Lullaby (Fable Saga Book 2)

I'm running through the dark midnight forest.

The night-cloaked trees cluster around me like the walls of a gloomy maze, but I won't get lost.

I know the way. He's calling me. The one I love.

I glide over small streams, hollow moss-encrusted tree trunks, a sea of ferns. From time to time I look up. Stars wheel through the patches of black sky peeking through the forest canopy overhead. As I run, the sky lightens to a deep royal blue, paling to lilac speckled with the ghosts of the fading stars.

Day is coming.

I have to hurry.

I'm almost there, but I won't reach him in time.

So I call his name, hoping he'll hear me.

But no sound comes out. I've forgotten his name. In fact, I've forgotten his face, my face, my name, everything.

How am I supposed to find him again if I can't even remember what he looks like?

The gurgling melody of water rushing over stones rings through the trees. I run towards the sound, deeper and deeper into the forest. I come to the edge of a babbling brook. Something is pulling me, and I walk along its edge, picking my way over mossy emerald boulders. I stop when I reach a small, still pool, shining silver as a bright mirror embedded in the forest floor.

Tiny green and turquoise dragonflies dance above the water's surface, their jeweled armor glinting in the dim starlight.

I crouch down and lean over the pool's edge to look at my reflection.

I'm met with an unfamiliar face.

Long wavy hair as white as new-fallen snow.

And eyes that for some reason I'm sure should be pale green, but are bright silver instead, like molten metal gleaming beneath dark lashes.

The way I'm dressed is just as peculiar. I look down and see that I'm wearing a gossamer gown made of some diaphanous material; a sheath of silvery spider silk dotted with tiny pearls, light as sea foam, hanging on the air.

Is this me? Has this always been me? I must be dr–

A movement in the forest interrupts my thoughts. A dark shape takes form several feet away, unfurling from the ground like a column of black smoke. The shadow moves towards me.

I claw at my chest as a sharp pain stabs my heart.

Beloved. My beloved. Her voice is waves crashing against rocks, the rustling of leaves on a tree, the wind whistling through mountain valleys.

She sends out tendrils of darkness, reaching to me across the silver water, and in that moment I know.

She's hunted me for a thousand years.

She'll never stop.

All I can do is run.

So I sprint through the forest, away from the pool, away from her. Fingers of smoke claw at the air behind me, but I'm one step ahead. I race towards a distant light, until I break into the clearing.

A wooden cabin sits in the centre of a wide glade. I'm no longer running – I fly through the air, pulled by invisible strings.

Below me, a neatly laid-out vegetable patch drinks in the pooling sunbeams of the newborn day, lettuces reaching upwards drunk with starfire.

And above me, the sky is all aflutter, a bright blur of stars drowning in a sea of dawn, sucked beneath the radiant waves of the inevitable morning.

I have to hurry. Before the day breaks.

The shadow behind me closes in, tearing at the fronds of my silken dress.

I reach the cabin, fly through the front door, up the stairs, into the small room at the end of the corridor.

A girl lies sleeping on a bed next to the window, her pale blonde hair in disarray as she twists and turns against the pillow, fleeing from some nightmare.

Shadows darken the doorway behind me.

The darkness races across the room towards me as I take the girl by the shoulders.

I shake her, screaming.

I wake up with a start.

The details of the dream fade away as I sit up in bed, rubbing the sore spot just below my left breast.

There was lots of running, and someone chasing me. And I was flying. I remember drifting over Kitty's vegetable garden, into this very room.

Yawning, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I pick up the red and green tartan blanket draped over the duvet, wrapping it around myself.

Treading lightly over the wooden floor, I unlock my door and head out along the corridor, then down the narrow winding spiral staircase. The kitchen is empty.

Good. The boys are still asleep.

I tiptoe to the front door, turning the handle as quietly as possible.

Stepping onto the front porch, I take in the pale sunlight tinged with starlight as it streams through the meadow, chasing the fleeing night. It's not quite daybreak, but seconds before. Those magical, special moments of morning twilight just before the birth of a new day.

I watch the sky fade from speckled lilac into a soft blue in the east.

Wrapping the shawl tighter around me, I sit down at the top of the steps, under the overhanging red roses.

The vegetable garden is just a few feet from the bottom step, to the left of the house. It's just as beautiful in real life as it was in the dream.

Rows of lettuces are interspersed with marigolds, tomatoes, strawberries and fat purple cabbages.

It's a miracle really that the plants are in such good condition, after so many years of neglect.

Kitty found the remnants of the vegetable patch hidden under a huge clump of bramble a few days ago. She says she was bored, what with myself and the boys being busy in the basement all day every day recording music. She noticed the top of a stone birdbath sticking out of the brambles, so she found a pair of garden shears in the shed next to cabin and went wild. The last thing she expected was to find a veggie patch under all that mess.

Despite being buried under at least a meter of thick thorny stems and leaves, the plants seem to have thrived on whatever sunlight was getting through to them.

I would never have expected Kitty, with her designer handbags obsession and girly personality, to have green thumbs. But over the last few days she's spent every daylight hour out in her little garden, pulling out weeds and peeling slugs off her kale with the ferocity of a mother bear guarding her cubs.

She says it helps take her mind off that night.

Almost two weeks has passed since we saw the strange silver light in the forest. The boys are still convinced it was someone playing a trick with a hologram.

Nothing has happened since then – no weird lights, no eerie music or silver snakes floating in the trees – so they've been happy to write it off as a freak occurrence, some random prank that probably wasn't even intended for us.

They're wrong though.

The scar on my rib cage throbs slightly as I think about how the silver serpent darted through the air towards me, hitting my chest directly over my heart.

Exactly over my scar.

I first noticed a slight bruise around it a few days afterwards. Lavender, with patches of yellow.

Over the next few days it darkened to an angry violet, growing more and more painful, more and more tender. Now, I push aside the tartan blanket and reach up below my left breast, touching the sore area through the thin cotton of my camisole.

Part of me thinks I should go to a doctor. But I'm not sure what I'd tell them exactly.

So basically, I was out in the woods with a world-famous rock band, when this flying singing snake flew at me through the trees...

Sure. Great idea.

But still, the worry tugs at me, making me wonder if it could be some sort of delayed complication from the event that earned me the scar in the first place – getting stabbed through the ribs by a massive shard of glass as Evan sent me to safety through the back window of the bus.

That was almost two years ago. There's no way it's related.

Anyway, the bruise is the least of my worries. Something's changed since that night. Elliot, Ben and Lyall are the same as always, but both Felix and Alastaire have been avoiding me like the plague.

That's not exactly easy to do, what with us all living together in the cabin and spending all day together in the recording studio – but it's obvious, and totally awkward.

Felix doesn't spend any more time with me than he needs to. He hasn't once said anything about what happened in my bedroom that night, as if it never happened.

And Alastaire's flirtatious, innuendo-laden banter is nowhere to be found. When he does talk to me, he's super polite and civil, as if I'm sort of coworker, or a distant acquaintance. He's perfectly nice, but strangely formal and distant.

On top of that, Alix is mad with me. I phoned Micah, Wild Blue Yonder's bassist, about a week ago to tell him that I wouldn't be able to make band practice for the rest of the summer.

Admittedly, I called him because I knew how Alix would react, and I didn't feel like dealing with that directly.

Even though I couldn't tell him my reasons for the break, Micah was totally cool about it. Like Alix, he'll be going to college locally next year, so it's not like this is the last chance we have to play together as a band. He just said it was ok, and we'll pick it up again when I'm ready.

Alix didn't take the news quite as well.

A few minutes after I got off the call from Micah, I got a text from Zee.

I just heard my brother yelling at Micah on the phone. Then he smashed something up in his room. I think he's mad at you. What happened?

I'll have to wait until the recording business with Fable is over before I can set things straight with my own band. Elliot says we should be done recording in under a week, and secretly, I'm glad.

Between Felix ignoring me, Alastaire's aloof attitude, and the strange things that seem to happen to me every time I step into the woods, I'm ready to go home.

And stupidly enough, I actually miss my mom and dad. Even though I call my mom every morning – her idea, probably so that she knows I survived the night – in the past few days I've felt this strange pang. Like loneliness, heartache and nostalgia all rolled up into one.

A feeling that only family can dispel.

I remember when I was on the bus. As we were sinking, amid the screams I heard a boy crying for his mother.

A keening, sorrowful sound. The sound you make when you know you're going to die, and you realize that the only time you've ever felt truly safe, totally protected from all harm, was when you were a child, in the loving arms of your mother.

Right now I feel like I'm a little girl again, lost and alone.

I want my mom. God, I'm so patheti -

"Looking good, right? Those strawberries should be ripe in a few days."

My thoughts are interrupted by Kitty's chirpy voice as she sits down beside me on the step, clutching a steaming mug of coffee. She's dressed in black leather leggings, with kitten heels and a creamy white blouse.

"Morning," I say. "Those don't look like gardening clothes. Are you going out?"

"Yeah," she says, sending clouds of steam into the air as she blows on her coffee. "We're running low on some staples. It's time for me to do a grocery run. Hopefully the boys can make it last until we leave. I've already broken two nails carrying shopping bags, and I'm not losing any more. In London we have a shopper whose job it is to..."

London. Soon they'll be back in London, and I'll still be here. If that's what I want, if I really am I ok with it, then why do I feel so cold all over? Why does the thought of parting ways with them make me feel like I'm drowning, being sucked beneath the icy water, all over again?

"Hey, space cadet," Kitty says, clicking her fingers in front of my face. "You're drifting off again. Anyway, I know exactly what you need."

"What I need?" I repeat after her.

"Yes," she says. "You need to get out of here for a while. Come into town with me. There's a slice of chocolate cake out there with your name written on it."

"But we start at nine every morning," I say. "Felix will-"

"Felix will understand," Kitty says. "Now go put on something cute. We're going shopping."

By the time we get into town, it's well past 9am. The walk from the cabin to the car park took longer than usual – Kitty insisted on wearing kitten heels for our little excursion. Even though they're pretty low compared to her usual footwear, she still fell flat on her butt right at the start of the hike, and moved at a snail's pace after that.

It could be worse though. At least she's not wearing stilettos.

Still, her feet are covered in blisters after their ordeal, so it's a blessing that we were able to get into the jeep at the car park and drive into town, rather than Kitty hobbling all the way.

By now, the boys should have woken up and found the note I left for them on the fridge. Hopefully they'll just carry on without me, and they're in the recording studio working on melodies and lyrics for the new songs.

As we drive along NW 32nd Avenue, Kitty points out posh designer boutiques and artisan bakeries, working up a mental shopping list before we even set foot out of the car. By the time we've found a shady parking in a nearby lot, Kitty's already decided on two handbags, a pair of shoes and a dress, all spotted in shop windows as we drove past them.

Shopping with Kitty is an experience.

As soon as she sees a store she likes, she swoops in, like a sartorial bird of prey, drops between five hundred to five thousand dollars, and is out in less than five minutes. Within an hour we've visited about twenty stores, are carrying at least ten bags in each hand, and have spent enough to send me through college several times over.

"I wish you'd let me buy you something," Kitty says, holding up a red mini dress and wiggling it in front of me. The boutique we're in is called Sable & Sabine, and I've never set foot in it before, on account of the sky-high prices. In fact, it's pretty much the most expensive dress shop in Portland, maybe even Oregon.

Jamie's gone in a few times (in the name of fashion) but she's never actually bought anything, because she says that the snooty shop assistants always give her insane bitch face.

We're certainly not having that problem right now. The moment Kitty waltzed in with her multitude of designer boutique shopping bags and the confidence of a queen, the assistants practically groveled before her.

I'm tempted to ask Kitty how her parents made so much money. I think I remember reading somewhere that the Lockhart's have old family money, which Felix's granddad squandered – but Felix's dad made it all back and more through some business he started. I never imagined that they were so super rich though. Based on the rate at which Kitty is plundering the high street, her dad must be a multi-millionaire. A billionaire, even.

"Do you think this dress is more sexy vamp or 80s prom?" she asks, holding up a ruffled black velvet dress. "I like it, but I also sort of hate it. Think I should get it?"

"How much does it cost?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

"Who cares?" she says, handing the dress to a shop assistant. "I'll take it. And that gold one in the window too. Ash, are you sure you don't want anything?"

"I'm ok," I say. It is sort of tempting to take up the offer, and most girls would. But somehow I don't feel right letting Kitty spend money on me. And all these clothes are so sophisticated and showy. I couldn't pull it off. I'd just look silly, like a little girl playing dress up in her mother's closet.

"All this hard work is really getting to me," Kitty says as she swipes her American Express Black Card. "I need some shopping fuel, stat. Let's get something to eat."

My stomach growls loudly at the thought of food, which sends Kitty into a fit of giggles.

"Sounds like you're also hungry," she says.

"Starving," I say. "Voodoo Doughnut is just up the road, or we could try-"

"No," Kitty interrupts me. "I want to see your restaurant."

"My parents' restaurant," I say.

"Whatever. Let's go there for lunch."

"Biblio only opens in the evening," I say, checking the time on my phone. "But the Night Owl should be opening up right about now."

I almost ask her if it would be ok for me to call my friends and invite them too. I haven't seen them in over a week, after all. But some small part of me says it's a better idea not to.

On the night with the snake, Kitty said something about Felix changing when he was a kid. He wasn't always so dark-hearted and sarcastic. It sounded like she was saying that something specific happened. Like a traumatic event of some sort. This could be my chance to find out more about Felix's past.

"The chocolate cake's legendary," I say. "Seriously, to die for."

"Perfect," says Kitty. "Lead the way."

*****

The Night Owl is just waking up as we arrive. Out on the sidewalk, the new girl is setting up the chalkboard with today's specials as the coffee machines stir to life within. She looks up as we walk by and yawns a halfhearted greeting to me, probably out of obligation because I'm the boss's daughter.

The tables inside are already filling up. The Night Owl doesn't do a proper lunch menu – it's more like a deli or café vibe, with sandwiches and scones and cookies – but it's still a lunchtime favorite in the area. We find a table at the back of the café, tucked away in a cozy nook under the stairs. Then it dawns on me.

This is where I first saw Felix. He was sitting right here, at this table. This exact spot. Probably on this very chair, watching me play. On the night it all began.

I squirm uncomfortably in my seat and skim through the menu, even though I already know the whole selection off by heart.

Don't think about Felix. Don't think about how he pinned me to my bed, don't think about how close his face was, inches from my own. Think of anything else, but not Felix.

"So, what's going on with you and my brother?" Kitty says.

WTF she's a goddam mind reader. Dammit.

"Nothing," I say.

"Really?" Kitty says, narrowing her eyes at me. "I know he's... complicated. If you want to talk about anything, I'm all ears."

"Seriously, there's nothing going on between us," I say, raising my menu to cover my now violently red cheeks. Just the fact that anyone, especially Felix's own sister, could even suggest something like that – it's too much.

I'm not just a virgin – I'm an ultra-virgin. As inexperienced as it's possible to be. I'm the girl who's never dated a guy. I haven't even kissed a guy. I'm pretty sure that the incident with Felix on my bed the other night and Alastaire's repeated flirting don't count. How could she ever suggest that something might actually be going on? It's just embarrassing.

"Hey Ashling," a familiar voice says right behind me. "Long time no see."

I get such a fright I almost jump out of my chair. Turning around, it takes me a moment to recognize Jade. There's something different about him today. His normally loose dark blonde hair is tied up in a man bun, and instead of his usual paint-smudged vests or t-shirts, he's wearing a grey v-neck sweater. But that's not what's so different about him today. It's the look on his face.

Jade's usual super-chilled-cloud-nine-dreamer-artist expression is replaced by huge, corny grin, his grey eyes sparkling in a way I've never noticed before. That's when I realize that his eyes are fixed firmly on Kitty.

"You're not from Portland, are you?" he asks Kitty.

Kitty shuffles in her chair slightly, visibly stiffening under his gaze. She narrows her eyes ever so slightly, giving me a quick, questioning glance.

"No, I'm not," she tells Jade carefully, a little coldly even.

"I didn't think so," Jade says. "I would have recognized you. What are you up to tomorrow night?"

Wow. Just like that.

Kitty's ice queen mask drops, as she stares at Jade with a horrified expression on her face.

"Excuse me?" She says.

"Are you free tomorrow night?" Jade repeats confidently. "I thought we could-"

"Absolutely not," Kitty says, looking down at her menu.

I look from Kitty to Jade wondering if there's anything I can do to defuse the awkward situation, but Jade doesn't seem rattled at all.

"Let me change your mind," he says.

"I'll have a cappuccino," Kitty says, blatantly ignoring him. "What are you having Ash?"

"Oh um... I'll have the same," I say, glancing at Jade apologetically as I say it. But it's like I'm barely here. Jade's looking at Kitty in a way I've never actually seen him look at a girl before. It's the special look he reserves for his artwork, when he's staring at one of his swirling paint-splattered canvases. A look of pure captivation. Enthrallment. Rapture.

I shouldn't be surprised, really. Kitty's undeniably stunning. A ten out of ten. And she basically oozes mystery.

"Two cappuccinos, got it," Jade says. "Anything to eat?"

Kitty doesn't look up from her menu, and I can see by the way she's running her fingers through her black hair that she's actually nervous. "No, we're not hungry," she lies. "Just the cappuccinos. Thanks."

"You will be hungry after you have a bite of the beetroot and chocolate cake we just took out the oven," he says. "I'll bring a slice over. You'll love it. Trust me."

He scoops up the menus and walks away before Kitty can disagree. She's watching him open mouthed, her eyes blazing with anger.

"Who in the name of god was that, and just who does he think he is?" she says.

"That's Jade," I say. "He's a barista. And an amazing painter too actually. He was in the art class my gran taught at-"

"Is he always like that?" she asks, her eyes following him across the room as he whips up our cappuccinos behind the counter.

"I guess," I say. "He's always trying out new recipes for the cake stand and forcing me to taste test them. They're always super delicious though."

"That's not what I meant," Kitty says. "Is he always like that with girls? Like, asking random strangers on dates the second he meets them?"

"I don't know," I say.

Jade's gone through his fair share of girls over the past few years, but he's not some sort of creep who'll just hit on anything female. Jamie's been throwing herself at him for ages now and he's always brushed her off like a total gentleman.

"How old is he?" Kitty asks abruptly.

"Twenty-one," I answer. "Why?"

Kitty's cheeks flush ever so slightly. "No reason," she says airily.

OMG. She likes him.

"Why don't you take him up on his offer?" I blurt out. "On the date, I mean."

"What?" Kitty asks, her eyes still fixed firmly on Jade on the other side of the room. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Well, because the attraction's clearly mutual," I say.

I probably shouldn't be making suggestions and giving advice on stuff I have absolutely no idea about, but c'mon. It's obvious.

"You're imagining things," Kitty says. "Besides, he's not my type."

"What is your type?" I ask, picturing Damon from The Vampire Diaries or some exquisitely chiseled fashion model in a men's fragrance advert.

"Clean cut," Kitty says. "Polo shirts. Suits. Country club. Not artsy grunge. And not so... so... annoying."

Right on cue, Jade brings a tray to the table with our cappuccinos and a plate with two forks on either side of a gooey slice of chocolate beetroot cake.

"Who ruins a perfectly good cake with vegetables anyway?" Kitty mutters. "It's savagery."

"Don't bash it till you try it," Jade says with a wink, before heading back to the coffee station.

Kitty pokes the cake with her fork suspiciously, but she takes a bite and almost immediately goes back for more.

"It would be pointless, anyway," she says between forkfuls. "I mean, we'll probably be leaving in less than a week anyway. Felix says the album's coming together perfectly."

As she says his name, I get that same old familiar stinging in my heart. All the activity today took my mind off the painful purple bruise that appeared over my scar that night, when the silver serpent thing flew at me in the woods.

I reach up reflexively, touching it through the thin material of my shirt.

"Does it hurt?" Kitty asks, her eyes creasing with worry.

"A little bit," I reply.

Kitty nods slowly, a faraway look in her eyes.

"That thing... it wasn't a hologram, was it?" She says.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I don't think it was."

Maybe I should tell her about the strange shadows I've been seeing in the woods. The dreams. The way I found my bike decayed almost beyond recognition after spending no more than a day on the forest floor. The Irish fairy tale.

"Ash, is there something you're not telling me?" Kitty asks.

I can't do it. I can't say anything to her. Not until I know more. She'll think I'm crazy as hell if I try explain to her. Not that I even know what I'd say anyway. One thing I do know however is I need some answers.

And I have a pretty good idea where I'm going to get them.

After we finish our coffees, we head over to the Whole Foods Market on 15th Ave. Kitty got all flustered when Jade gave her the receipt but refused to let her pay the bill. It was folded in two, and I bet he wrote down his phone number for her.

He has no idea what he's getting himself into.

She acted like she wasn't interested, but she slipped the folded receipt into her bag when she thought I wasn't looking. She's been unusually quiet ever since.

As we walk down the long aisles stacked with a rainbow of organic peppers and fruit, Kitty mumbles about how hard it is shopping for the boys. Lyall and Ben will eat anything, but Elliot only eats low-carb high protein, Alastaire won't let anything but the finest delicacies taint his refined palate, and Felix always checks labels for MSG and food dyes and throws away anything that doesn't meet his rigorous standards.

Which is why we're shopping at Whole Foods, and not the infinitely cheaper supermarket across the way. Not that I'm complaining mind you – I'm addicted to their lemon yogurt.

We shop without speaking, each lost in our own thoughts until Kitty breaks the silence.

"What do you want, Ash?" she asks.

"You mean... from here?" I ask, confused by the sudden question. "I've already put some yogurt and strawberries in t–"

"No," she says, suddenly stopping in the middle of the aisle. "I mean, what do you want from us? Out of this whole thing you're doing with the boys? I know we said we'll pass on your demo songs to Fable's manager, and you'll obviously get some recognition for working on the new album... but what then? Your band gets signed and you become some kind of star? Is that really what you want?"

Several people trying to push past us in the aisle shoot dirty glances at Kitty, but she's oblivious.

"Do you really think all of this is going to make you happy?" She asks.

"I don't know what to say,' I answer, trying to speak quietly so the other shoppers don't hear our conversation. "It's not exactly about... happiness or anything. It's just something I have to do. Making it as a professional musician had been my dream for as long as I can remember. My only dream, actually. It can't just be a co-incidence that you all entered my life the way you did. It's not about fame or money or anything... I just... I don't know how to explain it."

Then there's also the other weird stuff that's been happening, which I'm sure is somehow connected to Fable – the shadows, the snake, the dreams – but I wouldn't even know where to begin with that.

"I don't get why you're asking me this," I say. "I mean, you're then one who convinced me to stick it out in the first place, after I said I didn't want to be involved."

"Yes, I remember," Kitty says thoughtfully, as she pushes the trolley down the aisle, scanning the shelves as I follow behind. "None of those boys is happy, you know. They might look like they're doing ok, but they've all had to build such high walls, it's like each one of them is trapped inside their own castle. Everyone wants in all the time. The fans, the managers, sponsors, even other celebs looking to boost their own fame. They have to put up a barrier, every second, to keep everyone else out."

"I think I can relate to that," I say, placing a bag of golden honeycrisp apples into the trolley.

"Of course you can," Kitty says. "I think that's why Felix chose you. You get it. Everyone's always trying to break down his walls. But not you. You're hiding away behind walls of your own."

She doesn't sound sad as she says it, more matter-of-fact. Like this is something she's been thinking about for a while. I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. I wait for her to carry on.

"I'm sorry Ash, I know I'm talking in circles," Kitty says. "I guess I just wonder sometimes if I really did make the right decision convincing you to stay and help with the album. Going down this path isn't going to help you find happiness, or meaning, or answers, or whatever it is you're looking for. The music industry can destroy a person. If anything, if BYG Records likes your demo and you get signed or something... your walls are just going to get higher and higher. Do you know what I mean?"

A red-haired lady loading up her cart with several plump green cabbages a few feet from us is side-eying Kitty, and has probably been listening in on the whole thing. I don't blame her. It's way too intense and heavy for a grocery store aisle conversation anyway, but Kitty seems totally unfazed. She carries on talking, loading up the trolley with gluten-free dumplings and five huge frozen apple pies.

"Even with the walls, they can't keep everyone out," Kitty continues. "Every aspect of their lives is controlled. That's why they're doing this whole thing. Hiding out. It's the first time in years they've had control over their own music."

I shake my head, trying to imagine a life where every decision is made by some manager.

"It doesn't stop at the music," she says. "BYG Records controls everything. From what they wear, to what they eat. You know the boys can't publicly have girlfriends?"

"What about Zara Quinn?" I blurt out before I can stop myself. The memory of Alastaire showing me the photo of Felix's arms around the starlet at a party flashes through my mind. It's not like their relationship was news to me though – they've been the paparazzo's favorite on-and-off couple for the past two years. But a part of me wanted to think it was all made up, an act, for show.

"The thing with Zara is complicated," Kitty says, looking thoughtful as she glides down the frozen foods aisle. "If there's nothing going on between you and my brother, why do you even care?"

"I don't care," I say too quickly, hoping Kitty doesn't notice the hitch in my voice.

"Uh huh, sure thing," she says. "You like him though, don't you?"

She turns around, and stares at me, waiting for an answer. For once, my face doesn't go red. I can feel it turning white. Because right behind Kitty, a middle-aged woman with curly black hair in a messy bun is placing a tub of ice cream in her trolley. Her husband is crossing something off a shopping list.

Mia's parents.

"Susan," I say, my voice coming out as a croak. "Jeremy."

They look up, meeting my eyes, and their faces turn as white as mine.

I used to see them all the time before the accident. They were family friends, which is how I met Mia in the first place. Susan and my mom were BFFs at chef school, and I always thought it was kind of cool that I was besties with my mom's best friend's daughter.

Our two families were always together – 4th of July barbeques, camping trips up the coast, Christmas Eve, you name it. They basically were family.

Since the accident though, Susan and Jeremy have been like strangers. In fact, I haven't seen them once since the night of the candlelight vigil. I can't believe how much older they look since then. It's like they've both aged twenty years, although it's only been two.

I take a step towards them, and Susan's shocked expression suddenly hardens into a cold, stiff mask. She abruptly pushes her trolley past me, without even looking back. Jeremy stops in front of me, running his hand shakily through his salt and pepper hair.

"I'm... sorry, I really am... we just... can't..." he says, before hurrying after his wife.

There were tears in his eyes.

I stand still in the middle of the aisle, feeling like I've just been drenched with ice cold water. I'm sure the bystanders must be staring at me, and I vaguely wonder if any of them saw the whole thing.

After being publicly brushed off and ignored like that, I should be feeling embarrassed. Humiliated.

But all I feel is a piercing sorrow. And a new, fierce determination.

"Ash... are you ok?" Kitty asks, placing her hand on my elbow.

"Yes, I'm fine," I say. "We need to make a detour before we go back to the cabin. There's something I have to do."

Something I haven't done in a long, long, time.

I'm going to visit Mia's grave.