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the way drifts of snow could rise and melt in a single day in the mountains around Silverton. She realized she wanted things to stay the same. Even more, she wanted her old life back, and that was impossible. Are you ready to order? Cameryn looked up to see a college-aged man with blond dreadlocks, wearing a Scoot n Blues polo shirt hanging loosely over khakis, the outfit at odds with his Rastafarian hair that sprouted from his head in fuzzy coils. I ll have a cheeseburger, Cameryn began, but Lyric cut her off. I m sorry, we re waiting for someone else, she said, shooting a sly smile Cameryn s way. Can we just have two iced teas and a Diet Coke while we wait? And another 111 place setting, please. Lyric didn t need to ask if Cameryn wanted the Diet Coke. It was Cameryn s standing order. Not a problem, the server said, and disappeared. For a moment, despite her dark mood, Cameryn felt a stirring of interest because this was unexpected. What s up? she asked. Who else is coming tonight? Just wait, Lyric whispered, leaning in conspiratori ally. We ve got a surprise for you. Cameryn felt her blood freeze. Is it . . . is it Hannah? No, no, no, Lyric assured her, leaning back into the booth. Nothing so dramatic. This surprise is just for fun. Fun remember the concept? I guarantee this per son will cheer you right up. She and Adam exchanged knowing glances. Come on, tell me! Sorry. No can do. Patience, young lady. And try to lighten your mood, will you? You re as much fun as a root canal. Lyric s round shoulders moved in time to the sliding trombone solo of Mood Indigo, rising from below. Contrasting with the gray of November, Lyric wore her trademark loud color, this time electric yellow. The blue tips she used to have on the ends of her hair had been extended to the roots; now her whole head seemed to glow blue, a stark contrast to the vivid yellow and the deep red of her pants, the thick black work boots that laced up the front, the chunky red and yellow bracelets. 112 Adam, though, seemed to fade into the surroundings. Scoot n Blues s dim interior accentuated the contrast between his skin and his black hair and clothes so that at times his hands and face appeared disembodied. Cameryn felt a pang of guilt because the two of them were trying so hard to help her and she d repaid them by being a total witch. She had to pull it together. She had to make an effort. You re smiling. What are you smiling at? Lyric want ed to know. Nothing. Just an observation. What is it? Come on, spill! It s just, you know, with that red-and-yellow outfit of yours along with that blue-green hair, I m thinking your look says traffic light. That s harsh, Adam said, but Lyric laughed. Yeah, she agreed. Well, John Denver called and said he wants his look back from you. John Denver is dead So s his fashion, flannel-girl, Lyric fired back. I m not wearing flannel. But you own it, don t you? I ve seen it in your closet. Admitting your problem is the first step, Cammie. Adam s pale eyes widened. He didn t understand the way they teased, didn t know that joking was the way the two of them got their rhythm back. Cameryn felt her insides unkink as she sipped her water, deciding that 113 her father had been right after all. She needed this, to be back among the living. The music, the explosion of laugh ter from an adjoining table, even the wafting smoke ris ing like incense, all were the siren song of the undead. The server brought their drinks, putting them down carefully on paper coasters, then setting a place next to Cameryn for the nonexistent guest. When he was gone, Lyric raised her iced tea to the ceiling and cleared her throat. Her face became serious, her tone more solemn, as she said, One of the reasons I wanted to come to Scoot n Blues is because I remember the way Mr. Oakes loved jazz and blues. So I thought we should raise a glass and remember the man. To Mr. Oakes, she said, lifting the tea higher. May he rest in peace. To Mr. Oakes, Adam and Cameryn echoed. They clinked their sweating glasses together and drank, while Cameryn added a silent prayer of her own. What about me? someone behind her said. Don t I get to toast? Cameryn whirled in her seat to see a familiar face. Kyle O Neil, wearing jeans and a green-and-gold CSU sweat shirt, stood right behind her. Sorry I couldn t get here earlier, he apologized. I came as soon as I could. Do you mind, Cameryn? Not waiting for a reply, he slid into the booth next to Cameryn, so close his thigh touched hers. She could feel the hardness of his muscle beneath the denim, could 114 smell the spice of his deodorant as his arm raised and lowered when he settled in close to her. Scooting over, she noticed that his blond hair looked like honey in the light. A stubble had appeared above his upper lip and on his chin, but of deep amber, more the color of his lashes. What are you doing here? Cameryn asked. I met up with Lyric at the Steamin Bean earlier today, and we started talking. She said you all were going to have an informal tribute to Brad and, well, since Brad was so important to me, I asked if I could come. She said yes, and here I am. So, could I do a toast? Kyle asked, looking from face to face. Go for it, Adam said. Lyric, can I steal your water? Sure. Lyric shoved her glass across the table. And then, in a voice that sound strangely rehearsed, but not without effect, Kyle closed his eyes, his long lash es coming together against his high cheekbones. Keeping his lids shut, he raised his glass and said, Unlike the mythic phoenix, the body turns particles of earth, and earth remains, and yet the soul unburdened soars into the heavens he faltered to become the dust of stars. Kyle s voice was soft, barely audible over the throbbing music. He opened his eyes but didn t look at any of them. Instead, his gaze searched the ceiling, and in a thick ened voice, he said, Brad Mr. Oakes you taught us to soar. May God be with you, now and forever. 115 Clinking glasses, they drank, Cameryn and Lyric sip ping, Adam and Kyle chugging theirs. Wow, Lyric said as she set down her glass. That was awesome, Kyle. Did you make that up? Kyle shook his head. No, that s Shane Kearney. Oakes made us memorize poems, and that was one I did in class. Kearney s Irish, like me. But his writings are more like inspirational poetry. Really? Lyric said. Did you know Cameryn s Irish, too? Kyle s amber eyes slid over to hers. I figured. With a name like Mahoney, it s a pretty safe bet. Cameryn looked away, out the overly bright, neon-lit window. She had an idea that this was all part of the plan [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |