Some Kind of Happiness (32 page)

A Pack for Every Back,
I think. Grandma gave the Bailey boys backpacks? But she hates the Baileys.

(They're a blight on the town.)

“Somebody's got to do it,” says Grandpa.

“I can take care of my own kids,” insists Mr. Bailey.

“Some days you can. Other days . . .”

“You know, maybe things wouldn't be so bad if your family hadn't—”

“Don't even start with that,” Grandpa says, his voice low and dangerous. “You had problems long before the fire, and you know it.”

My blood runs slow and heavy at the word
fire
. What fire? Not
the
fire?

Everything is quiet. Mr. Bailey looks angry, like he's about
to yell at Grandpa, then he stops, and looks away into the woods.

Grandpa seems like he might be about to say something too, but instead he pats Mr. Bailey gently on the shoulder, presses the envelope into Mr. Bailey's hands, and leaves.

I wait, listening to the fading sound of his tires crunching on the dirt road. I am thinking hard, trying to sort through what I have heard, when Mr. Bailey comes around the porch and finds me.

We stare at each other.

“I can't escape you Harts today.” He grabs a half-empty bottle from the porch rail and takes a big sip. “What do you want, Finley?”

I do not know what to say. I wonder if he even remembers how he yelled at me the other night.

“What's the matter? Need some money?” Mr. Bailey takes a stack of bills out of the envelope and shakes them out across the floor. “Your grandpa gives me tons.”

I stand, shaking a one-hundred-dollar bill off my foot. Mr. Bailey's breath smells today; I should probably go, but the sight of all that money spilled across the wood keeps me in place. It looks wrong there, rude and ugly.

“Why?” I ask.

“Well, once upon a time,” he says, taking another sip and then tossing his empty bottle into the trees. “Isn't that how those stories you write start? Once upon a time there was a family of snobs who lived in a castle and didn't want anyone
to know about the bad things they did. So they paid the lazy bum across the river to make sure he never told anyone their deepest, darkest, most terrible secret.”

Mr. Bailey watches me. “Do you get it?”

“The family of snobs is my family,” I whisper. “And the lazy bum is . . .”

“Yep, that's me. King of the bums.” Mr. Bailey's smile is made of razor blades and mean jokes. “And the secret is this, Miss Finley Hart: There was a fire back in these woods, a long time ago. And your family started it.”

I back away from him. The world pounds in rhythm with my heart. “You're lying.”

He shakes his head. “Girl, I wish I was.”

“Dad?” Jack's voice calls out from inside. “Who are you talking to?”

Before Jack can see me, I jump off the money-covered porch and run.

A
T TWO THIRTY THE NEXT
afternoon, Avery does not drive me to Dr. Bristow's office.

Grandpa does.

We do not speak.

This is all right with me. Since yesterday my mind has been a dark and dangerous maze, like the forest I once thought the Everwood to be.

Mr. Bailey was lying. He had to be lying.

And yet it makes sense.

My aunts were heroes, but no one in my family has ever talked about it.

The fire took place twenty-two years ago. Dad was fourteen. Eventually he left, and he never looked back.

He had an argument with Grandma.

Pieces fit together, but many are still missing.

I cannot believe this is true, because if it is, that means—

I glance at Grandpa.

He looks exactly as he has since coming home on Sunday—tired and red-eyed and like his skin no longer fits quite right.

The radio is on, but he is not singing.

(Not my Grandpa. He couldn't. He
wouldn't
.)

I almost tell him I heard him talking to Mr. Bailey; the words are
right there
, ready to jump.

But if I tell him, if I ask him for the truth—

I grab Grandpa's hand, and he holds on tight.

I do not want to know the truth. Not now. Not yet.

Not ever.

•  •  •

When Dr. Bristow joins me in her office, she is her familiar, cheerful self.

“Hey there, Finley,” she says, heading for her minifridge. “Want something to drink? I've got juice today. That pretentious, overpriced kind you get at coffee shops. Decided to splurge this morning, and I've felt guilty about it all day.”

“Sure.”

“So.” Dr. Bristow settles in with her coffee. “You had an eventful weekend, I hear.”

Ah. So we are getting right to it. Fine.

I sip my juice and shrug, keeping my eyes on the floor.

“Do you want to talk to me about it?”

“Not really.”

“You know, I snuck out of the house quite a few times when I was your age,” Dr. Bristow says. “Never for anything illicit. Just messing around with the neighbor kids, like you did, having fun.”

Illicit. Seven-letter word for “against the law.”

(Like starting fires and not telling anyone about it?)

(It cannot be true.)

Dr. Bristow sits back. “I'm glad you befriended the Bailey boys. They need it.”

“You know them?”

“Sure. My husband's the principal at the middle school, remember? Cole and Jack. Smart kids, and sweet.”

I follow the weaving path of my shoelaces. Under, over. Under, over.

“Jack's about your age, right? Maybe a little older.”

Hearing someone else say his name is like a hand around my throat. “I think so.”

“They were hanging out with you and your cousins, right?”

I nod.

“Why do you think your grandparents have a problem with that?”

Because Mr. Bailey knows their secret. It all makes so much sense now.

(But he's lying, he has to be!)

I shrug.

“Finley. Hey, can you look at me for a sec?”

The queen found herself transfixed by the seer's milky white eyes.

The seer smiled. “Hello, child. There you are. It is nice to see your face.”

On the queen's back the Dark Ones shrieked at the invasion of the seer's magic. They dug harder into the queen's back, pressing her lower to the ground.

“Resist,” they hissed. “Resist her.”

“Child,” said the seer kindly, “I only want to help you. You know that, don't you? I only want to help you regain your crown.”

Then the seer moved closer and said, “The ancient guardians need you, my queen. The Everwood needs you.”

The phone on Dr. Bristow's desk rings, and she goes to answer it.

I am so tired, I feel dizzy.

“Finley, I'm sorry,” says Dr. Bristow, “but I have to go talk to another patient for a couple of minutes. I never do this, but it's kind of an emergency.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Is that okay? I'll be right back.”

I stare at her shoes and nod.

(Do not look into her eyes, Finley, whatever you do.)

(Her eyes will ensnare you; she will see right into your soul.)

Once Dr. Bristow is out of the room, everything is quiet—except for the sound of birds singing in the tree outside her open window.

Her open window.

I stare at it, and I form a plan. My heart pounds out the steps like the bullet points of a list.

I don't know how long psychologist emergencies take to resolve. There is no time for me to debate this.

I hurry toward the window and climb out. It was not
particularly wise of Dr. Bristow to leave her window open. I cannot be the only kid who sits in her office desperate for escape.

I doubt she will leave the window open after this.

I pull the window shut behind me and crawl through the row of hedges outside, scraping up my arms and legs. Once I have cleared them, I pause to get my bearings.

Dr. Bristow could stick her head out the window any moment now. I peek back through the hedges to check, and catch my reflection in the glass.

The queen stared at her reflection, and all at once everything became clear.

She saw what she truly was, what she had always been before arriving at the Everwood, and what she would always be: an orphan girl, sad and lonely. Obsessive. Troubled. Different. The daughter of a ruined family.

Her adventures in the Everwood had been nothing but a great pretend.

She had discovered the secret of the Everwood, and it was unthinkable.

The Dark Ones jeered. “Finley girl, Finley girl, what do you see? I see a queen who will never be free!”

And the queen knew they were right.

She had tried to do the noble thing. She had tried to leave the Everwood, to rid it of her own poison.

But she could never leave. At last she accepted that horrible truth.

The Everwood was the only place left to her that she understood. It was a place where she could live in peace with the Dark Ones on her back. It was a place she could control.

She would be alone, but that was for the best. She had always been alone, and when you are alone, you cannot love, and the secrets of others cannot hurt you.

So she tore the crown from her head and ran west as fast as her legs could carry her.

I
THINK
I
MIGHT BE
lost.

I am following the route to Dr. Bristow's office in reverse, keeping to the trees at the side of the road.

The queen clawed her way deeper into the forest, raising welts on her skin.

I am trudging through a cornfield when it begins to rain. I assume the storm has been building all day, but I have not been paying attention.

The sky opened up and unleashed a storm. The rain fell in icy sheets, and the lightning flashed. But not even the roiling storm clouds were as dark as the creatures on the queen's back.

“Run away and hide,” they whispered. “We'll hide in the Everwood, where the monsters go. We'll sleep when we want to sleep, and hide when we want to hide, and no one will tell us what to do, and no one will have any secrets.”

It is dark out now, and the rain isn't stopping. My clothes are plastered to my skin.

When I find the train tracks, I follow them. I will follow them to wherever Jack once dreamed of going. I will go into the deepest parts of the Everwood that no one has yet explored—where no one lies, and everything is truth.

“
What was that?” cried the Dark Ones. “There, in the trees—is that your little pirate friend?”

I whirl to face the woods, but I see only a misshapen tree, its branches whipping about.

The wind is beginning to howl. Mom once told me that the sound of a tornado is like the sound of an oncoming train.

I run down the tracks.

At a crossing, a simple farm road, I hear laughter, shouts, and turn to see—

A trio of witches, riding armored steeds, flew out of the sodden woods, shrieking in glee, for witches thrive in the chaos of storms.

As they raced by the queen, they flung out their arms and scraped her skin raw.

The queen fell.

I am dizzy for a moment, and lie there catching my breath.

When I sit up, I can barely make out the three teenage boys on their bicycles, speeding away from me.

One of them circles back. “Guys! Come back, it's some kid!”

No. You are not welcome here.

(And you should be glad. People who meet me are bound to end up disappointed.)

(My family is infected with lies. If you touch me, you might catch them.)

I get up and keep running, the train tracks to my right. I will run faster than Jack ever could.

The queen ran for miles, though every bone in her body ached. Her head swam with hunger. When she thought she could run no longer, she heard a voice in the wind, calling her name.