Chapters (37)
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- BEFORE
- AFTER
- ONE THOUGHTS ON SUN HATS
- TWO TIME FOR CAKE
- THREE TWELVE MONTHS
- FOUR PSYCHIC KARAOKE
- FIVE A SECOND SLEEPING BAG
- SIX SIX MONTHS
- SEVEN THE EARLY BIRD GETS THE PANCAKE
- EIGHT SIX MONTHS
- NINE FOLLOW THE MUSIC
- TEN THE STARS ARE BRIGHTER IN THE DESERT
- ELEVEN SIX MONTHS
- TWELVE EVERY STAR HAS A SONG
- THIRTEEN PSYCHIC KARAOKE
- FOURTEEN ONE MONTH
- FIFTEEN A WELL-TRAVELED HAT
- SIXTEEN JOEL VS. THE VOLCANO
- SEVENTEEN TWO WEEKS
- EIGHTEEN HOUSE OF MEMORIES
- NINETEEN IF TREES COULD TALK
- TWENTY THREE DAYS
- TWENTY-ONE SEARCH PARTY
- TWENTY-TWO NOT THE SAME ZADIE
- TWENTY-THREE WAVES OF SMOKE
- TWENTY-FOUR THE DAY OF
- TWENTY-FIVE THE SKY IS FULL OF BIRDS
- TWENTY-SIX NEST
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- EPILOGUE
- TWENTY-EIGHT A SONG ABOUT A BIRD
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Also by Ruth Emmie Lang
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
“How far is the bluff from here?”
“Mile. Mile and a half. Why?”
“I think Finn’s there. Or she will be. If we hurry, we can catch her.”
Myron’s skepticism caused him to hesitate momentarily before finally assenting. “Okay. Follow me.”
The creek continued to rise as the rain continued to fall. They reached a bend in the creek, and the water was so high that the lowest boughs of the cedars were fighting against the current and the ferns clinging to the mossy bank were gasping for air. “We’re almost there,” Myron said, peering down at his GPS.
As they rounded the bend, it was clear the creek had indeed flooded. The forest floor was now a rippling pool of gray water that extended from the creek bed to the base of the granite cliffs to the south. “It looks like the swamps I used to kayak on when I lived in Georgia,” Joel said, coming to a stop. “Without the gators.”
Zadie dipped a boot into the floodwater, and all but the top lace disappeared. Myron looked out over the floodplain and pointed west. “Bluff’s that way,” he shouted over the rain. “We have to cross it.”
Without another word, the three of them waded into the water. Zadie looked down and almost didn’t recognize the murky, quivering reflection staring back at her. This woman with the wet hair and determined gaze was not the same Zadie as the one who’d left Texas with a beach bag full of romance novels.
That Zadie wouldn’t have trudged through a rainstorm in the middle of the wilderness.
That Zadie wouldn’t have broken the promise she’d made to herself to never use her ability.
That Zadie never wanted to see her mother again.
This Zadie, she realized, did.
She ignored the water splashing inside of her boots, ignored the stitch in her side and the burn in her muscles. Her sister needed her. Her mom needed her. And so she forged ahead through the drowning wood.
Myron slowed as they came to what appeared to be the western edge of the white pine forest. “We’re here,” he said. Zadie’s heart vaulted into her throat. She was about to rush ahead when Myron held her back. “The rock is slick.” His tone was sobering, parental. “Be careful.”