Keenly sensing the wide-eyed stare of every impressionable student in that room, Mrs. Pierson huffed, “Lilah Quinn, if you leave this classroom, I will personally be calling your father to inform him of your deplorable behavior.”
“Go ahead,” Lilah muttered as the classroom door slammed shut behind her. “He’s not my father, anyway.”
· · ·
After stopping by the corner store to pick up some candy and a cup of hot chocolate for the chilly, forty-five-minute walk to the cemetery, Lilah sat beneath the snow-covered maple tree that sheltered Marie Quinn’s headstone, chewing on a handful of sour gummy worms. The ground was hard and frozen, and the icy grass was melting against the seat of her jeans, soaking through the denim. Above, pale gray storm clouds threatened to add more snow to the ground. But Lilah didn’t care. The cold had a numbing effect, and a touch of numbness was exactly what she needed right now.
As she gazed at the old wooden fence that cut across the frosted meadow, she tried to imagine the herd of buffalo that had charged at her father thirteen years ago. If Stanley hadn’t shown her the arrow head that he’d yanked from his back, hadn’t held it up to the ugly pink scar on his shoulder for her to see for herself, she never would have believed his story. But Stanley wasn’t one for tall tales. In fact, as far as Lilah could remember, he’d only ever told her one lie in her life – one massive, earth-shattering, punch-to-the-gut lie.
“I guess I should say thanks,” Lilah muttered, tracing a mittened finger across Marie’s gravestone. “I mean, you didn’t have to take me in. Especially after I gave you the worst news of your life. I’m really sorry about that, by the way. Dad – er, Stan…” She wrung the gummy worm in her hands in frustration, not knowing what to call him anymore. Out of everything Stanley had told her, that was the part that hurt the most.
“Your husband, I guess, said that the news made your last year… better, somehow. But I’m not sure how it would. I mean, if I was gonna die, I wouldn’t want some orphaned baby to be the one to drop that bombshell on me.”
She brought her knees up to her chin and sighed. “I wonder if my real mom ever thinks about me. Maybe she has other kids by now. Maybe I have brothers and sisters out there. I bet they’re normal. I bet they go on dates and have tons of friends and don’t, like, show people’s deaths or make boys plummet off balconies.”
A clump of snow fell from the tree, landing on Lilah’s head. She hastily brushed it away, then looked up. A blackbird had just landed on one of the branches above, and was cocking its head in her direction.
“Thanks a lot,” Lilah muttered as more clumps of snow rained down on her. “These worms aren’t real, Mr. Blackbird. See?” She dangled a hot-pink-and-green worm in the air. “They’re watermelon flavored.”
As if replying, the blackbird let out an indignant trill and flew away, showing a flash of red beneath its wing as it did. Lilah watched it fly over the gates of the cemetery and land on one of the tall, sweeping willow trees inside. She shivered slightly. Without their leaves, the slender branches looked ghostly and pale – like icy phantoms lying in wait.
“I wish I could have known you,” Lilah whispered to Marie’s headstone, wiping the blurriness from her eyes. It wasn’t the first time she had uttered such a wish in that very spot.
She stood to dust the snow from her jeans, then reached down to grab her muddy backpack. As she straightened back up, she gasped. A woman with jet black hair and almond-shaped eyes was standing in the place where the maple tree had just been. Close enough for Lilah to reach out and touch. Countless hours of staring at the photo on her father’s nightstand told her exactly who it was.
“Mom?” she whispered. “I mean… Marie? Is that really you?”
The woman looked alarmed for a moment. She gazed down at her hands, then up at the sky, then over at the cemetery. When her eyes fell on Lilah once more, they were wide with disbelief.
“Do you know who I am?” Lilah asked.
The woman nodded.
“Are you… I mean… Are you real? Are you actually here?”
The woman touched a hand to her own cheek and frowned. When she pulled it away, she turned her slender fingers in front of her eyes, as if examining them for the first time. Surveying the rest of her body, she traced her hands along her narrow waist and hips, which were concealed beneath a baggy gray sweatshirt. After a moment, she opened her mouth, then closed it again, as if trying to remember how to speak. When she finally did speak, her voice sounded exactly as Lilah had always imagined it would – high and clear, like a church bell.
“I–I’m not sure,” Marie spoke carefully. “Is this the place where you buried my ashes?
Lilah’s eyes dropped to the ground; only then did she realize that the headstone she and her father had been visiting for fifteen years was gone. In fact, the entire swath of tawny grass beneath her feet was now bare, save for a layer of dead twigs and leaves that blanketed it. And yet, just a few yards away, flurries continued to fall on white, snowy meadow.
“What is happening?” Lilah whispered into her fingertips. When she looked up from the ground again, she was surprised to find that Marie was still there, smiling at her.
“You’ve gotten so big. How old are you now?”
“Sixteen,” Lilah replied, swallowing.
“Sixteen…” Marie echoed, her eyes once again far away.
“Dad just told me about… everything.”
“Only now?” The woman’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, Lilah. I’m sorry. I’m sure he meant well. He never was the best communicator, your father. He likes to refer to himself as the ‘strong, silent’ type. Whereas I usually just call him a stump,” she added, eyes twinkling. “Is he here?” She looked around expectantly.
“He’s at work. He doesn’t even know I’m here.”
“Is he happy? Or at the very least, not miserable?”
Lilah bit her lip. “He’s not very happy this week. But most of the time… I think he’s okay. He misses you.”
Marie frowned slightly. “I can’t say that I’ve missed him… It feels like it’s only been a moment since I last saw you and your father. Albeit a long, hazy moment.”
Silence settled in the crisp, autumn air that stretched between them. After a minute, Lilah gathered the courage to ask the question nagging at her tongue: “Are… Are you a ghost?”
“I don’t think so,” Marie replied, surveying her body once more. “I think I’m… me. I’m fairly skinny from what I can tell, but I feel mostly alright. My last memories are of the leaves falling in the front yard. Your father was holding you. You were reaching up to catch them in your hands. It feels like it was just a few moments ago, but at the same time, much longer.”
“I… see,” Lilah said. She had to remind herself not to chew the inside of her lip to shreds.
“You’re… well, were… about ten months old in my memory. How old were you when I… when I died?”
“Dad says I was just under a year old,” Lilah swallowed.
“I see.” For some reason, Marie chuckled. “I don’t know much about time travel – if you can even call your gift ‘traveling.’ It seems to me that you are the only thing to remain static while time itself moves around you…” she trailed off thoughtfully. After a moment, she frowned. “I wonder if I’ll remember this moment in my previous timeline? Or are you just conjuring up a copy of me from my ashes?”