Shadowed Summer (24 page)

E
lijah’s funeral was nice, as far as funerals went. It was a day of breathing lilies and gazing at them—so many white blooms, wreaths of them ringed with green, and bouquets laid in pretty contrast on his dark blue casket. I’d never seen so many flowers in my life.

It seemed like half the parish showed up, out of curiosity or respect. It was strange to see a sea of so much black under such a bright summer sky. I held my daddy’s hand the whole time, pretending not to notice when he wiped away tears. Uncle Lee stood silent and serious, his hand on the back of Daddy’s neck, like he had to hold him up. My eyes stayed dry. I didn’t have any tears left for Elijah, not anymore.

But Miss Nan did enough crying for both of us. Clutching her tissue, she smeared her mascara around beneath a black widow’s veil. There was all kinds of talk about that later.

Still swearing that Elijah was a saint, Old Mrs. Landry refused to come to the burial. She told anybody who’d listen that the Prince of Lies put a pile of bones down in that crypt, to blind us to the coming end of days. She stopped going to church; she bought no more prayers with hard candy.

The mysterious Mr. Landry came. He flew in all the way from Phoenix. He stood stiff and straight until the end, when he leaned down to kiss the casket and whisper private words to his son.

Then he looked past Daddy but shook my hand and thanked me for coming. His eyes were brown, just like Elijah’s.

For a while after that, I’d slip down to the cemetery to sit next to Elijah’s stone, mostly just to reassure myself he was still there. I don’t know who chose the marker, but it was perfect: smooth gray granite, with his name and dates etched next to a carved river. I liked to run my fingers across the waves and dig into the letters; it just felt good, the way the stone soaked up the sun.

When summer turned to fall, I went less, and then only once in the winter, to wish him a Merry Christmas. I kept planning to go all through spring, but when summer came, I gave that up, too.

That stone was just a place for the living to remember him; there was nothing left of him to miss me. There was no more Incident with the Landry Boy. There was just a sad story that ended with Elijah finally home.

It was proof that nothing ever happened in Ondine, and finally, that was just fine by me.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A novel may be drafted in solitude, but it’s never finished alone.

I’d like to thank my agent, Sara Crowe, for sweeping in with precision revisions and a battle plan to find Iris the perfect home against the odds and conventional wisdom. It was a glorious siege. Many thanks to Wendy Loggia, a rare, wonderful editor who offers critique, encouragement and line edits; it’s so good to have a partner with vision—thank you.

There are so many wonderful people who contributed to making this book. I’d like to thank Colleen and Carrie for their thorough copyedits, Trish for her brilliant design, and Chad Michael Ward for bringing Iris off the page and onto the cover. Big Deb thanks to Heidi R. Kling and R. J. Anderson for brainstorming titles with me. Thanks also to Chief Deputy Anthony Barcala of the Ascension Parish Sheriff’s Department for clarifying ranks and responsibilities, and to the Louisiana Native Plant Society for those little details that are so important.

I must thank my English teacher Mary Redman, who was a lover of words and who taught me to be one, too. A fresh thank-you to Estlin Feigley for giving me a voice on the screen and for listening to mine behind it. And I owe so much to Doris Egan, an unparalleled mentor, who taught me how to write a killer breakout, and what kind of woman in the arts I want to be.

My mom, Sheryl Jern, I can’t thank enough—for teaching me the absolute value of perseverance and the beauty of seeing something through to the very end. Great, goddessy thanks to Susan Bettis, who always said “When you write your novel” and never “If.” I owe universes of thanks to my partner in crime, in shining armor, and in all things mystical, Ashley “Arianna” Lockwood.

So many thanks to LaTonya Dargan, whose advice as my literary attorney I took entirely and whose opinion as my fellow Virgobrain I value immeasurably. Great thanks to Rebecca Sherman for all her hard work in rendering a tight, thin book out of a shamelessly bloated draft.

Thanks to Rachel Green, who read the first draft and said, “This is a young adult novel,” and to everyone on my manuscript filter, for your faith and support when Iris was nothing but five-hundred-word previews, completely out of context.

I’d like to acknowledge Blahblahblah, who wants to live forever, and to thank everyone at Metafilter for offering inspiration and procrastination in one convenient location.

I’m grateful to and grateful for, blessed by and honored to have my husband, Jason Walters, and my best friend, Wendi Finch, as my partners in this and in all things. They’ve suffered every low, celebrated every high; they’ve shared their ideas, helped me perfect mine. They coddle or kick me at exactly the right intervals, and I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve them. All I know is that they’ve been here since the beginning, and the one thing I have faith in is that they’ll be there in the end.

And finally, I don’t believe a book is really done until it’s been read, so thank you—yes, you. I’m so glad we finished this book together.

about the author

A screenwriter and author, Saundra Mitchell penned the screenplays for the Fresh Films and Girls in the Director’s Chair short film series. Her short story “Ready to Wear” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and her first feature film,
Revenge Ends,
debuted on the festival circuit in 2008. In her free time, she enjoys ghost hunting, papermaking, and spending time with her husband and her two children. She lives in Indianapolis and welcomes you to visit her on the Web at
www.saundramitchell.com
.

Published by Delacorte Press
an imprint of Random House Children’s Books a division of Random House, Inc.
New York

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2009 by Saundra Walters

All rights reserved.
Delacorte Press and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Mitchell, Saundra.
Shadowed Summer / Saundra Mitchell. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: In the small town of Ondine, Louisiana, fourteen-year-old Iris uncovers family secrets when she conjures up the ghost of a boy missing for decades and decides to solve the mystery of his disappearance.

eISBN: 978-0-375-89205-9
[1. Ghosts—Fiction. 2. Secrets—Fiction. 3. Louisiana—Fiction.]
I. Title II. Title: Shadowed Summer
PZ7.M6953 Sh 2009
[Fic]—dc22
2008010021

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