Diamond Willow (8 page)

Grandpa whispered,
You'll be back. I'll watch for you.

Marty was six years old. He kissed my hair, and asked,
Why, Mommy? She looks perfect.
They let him hold me in his little arms, and he looked at me so deeply, I wondered later, when he held me as a puppy and looked at me that same way, if he might recognize me. I'm certain no one else does. Not even Grandpa.

That one night in their house, I slept beside Willow. They covered us with a soft yellow blanket and they all sat beside our crib. Our father played a long, slow song on his guitar. Our mother sang to us. Our brother reached into the crib and held our tiny hands. The room grew dark. Through a window, red and green and purple lights shimmered in the sky. A beautiful half moon shone on our faces.

I heard a wolf howl in the distance. Was it calling for me?

I loved the world and everything I saw and smelled and heard. I wanted more than anything to stay.

I went to sleep. Once I woke when Willow cried. Our mother picked her up and fed her, put her gently down.

She picked me up. She checked to see if I was breathing. She put her ear against my heart. It was still beating. She held me for a long time, then kissed me and put me back with Willow. I went to sleep.

In the morning, Willow woke, but I did not.

 

I

had

a sister,

a twin, not

identical. (They say,

She was so beautiful,
as if that

proves the point.)
Why haven't you

told me this before?
I ask. Long silence,

before Mom answers,
I've always
planned

to tell you. I know I've
missed
a few chances,

but it's hard to talk about
her
without crying,

and I don't like you to see me cry.
Dad says,

We're so lucky to have you. I try not to think

too much about what might have been.

Grandma looks at Grandpa, who says,

It was not our place to tell you.

Zanna says,
Don't blame me,

I didn't know.
Everyone

laughs at that. Roxy

gives a quick, sharp

bark, as if to say,

Hey, I'm here,

too! I would

have told,

but who

listens

to a

dog?

 

Why

are they

telling me this

today? When they

were worrying about me

last night, did it remind them

of those four nights Diamond was alive?

Or are they telling me that they know how it feels

to love someone you can't help, like I love Roxy now?

It's like walking through the kind of
deep
snow where each step

makes you break through the crust and sink
down
to your knees.

After they tell me about Baby Diamond,
I
say,
Whatever we

decide about Roxy, I'll always
remember
the day we all

went to pick her out. Remember
her
intelligent

clear eyes?
(Will we ever see them again?)

I say
Whatever we decide,
like it's

obvious to everyone: no matter

what happens, I'm part of it

as much as they are.

Dad nods,
Yes,

he says,
I do

remember

Roxy's

eyes

that

day.

 

 

 

Roxy (Diamond)

I like hearing Willow say she remembers my eyes from the day they brought me home. I remember her eyes that day, too.

I was born to a malamute who had led her team through six Iditarods, winning one of them. We were so proud of that. All the puppies scrambled for attention, tumbling over each other to get our mother to notice us. Maybe we'd grow up to win races like she did.

But there were too many of us in that dog yard. The musher put out word that she was selling puppies, and people started coming by. They'd look us over, ask a lot of questions, and sometimes leave with one of us. I figured out that if I tucked my head into my paws, closed my eyes, and pretended to sleep until they left, no one would notice me.

So I was “sleeping” when I heard voices I remembered from way back in another life. I opened one eye and saw a big boy, a little girl, and a man and woman I thought I'd seen before. The woman was wearing a red jacket that she could barely close.

I opened both eyes and watched them closely.

Willow, look at this one,
said the man. The whole family came and looked me over. I stared at Willow and she stared at me—a long, deep gaze. She got down on her knees and held me in her lap. I licked her face, and she looked up, eyes shining.

Let's take her home, Dad!
Willow said.

They brought me home and put fresh straw in my doghouse. They fed me well, and I was happy.

Until the day they came home with the baby. When they took her inside their house, I wanted so much to go in with them, I started howling. I couldn't stop for hours. Willow and Marty came out, bringing extra food and water. I ate and drank, and then I howled some more.

Roxy, what's wrong?
they kept asking. But of course I couldn't tell them.

I couldn't say,
I want to be the baby, not that one you call Suzanna.

That's when Marty looked at me, that penetrating look that made me wonder if he knew me. All he said was,
Maybe she's jealous of the baby.

Willow answered,
Why—just because Mom and Dad sit around looking at her whenever they aren't feeding her, talking about her, or giving her a bath?

Marty laughed.
Come on,
he said,
let's hitch up Cora and I'll take you for a ride in my new sled. Get away from Babyland for a while.

I watched them, wishing I could ride in the sled with Willow, knowing my best hope was that maybe someday I could grow up and pull the sled with Cora.

 

Once

we start

talking—really

talking—it doesn't take

us long to decide to keep Roxy.

Mom canceled the vet appointment

when she saw I'd taken off. She said she

and Dad were relieved that Roxy was alive—

even while we were sick with worry about you.

So maybe in a way I did help, just not the way I

planned it.
We all
agree that Roxy should go home

with us. I
get
her settled into Dad's sled, hitched to

the snowmachine.
What
about me?
Zanna asks, and

Dad hugs her and says,
We want
you to go with

Willow, in her sled, Zanna.
She thinks about it,

then stands up tall and says,
Okay, I'll help

my sister.
So Mom rides with Roxy,

and I take all five dogs and Zanna.

We head home together and we

stay together on the trail.

We arrive without

any trouble.

Not one

bit.

 

When

Marty heard that

I was missing, he flew

home to help look for me.

By the time he got here, we

were all back, but he's staying

an extra day anyway, and Mom

is letting me miss a day of school

to be with him. He stares at Roxy

like she's made of gold, then looks

at me like I'm his equal.
Hey
—he

puts his hand on my head—
I think

you're taller, Willow.
I smile.
No,

I say,
I'm not; you must be shorter.

He laughs.
Marty always
does this:

laughs like he
is
really enjoying me,

but with a look
on
his face like he

understands that
my
joking has

a serious
side
, and there's

more to me than

most people

see.

 

I

ask

Marty

why he's never

told me about Diamond.

You were Zanna's age when we

were born—I know you must remember.

(It's weird to say that:
we were born.
) Marty

answers,
How do little kids learn all the things

they're not supposed to talk about? Poop and farts

and sex, Uncle Henry's drinking, Mom's gray hair.
He

turns to
look at
me …
And the other baby, those few days

she lived,
the
birchbark box of Diamond's ashes, scattered

in a secret,
sacred
place. You were with us,
he tells me.

In my
memory
, you're wide awake. Mom is carrying

you, zipped up inside that red down jacket she wore

when she was pregnant.
I know the one he means;

she wore it before Zanna was born; she still

has it.
Where?
I ask him.
Where is the

secret, sacred place?
Marty says,

Come on, let's hitch up Lucky,

Cora, Samson, and Magoo.

I still know the way.

I'll take you

there.

 

I

love

riding

in the sled with

Marty driving. New

snow looks like diamonds …

like ashes … like Diamond's ashes …

I'm daydreaming, looking around, so I don't

notice when Marty turns the dogs onto the old trail,

the one Kaylie and I took by mistake when we got lost.

When Marty stops the dogs, I look around. Could he know

this is the exact spot where Kaylie and I camped out that night?

Or could it be that maybe
Cora remembers
when we stopped here,

and that's why she stops now? But Marty says,
This
is the place.
He looks

around like he's in church.
This is the
place
they scattered Diamond's ashes.

Marty couldn't have heard
from
Mom and Dad that this is where Kaylie and I

camped. I haven't told them.
Way back then
,
Marty says,
the spruce tree was

much smaller. When they spread the ashes on its branches, it reminded me

of falling snow.
I blink.
It was snow,
I say,
that kept us warm that night.

Marty looks at me.
What night?
he asks. I tell him about camping

here, and staying warm under the snowy branches of this tree.

We see a spruce hen sitting on one of the low branches.

Is it the same one I saw that night? It looks

at me and doesn't fly away. I say,

Hi. Don't I know you from

somewhere?
I almost

hear it answer,
Hello

Willow. Yes, my

dear, you

do.

 

My

diamond

willow stick

is almost finished. I'm

sanding each diamond one last time

before I polish it, trying to figure out why

Kaylie has so many friends and I don't. Could it be

because she's happy all the time?
Maybe.
That would be

kind of interesting, if
being happy
gets you friends and

having friends
makes you happy.
I don't want

a million friends, just enough so that

if one friend starts eating lunch

with a boy, I don't have to

sit there all by myself.

Tomorrow, I'll go

back to school.

I wish I felt

happier

about

that.

 

Dad

and I go with

Marty to the airport

and watch his plane take off.

On the way home, I tell Dad about

the coincidence, how Marty showed me

their sacred place, and it was the same place I