Authors: Carlene Thompson
“I’m not telling, but he’s not a pervert or weird. He’s romantic and wonderful. He also doesn’t have anything in mind like getting in my pants. We’ll just talk and maybe kiss, that’s
all,
and I’m going!”
“Okay, I’ll go,” Chyna said reluctantly, realizing Zoey was intractable on this matter. “You knew I would.”
“No, I didn’t. Honest.”
That was one of the many things Chyna had always loved about Zoey—her honesty. She might occasionally sneak around her overprotective parents, for which Chyna couldn’t condemn her without condemning herself, too. But Zoey
never
lied to Chyna. They’d made a blood oath when they were five. They’d pricked their fingers with a needle and been horrified when tiny drops of blood popped out, but they’d endured the agony and rubbed their fingers together. They had never broken the oath.
“Well, off we go,” Chyna sighed. ’Together as always.”
“Great!” Zoey almost shouted, then lowered her voice and hugged Chyna. “You’re the best friend in the world, Chyna.” Zoey drew away, her brown eyes beaming. “Now, you go first.”
“Why do / have to go first?”
“You’re more familiar with the rose trellis than I am.”
“Yes, I always use the trellis when I come and go,” Chyna replied sarcastically. “It’s so much more convenient.”
“Just
go,”
Zoey said impatiently. “I’m gonna be late.”
Chyna gave Zoey a hard look. “When we’re old and gray, I want you to remember this, Zoe. I expect a really big favor in return.”
“Okay,” Zoey replied solemnly. “When we’re in the nursing home together, I’ll let you sit next to the cutest guy at the dinner table, the one who still has all his teeth.”
“After tonight, we probably won’t make it to the nursing home together.” Later Chyna would remember that prediction with a chill.
Chyna swung her jean-covered leg over the window frame and hung on until she got one running shoe-clad foot placed firmly on a rung of the trellis. If her mother’s rambler roses hadn’t been decimated by the new gardener, this trip down the trellis would have been impossible.
Still clutching the window frame, Chyna stuck her left foot into a lower triangle of the trellis. Finally, she completely let go of the window frame and grabbed the trellis, which felt surprisingly solid.
“Hurry up!” Zoey hissed.
“Will you give me a chance to make sure I don’t fall?”
Zoey subsided as Chyna began her descent, knowing she was driving Zoey crazy with her measured steps. At last, Chyna let go of the trellis and dropped about a foot onto the loamy dirt of the empty flower bed. Zoey looked down at her anxiously. “My turn?”
“Yes, but go slowly and be careful.”
Zoey neither went slowly nor was the least bit careful and fell off the trellis, sailing the last seven feet of the trip through the air, arms flailing, before she hit the flower bed.
Chyna rushed to her. “Are you hurt?”
Zoey clambered up and shook off the dirt. “I’m fine.” She adjusted her jeans and pale blue top. “Let’s get going.”
They crossed the front of the house, nearly tiptoeing past the living room and Chyna’s father’s office, where lights still burned, ran down the driveway and out to the asphalt road leading down the hill to the main highway.
When they’d traveled three minutes in silence, Chyna said, “I don’t like this. It isn’t a good idea—”
Zoey whirled on her. “Then go back to the house. I can take care of myself!”
“I’ve already climbed down that darned trellis, and besides, I am
not
leaving you out here alone in the dark meeting some guy you barely know—”
“This guy is not someone I
barely
know.”
“You’ve met him in Black Willow before this trip?”
“Yes, but this time is different. Sometimes you just click with people, you know?”
“No,” Chyna said. “I don’t know.”
“That’s because all you think about is that jet pilot. Scott Kendrick. You talk about him constantly. You are
madly
in love with Scott Kendrick.”
“I am
not!”
Chyna flared. “That’s the silliest thing I ever heard. His mother and Mom are good friends. That’s how I know so much about him.”
“When he showed up at the Fourth of July barbecue today and said, ’Hi, Chyna,’ you turned about five different colors and got choked on your lemonade.”
“Zoey, you are so full of it! I’ve never thought twice about Scott and it wouldn’t do me any good if I did, because I’m just a little hick-town teenager and he has about a dozen glamorous girlfriends all over the world and—”
“And you’re getting so loud they can probably hear you back at the house,” Zoey grumbled. “If you quit harping on me about what a bad idea this is, I’ll stop teasing you about Scott.”
They stamped on down the road, one in anticipation, one in anger. But anger isn’t going to do me any good, Chyna
thought. Nothing is going to stop Zoey and I don’t want her leaving day after tomorrow mad at me.
The night was hot and languid. Chyna hadn’t even noticed the weather last night when they were enjoying the annual Greer Fourth of July barbecue. She’d been having too much fun. Now, trying to calm down, she drew deep breaths of the sweet evening primrose growing amid the locust trees and sassafras on either side of the asphalt road. A few birds chirped in the darkness, but not many. By dawn they’d be going full tilt. The foliage beside Chyna rustled. Zoey jumped and clutched Chyna’s arm before a rabbit skittered into the road, then vanished with lightning speed.
Zoey finally broke their silence by asking, “Who do you think will get married first? Me or you?”
The question was so nonchalant after their earlier quarreling, she took Chyna by surprise. Chyna tried to answer with the same offhand tone. “You. Guys don’t seem to like me.”
“Sure they do!” Zoey said enthusiastically. “It’s your looks and your huge brain that scare guys off.” Chyna gave her a sideways glance. “You’re tall and slender and you’re named after an exotic country, which is so cool, and you have that long, thick brown hair and those haunting gray-blue eyes—”
“Haunting?”
“Yeah. They’re beautiful but mysterious, like you’ve got all kinds of secrets behind them. And I guess you do.” Chyna looked at her sharply. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Zoey said quickly. “It’s just that ever since you were little, you started getting all those sixth-sense things going on, and they’re kind of scary, especially because you’re usually right.”
Chyna could feel her face reddening even in the dark. Her life had been different for so long, sometimes she was able to forget she wasn’t like everyone else. It had been nine years since she’d been out in their cabin cruiser, with her parents and Ned, and they’d traveled down the Ohio River with neighbors who owned a cruiser almost identical to theirs.
The adults had pulled both boats near the bank, keeping them running as they yelled back and forth about where they wanted to go next. None of them had seen seven-year-old Chyna, hot and bored, slip out of her life jacket and go to the edge of the boat to look at the opposite bank where she’d spotted a traveling carnival. Suddenly the neighbors, slightly drunk, had pulled away from the bank, banging into the Greers’ boat
The Chyna Sea
and knocking Chyna into the river. Only eleven-year-old Ned had heard her scream and dived in after her. The boat pulled her under it and she opened her eyes in terror to see the razor-sharp propeller slicing through the water only a couple of inches from her face just before she banged her head on the bottom of the boat and everything went dark.
Ned, a remarkable swimmer for his age, became the hero of the day when he surfaced with his unconscious sister in his arms. Chyna hadn’t returned to full consciousness for several hours. A week later, Chyna had begun to have flashes of events that would come in the future and of things that had happened in the past, things she could not possibly have learned about by any normal means. Sometimes she even knew what people were thinking while they were saying just the opposite.
The flashes had been vague at first, only slightly more clear than the “tingles” she’d felt before the accident. As she aged, they became stronger, clearer. By the time she was thirteen, she realized she was frightening people. It was then she had begun lying, declaring vociferously that she no longer had “spooky” thoughts. Only occasionally did she slip in front of Zoey, from whom she’d never been able to keep a secret.
“Zoe, you’ve never mentioned my visions or the voices to anyone else, have you?” Chyna asked, suddenly anxious about what people thought of her.
“No! Oh, I did a long time ago, but not after you made me promise not to tell
anyone,
not even my mom. I’d be thrilled if I had ESP, but I know it bothers you.”
“If you really think I have it, why don’t you believe my bad feeling about tonight?”
Zoey looked down at the ground. “Because nothing says you’re
always
right. Sometimes you get being
careful
mixed up with having a bad vibe.” Zoey rushed on. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t usually listen to you, and I feel superlucky that you’re my best friend. You’re my lucky charm. That’s why I got us these four-leaf-clover necklaces last year.” Zoey reached up and touched hers on its delicate gold chain. “Are you wearing yours?”
Chyna pulled hers from beneath the neck of her T-shirt. “I never take it off.”
“That means I’ll be safe forever. I’ve got on my four-leaf clover and I’m with the coolest friend anyone ever had.”
Chyna blushed but said nothing, not wanting Zoey to know how much the compliment had touched her. Although many people would have said Zoey and Chyna couldn’t be more different outwardly, inwardly something linked them that Chyna sensed was stronger than blood. She’d never told Zoey how she felt, but she was certain Zoey knew and felt the same way. What would I do if Zoey ever went away? Chyna thought. What would I do if I never saw her again?
Suddenly Zoey stood on her tiptoes and said excitedly, ’There’s the lake! The gazebo is right in front of us.” She pointed to a fanciful wooden structure sitting on a tiny island in the middle of the lake and approached by a narrow wooden bridge. “I can see him inside, waiting for me! I won’t be longer than thirty minutes; I promise.” Chyna opened her mouth, but Zoey cut her off. “I won’t be out of your sight and I’ll be fine. Thanks for coming, Chyna. Hasta la vista!”
“Vaya con Dios,” Chyna returned softly, although she really wanted to shout, Please
don’t
go!
She stood until she saw Zoey cross the bridge and enter the gazebo. The guy stood up, and they hugged. Chyna watched as they sat down on the bench. The light from the moon on the water wasn’t strong enough for her to make out the features of Zoey’s heartthrob, but Chyna saw their faces
come together. Ah, the passionate kiss, she thought. The “how do we get along without each other when you leave?” feeling that would probably last about a week at most.
You’re jealous, Chyna thought. She’d had two dates all summer, unlike Ned, who usually had at least three girlfriends at one time. Always they found out about one another. An explosion of broken hearts ensued, resulting in a barrage of phone calls that set Chyna’s parents wild. They would yell at Ned and things would quiet down for a few weeks before the next cycle began. Still, Chyna envied her brother’s popularity.
Chyna yawned with such ferocity she thought she might unhinge her jaw. She wished she hadn’t already taken her antihistamine pills. On summer evenings, her nose stopped up, her throat tickled, and she sneezed uncontrollably without them, but the medicine always made her sleepy and she’d already been tired from the long day at the barbecue.
Chyna sat down on the grass. After five minutes, her eyelids began to droop. She fought a losing battle with sleep. Soon her head sagged forward and almost instantly she tilted over onto the cool grass, peacefully unconscious.
“Chyna, wake up!” Chyna’s nose tickled. Her body ached and she was damp with dew. She opened her eyes wider and looked up to see her mother standing over her as she still lay on the grass beside the road leading down from her house. “Where is Zoey?” Vivian Greer demanded.
Chyna jumped up, instantly alert. The sun, dimmed by mist, rose from the east. It was morning, she realized, ignoring her mother’s loud, angry questions. Chyna began yelling for Zoey. Her voice sounded small, lost in the trees and the undergrowth between the house and the lake—the lake where Zoey had been going to meet her boyfriend.
Fear clutched Chyna’s heart like an icy hand. Zoey was gone. Gone in the night, gone in the mist.
Even six hours later, when the police, Ned, her parents,
and a dozen friends and volunteers tramped through the woods looking for the girl while the police talked about dragging the lake, Chyna had known with sickening certainty she would never see Zoey again.
Chyna Greer stood on the bank of Lake Manicora. The late October day was gray, the sun almost white, and the lake bank covered with faded, damp leaves brought down by a recent storm. She drew the belt of her black raincoat tighter. “Lake Manicora,” she said aloud. “A
manicora
—a being with the head of a woman and a body covered in scales.” She sighed. “I don’t know who named this lake, but it doesn’t seem they were in a cheerful mood that day.”
Michelle, sixty pounds of husky dog with yellow Labrador mixed in her lineage, looked like she was frowning in concentration as she gazed up at Chyna. She seemed to absorb the information about the lake’s name, then went back to warily studying the cold, dark water.
“Enjoying the day?”
Chyna looked up to see a tall black-haired man approach her. He wore jeans, a brown suede jacket, and a tentative smile. He also limped slightly and leaned on a walking stick. Her heart jumped at the sight of him just as it had done when she was sixteen. “Hey, Chyna, it’s me—”
“Scott Kendrick,” Chyna supplied quickly, too quickly, she immediately thought.
“Well, I must not have aged so much you didn’t recognize me.” He smiled, then looked at the dog. “And who’s this?”