The Rattled Bones(54)

He shakes his head. “Not that I’ve come across.”

All the pictures of children in Sam’s journal, the ones at the school, around the island, on the steps of their family homes . . . so many held the caption UNIDENTIFIED CHILDREN.

“But it’s possible? Maybe she was lost to history and you just don’t have a record of her? Like the old woman in the rocking chair.” Forever nameless.

“Anything’s possible, Rilla. There’s a lot we don’t know about the island and its people. There could’ve been a teenage girl here. Why?”

“Because I think I’ve seen her.” Anxiety makes my head light now that I’m admitting this vision out loud.

“Online?”

No. At my window. On the shore. In the deep. “Here. On the island.”

“Here, here?”

I smile even as my insides quake. “That’s a lot of doubt for not a lot of words.”

“Touché.” He gives a small laugh, but his eyes look worried. “How do you mean you’ve seen her?”

There’s so much I can’t make sense of. So much I need to unearth. And I know I can’t do it alone, so I risk telling him more. “I saw her that first day I met you on the island. She’s the reason I came ashore. And I’ve seen her since.” I let the words come because I think they’re supposed to be spoken. “The thing is . . . I think my mother may have seen her too.”

“Oh.” His word is a mere push of breath.

“You think I’m imagining it, don’t you?”

He shakes his head. “Far from it.”

My heart stutters. “Really?”

“Really.” Sam stares at the ocean with all its secrets. “I mean, it’s different, sure. But I believe you. If you’ve seen her, I believe you.”

“You said you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

“I don’t, but I believe in you.”

There’s a rush of emotion that pushes up from somewhere deep in my chest. Something like gratitude and relief. And something more? It washes through me and tears threaten. For someone believing the unbelievable. For someone believing in me so fiercely.

Sam’s willingness to take such a huge leap of faith makes my words rush fast: “I think the girl was from here, Sam. I think something happened to her. Something that isn’t in your notes or any published article. Something maybe no one knows about.”

“Like I said, anything’s possible.”

And it feels possible. This girl, her story. She wants me to know her. “She’s trying to tell me something. I’m sure of it. But I don’t know what and I don’t know why.” I see Sam trying to focus on my words, but his eyes dart behind me for just a second—a quick flash of a movement that’s enough to make me turn my head.

Reed’s boat approaches.

Out on the water, Reed arcs his arms to get my attention.

“I don’t think he’s waving for me,” Sam says.

“I should see what he wants.” I stand. “Can you take me out?”

“Hop in.” Sam climbs into his skiff, reaches for the engine pull, but hesitates. “I want to talk about this more if that’s something you want.”

“I do.”

“Then I’m here,” Sam tells me.

“No judgment?”

“No judgment.”

He twists the engine pull in his hand, still not ready to start the motor. “And, Rilla?”

I meet his eyes.

“My private thing has always felt shameful. Being a kid without a family or roots to call my own, it made me feel lost or unworthy or something. I’ve never told my private thing to anyone. You make me feel safe enough to risk that stuff.”

“You have zero to feel ashamed of. Nothing about what happened to you was your fault.”

“Try telling that to the little kid inside me.”

“You can tell that little kid that his parents picked him out of all the kids. Because he was special. And worthy. Maybe you should remind that little kid inside how lucky that makes him.”

“I think you just did.” Sam smiles a perfect smile, one I can’t help but return. “So my private thing’s safe?”

“The safest.” The girl has become my most private thing, and Sam didn’t even question the possibility of her existence. Then or now. “You can trust me.”

“I don’t doubt it. You’ve got a way of inspiring trust and making things . . . better. Even with my story of the king—you made it better.”

“Better?”

“All the knowledge you have . . . It added to the story I had. Made it richer.” He nods toward the island, its rocky edges, its spruce forest. “You make all of this more meaningful, more necessary.” Sam pulls the engine cord and the two-stroke motor chokes to life. The noise is too loud to talk over, and I’m not sure what I’d say if he could hear me. Thank you rushes through me, but the words aren’t big enough. I’m not sure any words are big enough.

When we near Reed’s boat, Sam idles the engine, waves a hello to Reed that Reed doesn’t return.

“Everything okay?” I ask him.

“Your gram’s worried about you. Wants you home.”