Footprints, my brain told me.Wet footprints.
Herfootprints.
“It’s wet, be careful,” I called back to Diane, as if my near wipeout wasn’t caution enough. I turned to see Pig crouched farther down the hall, eyes on the open door, his back arched and fur raised.
Outside, my father yelled, “Please!”
I ran through the open front door and across the driveway, along the flagstone path to the gate, which also stood open. I could not understand what I was seeing: only my father. No Lexie.
“Ted?” I called, taking care not to slip on the wet stone.
My father was at the far end of the pool, holding something in his hands. I willed my eyes to adjust, to see what he was struggling with. Trying to open.
“What are you doing, Ted?” Diane yelled, hurrying toward him.
My father was holding the plastic urn that contained Lexie’s ashes. He’d gotten the top off, pulled out the plastic bag inside and opened it. Now he was holding it over the pool while he looked down into the dark water as if waiting for a sign.
“No!” Diane cried, flying toward him. “Ted! What are you doing? Stop!”
We watched in horror as my father dumped all that was left of my sister’s physical body into the inky black water. No words of goodbye. No sentimental ceremony or talk of how much we loved her. My father’s movements were quick and jerky—like watching someone dump the contents of a Dustbuster into the trash.
“No!” Diane wailed.
“It’s what she wants,” he said. “She told me.”
“Jesus!” Diane said. She’d stopped, just a few feet away from him. “Ted! What have you done?” She looked at the empty plastic bag in my father’s hands, then down at the water, where there was a thin skim of fine gray ash resting on the top. And she began to cry. She collapsed into a nearby chair, put her head in her hands, and wept harder than I had ever seen her weep.
My father looked at me, eyes widening. “Don’t you see,” he said, frantic. “This is what she wants. She told me! It’ll help her come back. Come back and stay!”
I watched the pale ashes floating, sinking, mixing with the black water.
“Look,” my father said, pointing. “There she is! Look!”
I lifted my gaze from the sinking ashes to where he was pointing: the dark heart at the center of the pool.
It couldn’t be…
I held my breath.
There was movement, a ripple in the still surface of the water.
Squinting, I stepped forward, too close to the edge, teetering dangerously. The water smelled like blood.
I was sure, for a half second, that Ididsee something: a flash of white in darkness.
A pale hand and arm rising up out of the black water.
“Lex?” my mouth made the shape of her name, but no sound came.
I blinked, and she was gone.
chaptertwenty-six
August 20, 1930
Lanesborough, New Hampshire
We’ve made two more trips to the springs. When we stop giving Margaret the water, her health declines immediately. As long as she consumes a small amount daily, she does very well. She’s got a healthy appetite, is growing, has a lovely complexion, and when Will listens to her heart and lungs, he can detect no abnormalities. Will cannot explain how it is possible that the water helps our girl, but no longer denies that it is indeed the water keeping her alive.
