Burn(85)

“The school in Minnesota your dad is sending you to.”

“What? My dad’s not sending me to any school.”

She opened her mouth to respond but the words didn’t come immediately. She finally just said, stupidly, “He’s not?”

“No,” Jason said, laughing ruefully. “No way he trusts the world to treat me properly when he’s not there to protect me. I’ll go to college, but no farther than University of Washington.” He frowned. “Which isn’t there anymore, is it?”

“I guess not.”

“Well, don’t give him any ideas about Minnesota.”

She laughed. “I won’t.”

He nodded, thinking. “Which means I’m staying around.” He turned to her. “Are you?”

She felt that ache for him again, but this time it wasn’t so hopeless, so heavy. It was almost pleasurable. She had lost him so completely, refound him so suddenly, and if it wasn’t exactly the same, who knew what the future might hold?

“If we all get through this,” she said, “I’m not sure what I’ll do.”

He nodded, seriously. “If we all get through this.”

“I need to get back home,” Sarah said. “My mom . . . Darlene wants me there in case the dragon comes. She won’t leave either.”

“Do you want me to be with you when it does?”

She could see his smile in the faint light. “Don’t get cocky,” she said, but she was smiling, too. “I want you as far away as absolutely possible.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek as she left, his delighted surprise following her back home.

“There you are,” Darlene said, opening the back door before Sarah had even walked up the first porch step.

“I told you, I went to Jason’s—”

“Yes, yes, come inside.” Darlene practically dragged Sarah through the door.

“What’s going on?” Sarah asked.

But Darlene was already turning and saying, “Here she is.”

Gareth Dewhurst stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen. He held a hat down at his side in his left hand. When he saw Sarah, it tumbled right out of his fingers.

“My God,” he whispered. “Darlene, what is this?”

“It’s . . . Well, it’s not quite our daughter, but . . .”

His voice sharpened. “You told me the farm was in danger from the thing that attacked Seattle—”

“And it is, Gareth—”

“Who the hell is this?”

“Language in my house,” Darlene said, sharp.

“Our house. I’m still on the mortgage, remember? What the hell is going on here? Who is this?”

Sarah couldn’t help herself. She knew she shouldn’t, but she had waited as long as she could and then there was just nothing more but to move across the floor of the kitchen and grab her father around the chest in an embrace. His arms didn’t move up to hug her back at first, but he didn’t push her away. She held on and on.

Then she heard the breath, the telltale breath of her father about to say something.

“Her smell,” he said, so quietly she might have been the only person in the room to hear him. “My God, she smells just like her.”

“I think you could explain it to me a hundred times,” Gareth Dewhurst said a little later, his face ashen, his eyes red with unsuccessfully withheld tears, “and I still wouldn’t believe you.”

“Gareth,” Darlene started. “Don’t you think I felt the same?”

“I don’t know what you feel, Darlene,” Gareth said. “I haven’t for a long time.”

“And you were Mister Understanding and Sympathy? Sarah died and you were out planting the next morning.”

Her father raised his voice. “Yes, well, it was like two people died for me. My daughter and the walking corpse my wife turned into.”

Darlene’s face became a storm. “I didn’t lose the same?”

“Darlene—”

“My dad planted the day after my mom died,” Sarah said. They both turned to look at her. “I think he just had to do something, and that was the job that was there. I wish he’d . . . Well, I mean, I always wished he’d come in and hold me some in the days after, but I knew he still loved me. He planted so the farm would keep going, so we’d have a future. He kept trying. He taught me how to drive. He stood up for me when I needed it. He taught me how to deal with dragons.” She was crying in full flow now. “He made mistakes, sure, and there were times I wished I had a father who was softer.” She wiped her cheeks. “But I never wished for a father who was kinder. Sometimes you need something to lean against. Something holding you up so regular and strong you forget it’s even there.”

Her father—or not her father, but so close—crossed his arms slowly. “That’s all very pretty,” he said, “but it doesn’t change anything.”

“Look at her, you stubborn old fool,” Darlene said. “You said yourself she smelled like our daughter.”

“I’m not your daughter,” Sarah said.

“See?” Gareth said.

“But I’m the daughter of Gareth and Darlene Dewhurst. I go to Frome High School with Jason Inagawa, son of Hisao Inagawa. I had three pigs called Bess, Mamie, and Eleanor. I’m good at math and English, but a bit slow in history. I hate onions, but you both forced me to eat them because they were from the vegetable patch. I can’t sing, even when I try. I fall asleep sitting up in church sometimes . . .”