Finley still felt a pang when she thought about the look on her mother’s face—rigid with pain and anger, her eyes glittering with tears.
“Over my dead body,” Amanda had said softly, then left the room.
* * *
It was midnight when Finley knocked on Rainer’s door, fully aware of herself. He came to her sleep-tousled and let her inside. She shivered in the transition from cold to warm. She wasn’t dressed warmly enough for her bike, and she felt so stiff and cold that she could shatter like an icicle.
“You’re freezing,” he said. He shut the door and wrapped her up tight in his big arms. Despite all the drama that had characterized their relationship in the beginning, his friendship was the safest place in her life. He was wide open and always there for her. She’d pushed him away hard, but he’d followed after her just the same.
He let her go for a minute, then moved over to the thermostat and turned up the heat. When he returned, he proceeded to vigorously rub at her arms until she laughed.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I think so,” she said. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just had a weird night.”
She shouldn’t be here; she knew that. It was a mistake. Still, she found herself pouring out all the events of the day since she left him. She told him about her internet search and everything she’d found
out about the mines. There was a lot of information—old drawings, unofficial maps, photographs posted by cavers and spelunkers, old news articles about kids falling in and getting hurt, town meeting minutes about making them safer. They sat cross-legged on his mattress, for lack of any other furniture, as she showed him everything and told him about the things that had happened. She held back the part about Abigail, about not remembering sending him the text. That was a little too weird, even for Rainer.
“So,” he said. He held the maps she’d printed. “Are you working with him now? Are you a private detective?”
“I don’t know what I am,” she said for the second time that night. “But it feels right, what I did tonight.”
“So then it must be right.”
“Yeah?” she said. “Is that how it works? If it feels right, it’s right?”
Rainer shrugged. “How else?”
She looked at his face, so earnest and innocent in his way. Rainer followed his heart, no matter where it led—even to The Hollows. He didn’t know another way to be. Maybe it was the right way to be, even when it hurt.
“I’ll go up there with you tomorrow,” he said. “If you want.”
“You will?”
He gave a little laugh. “Don’t you know I’ll go with you anywhere, Fin?”
She did know that. He had the most faithful heart of anyone she’d ever known. Something in her that she hardened against him softened once more. She laced her fingers through his and felt his energy warm and good.
“You want to work?” he asked. He put the pages down beside the bed. They were photographs of historic documents, hard to decipher, but Finley had a mental model of the area now, some idea how close to the path an entrance might be. But a lot could have changed since those maps were drawn. Nature was in constant motion, always changing and renewing as much as it appeared to stay the same.
“No,” she said. “Not really.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. He pressed his mouth to hers. He tasted of peppermint; the stubble on his jaw was pleasantly rough on her skin. She disappeared into the sweet softness of his lips, the strength, the heat of him. She gave in. It felt good not to fight, not to always keep trying to do what was right, as opposed to what she wanted. Which seemed always to be two very different things.
“Fin,” Rainer whispered, throaty and soft. “I thought you didn’t want this anymore.”
She didn’t answer him, just peeled his shirt off as he unbuttoned hers. She let him lift her, wrapping her legs around him. His living space was spare and dingy with a small refrigerator and a hot plate on a countertop, a light bulb hanging from a wire in the ceiling. It was cold, a draft of icy air coming in from the back door that led to the alley behind the shop. There was no place she’d rather be.
“I love you,” he breathed in her ear.
She let him slide off her jeans, and she ran her hands along his arms, over the dragon and the phoenix in flames, over the bouquet of black roses, and the burning man. She ran her hands through his hair, down the strong muscles of his back, shivering as he buried his face in the curve of her neck.
She didn’t answer him. But she did love him. She loved his hot temper and his desire to possess her. She loved his talent and his kindness, his boyish sweetness. She loved the way she felt when they were together, desired, safe. She even loved all the wild emotions he invoked in her. All the other things, all the reasons why not, had receded from her memory. Or maybe they were the reasons why. Because the things that hurt were very often the things that made you feel most alive, like the ink on her skin, the storm of her emotions.
Even as she disappeared into Rainer, Finley was aware of Abigail who watched from the corner of the room, her face impassive and cool. What was Rainer to Abigail? Just another shiny thing she wanted, that she was using Finley to have. Or was it that she was
trying to lead Finley to self-destruct? As often as she’d seen Abigail, as connected as they were, Finley still wasn’t sure what she wanted, if she was good at heart or bad to the bone. Maybe like Finley, she was a little of both.
Finley pulled Rainer close, then pushed him down so that she could climb on top of him. He unlatched her lacy bra and tossed it, gave her that wild little boy smile that always thrilled her, lit her up inside. Then there was a flicker of worry across his face. He took her hand and kissed her fingers.
“Are you sure, Fin?” he said. “Don’t play me, okay. I’ve got too much skin in this game.”
He was so alive, such warm flesh, and so much light in his eyes.
“I’m sure,” she said. When she put her hand to his face, she saw the shadow of Abigail’s hand. In the mirror across the shop, Finley saw Abigail, hair flowing around her like flames, astride Rainer where Finley should be.
Finley felt a lash of anger, and she let it expel Abigail, push her back and away.
No
, said Finley.
He’s mine.
Abigail retreated to the corner, watching. When Finley looked back at Rainer, he was staring at Finley, seeing
her
, not Abigail.
“It’s you,” he said. “It’s always only been you.”
She only has as much power as you give her
, Agatha had told Finley.
You are flesh and bone. You make the rules.
Up until that moment, Finley hadn’t believed her.
i had a dream. hello. Fin?? heeeellllllooooo???
u know what time it iz luzr?
didja get dat? I had a DREAM.
really.
yeeaahh. im like u now.
ok. biting.
im gonna be the worldz most famous snowboarder. BAzillions in sponsorships. girlz toss their bras at me when I win the olympic gold yo.
way better than my dreams. wenz ur first snowboarding lesson?
Aw wrz the love? U know I kill on the boardz.
It was three in the morning, Finley tangled up in Rainer who slept like the dead. The phone gave off its unnaturally bright glow, lighting the room.
Ur not at gmas. Ooo ur at Rainers. Telling mom.
How wud u know?
Find my frenz.
Ugh, the Find My Friends app. She’d let her stupid brother follow her and now all he had to do was look at his screen to find her on a map. She clicked, scrolled over, and turned it off, making her status unavailable.
I just shut it off.
ha ha too late.
donchu dare tell mom.
i won’t. just like I won’t tell you that dadz been here all week.