April Henry - The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die

Full lips, right now pressed together.

Under thick black eyebrows, eyes that are never still, flicking from the rearview mirror to the side-view mirrors and then to the road again.

Dark hair so thick it stands up, except for a piece that falls across his high forehead.

A blunt-tipped nose that makes him look a bit unfinished, as if someone forgot to give it the sharp edges it needs to match his high cheekbones and the precision of his long sideburns.

Basically, Ty’s beautiful in a way that only a guy could be.

“We’re out of Bend and on the highway now,” he announces, and I can see his shoulders relax a bit. “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign. If you haven’t already done so, you need to stow your carry-on luggage underneath the seat in front of you or in an overhead bin. Please take your seat, fasten your seat belt, and make sure your seatback and folding tray are in their full upright position.”

His recitation is flawless, as if he has said it a million times. “You sound awfully official,” I say. “Do you moonlight as a stewardess?”

“After my parents separated, I used to fly to Colorado a lot to visit my dad.” The turn signal begins to tink-tink-tink . Ty checks over his shoulder, and then I feel the car move to the left. We pass a triple trailer. The driver, a big guy with an even bigger beard, smiles down at me. I can’t help but smile back. It feels a little rusty.

“So your parents are divorced?”

He sucks in his lips and is quiet for a long moment. So long I don’t know if he’s going to answer me. Finally he says, “I don’t know. What do you call it when one of them’s dead?”

The smile falls from my face and I reach forward to touch his arm. “What happened?”

“A couple of years ago my mom decided she didn’t want to be with my dad. Actually, she was seeing the guy she worked for. But she didn’t say that at first. Just that she had gotten married too young and that she was tired of not having any money. My dad moved to Colorado because he loves—loved—to ski. He also made furniture by hand. People started collecting it. He was actually making good money at the end, which was ironic. Then one day he was skiing off trail and fell into a tree well.” Ty takes a shaky breath. “And he suffocated.”

“A tree well?”

“You know how evergreens have low branches? Those branches can stop snow from filling in at the base of a tree. So there’s all this loose snow and it’s like quicksand. You fall into it and you can’t get out. Basically, you drown in snow.” His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

“I’m so sorry.” I’ve been worrying about how my parents might be dead. But Ty’s dad is really dead, and Ty’s never going to see him again. At least I don’t know for sure. Not knowing feels like a curse, but maybe it’s really a blessing. “How long ago did that happen?”

“Almost a year. And after that, things with my mom started going south. She married her boss but I don’t get along with him. Then one day I borrowed his car without asking, his brand-new BMW, and went too fast around a curve. I wrecked it.”

I’m starting to understand why Ty lives with a roommate and sleeps on a mattress on the floor. “So you ran away?”

“Actually, they kicked me out.”

Something inside of me recoils. I don’t know anything more about my parents than what I saw in that photo, but somehow I know that I’m theirs forever. No matter what.

Ty sighs. “So I was on the street for a few months over the summer. I had a tent that I pitched in the woods. The cops don’t like you to be too near downtown. They said we scared away the tourists. That’s the same reason they didn’t like to see us picking through the garbage at Starbucks. Hey, we had to eat. Then I met James and he was looking for a roommate, and one of my dad’s old friends gave me this car, and I got a job at McDonald’s and everything started coming back together.”

The mention of McDonald’s reminds me. “Are you supposed to work tonight?”

“I called in sick this morning.” For a second, his eyes meet mine in the mirror.

Ty wouldn’t be doing any of this—missing school, missing work, stealing cars—if he hadn’t met me. I’m the very definition of a bad influence. “Why are you doing all this for me?” If Ty thought helping me entitled him to something, he would have tried to crawl into bed with me last night, instead of sleeping on the couch.

“When I saw you in McDonald’s counting your money, I guessed you were in some kind of trouble. And when I was out on the street, some people helped me. People like James and Audrey. If they hadn’t, who knows what would have happened.” He looks over his shoulder at me. “Now, would I have tried to help you if I had known how bad it was going to get?” He lets the question hang in the air before saying, “I guess we’ll never know.” And then he half turns again to give me a smile.

“The problem is, nobody knows what’s going on,” I say with a yawn that goes on so long I get dizzy. “Not even me. Especially not me.”

I should be planning what we’re going to do once we get to Portland, but instead my eyes keep closing for longer and longer stretches. And eventually the hum of the car lulls me to sleep.

In my dream, I’m outside the bowling alley again, watching the kids walking toward the door carrying brightly wrapped presents. Only this time I’m much closer, so close I’m walking right behind the dad carrying the silver balloons.

The man in the blue Lexus catches sight of me. He jumps out of his car with a gun in his hand.

And I’m screaming and trying to push the kids inside to safety, but one little boy falls. I pick him up by his arm, too rough, but there’s no time to worry about that. I just have to get him inside before he’s killed. The little boy is crying and he’s twisted around to look up at me. And he has the same face as the boy in the photo.

“Cady!” he says. “Cady!”

I wake up with a jolt. It’s Ty. He’s calling my name.

And his voice is full of panic.

“Cady, Cady!”

I lift myself up on one elbow. “Wha–?” At first, I don’t know where I am. But for a second, I feel like I know who I am.

Only for a second. Then it slides away.

Ty has turned the radio all the way up. He has to half yell to be heard over it. “They’re talking about you. It sounded bad.”

Bad? I don’t have time to ask. On the radio, chimes sound, marking the beginning of the news. “Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Susan McCallister. Thanks for tuning in to KNWS. And here’s our top story: This morning, firefighters responded to a cabin fire forty miles north of Bend in the Deschutes National Forest. Authorities say that the vacation cabin belonged to the family of Cady Scott, the Portland teen being sought for questioning in connection with the death of Newberry Ranch security officer Lloyd Dillow. Fire incident commander Rick Ochoa told us that it took nearly fifty firefighters from several responding agencies to put out the fire.”

A man says, “The ranger district’s initial attack crew was first on scene. They found the structure fully involved in flames, with little chance of being saved. But thanks to the crew’s quick action, we were able to contain this fire and keep it from spreading to the surrounding forest.”

The newscaster says, “Ochoa would not comment on reports that human remains were found in the ashes.”

I freeze. Human remains?

“Keith Pilligan in Portland has more about the growing mystery surrounding Cady Scott. Keith?”

Bitter bile rises in my throat. Is this the reason I can’t remember? Was the shock that caused my fugue state seeing my family die?