Page 47 of Mazywood

“I’ll go look for them,” Johnny said, masking his sudden panic.

A wail from the front porch shredded Johnny’s stomach. Her voice was nearly unrecognizable, but Sharise sounded like she was in the worst pain of her life. Tasha looked at Johnny, her eyes begging to be convinced that she was imagining the horrific sound.

Laughter followed. Imani.

“Stop it!” Sharise said, muffled through the door. “You got snow in my hair!”

The girls were back from the hill.

Sixteen

DESPITE HOW FAST THEY RACED up the Steps of Death, Imani and Sharise missed the four-thirty deadline. Dad was waiting at the front door. Imani was sure he could see the dead deer and frozen blood in their faces, but he only said, “Looks like you ran the whole way. Come in through the garage and hang up your wet stuff. I’ll unlock the door.”

His eyes flitted away fast, but Imani saw how pink and glassy they were. Sharise was too busy complaining about snow in her hair after Imani’s direct hit to the back of her head with a snowball, so she missed how Dad barely looked at them before he closed the door. A cold spear of dread lodged in Imani’s chest. An impending divorce felt more real every time she saw him.

Maybe that was why she thought of him as Dad instead of Daddy on this trip. She couldn’t cling like a baby anymore. She had to stand on her own.

“We’re probably in trouble,” Sharise said. “But don’t worry: They’ll blame me.”

“No,” Imani said. “I don’t think they even noticed.” Because they have bigger problems.

As they walked toward the side of the house near the cabins, Imani glimpsed the white Jeep still parked outside of the gate. That was weird. She had made up a scenario about hunters to ease Sharise’s mind, but the Jeep might have something to do with the bloody scene below them. The two seemingly unrelated facts swam in her imagination as she tried to think of how to link them. Dad had checked the main house when they arrived, but what about the cabins?

No one in their right mind would go inside the cabin that had been crushed by the fallen branch, which was the closest to the Jeep. But the second cabin could be hiding someone. Instead of staying close to the house, Imani veered beyond their parked rental car toward the leaning shack.

“We’re already late,” Sharise reminded her.

“Just looking,” Imani said. “Doesn’t hurt to be safe.”

“How is that ‘safe’?”

The cabin’s tiny porch buckled beneath Imani’s weight because the wood was so weatherworn. Imani halfway expected her boot to crash through, but it held long enough for her to peer into the streaked, dirty window. She couldn’t see anything past the pane. She tried the rusted doorknob. It rattled, but the cabin’s door was locked. Good.

Relieved, Imani turned around and saw Sharise opening the RAV’s rear door, probably to make sure nothing of hers had been left inside. Like a snapshot, Imani recalled two gas cans in the shadows at the gas station after she’d pulled them out to rearrange the luggage. She’d meant to put them back, but the RAV’s rear yawning open made her remember how she’d lined both cans up beside a firewood bin with bright red railings. And left them.

Imani’s lips fell apart. Just like when she discovered the deer’s head—so unexpected and unlikely—she felt like someone in Dad’s movies standing still while everything around them pulled away. The cabins and woods were pulling away. The darkening day was pulling away.

“Hello?” Sharise said. “Let’s go in. I’m freezing, thanks to you.”

Imani’s tears surprised her, but she turned her head to the side and casually wiped her cheek with her shoulder. She didn’t like crying in front of anyone, but especially Sharise. Her older sister was much nicer to her since they’d started snowboarding, the wild adventure they shared alone, but Imani had bad memories of Sharise saying, What is it NOW, crybaby? Loud sounds, sharp smells, bright lights. So many things bothered Imani that the rest of her family didn’t notice, and suffering in solitude used to reduce her to tears and tantrums. She could blame Sharise for leaving her to load the car by herself, but she’d been glad when Sharise was gone and she could arrange everything the way she pictured it in her head. Except for those damn gas cans. Dad must have noticed the missing gas cans already. Maybe that was why he was upset. Imani brushed off her guilt for making a simple mistake. No big deal.

Better than a divorce, anyway.

As promised, the garage’s side door was unlocked, leading to a sterile space with bright fluorescent lights, oddly spotless. The first thing Imani noticed was a single red gas can next to a tall supply cabinet inside the garage door, and her guilt squirmed.

But the tarp over a car drew her attention, and guilt was forgotten. While Sharise took off her jacket and scarf, hanging them neatly on the wooden hooks near the side door, Imani went to the tarp and lifted it to peek underneath. Glossy red paint gleamed at her.

“Holy shit!” Imani said. “It’s a Cadillac convertible!”

The car was vintage, so only the insignia across the grille told her it was a Caddy. Sharise rushed to see, helping her whip off the tarp.

“Forget that Jeep—I’ll take the Caddy,” Sharise said, sliding her hand over the car’s body like it was skin. “Look at this!”

The convertible top was cracked from age exactly like skin, Imani thought. And why were old cars so ridiculously long and wide? They were more like boats than cars. This one took up most of the room in the garage, leaving little space for them to squeeze past. As Sharise unfurled the tarp, the sheen and dark red color were pretty, but Imani wouldn’t be caught dead driving such a gaudy car even if she had a license. Driving didn’t seem that great, anyway.

“It’s all yours,” Imani said. “It probably doesn’t even run.”

“I think it does!” Sharise said, giddy. She held up a key ring with a single key she’d swiped from the dashboard. “Finders keepers—right?”