Unearthly Read Online Free Page B

ground.
    â€œI want to see my room,” I say, and escape to the safety of the house.
    That afternoon we stand for the first time on the boardwalk of Broadway Avenue in Jackson, Wyoming. Even in January, there are plenty of tourists. Stagecoaches and horse-drawn carriages pass by every few minutes, along with a never-ending string of cars. I can’t help but scan for one particular silver truck: the mysterious Avalanche with the license plate 99CX.
    â€œWho knew there’d be so much traffic?” I remark as I watch the cars go by.
    â€œWhat would you do if you saw him right now?” Mom asks. She’s wearing a new straw cowboy hat that she was unable to resist in the first gift shop we went into. A cowboy hat. Personally I think she’s taking this Old West thing a bit too far.
    â€œShe’d probably pass out,” says Jeffrey. He bats his eyelashes wildly and fans himself, then pretends to collapse against Mom. They both laugh.
    Jeffrey has already bought himself a T-shirt with a snowboarder on it and is deliberating on a real, honest-to-goodness snowboard he liked in a shopwindow. He’s been in a much better mood since we arrived at the house and he saw that all is not completely lost. He’s acting a lot like the old Jeffrey, the one who smiles and teases and occasionally speaks in full sentences.
    â€œYou two are hilarious,” I say, rolling my eyes. I jog ahead toward a small park I notice on the other side of the street. The entrance is a huge arch made of elk antlers.
    â€œLet’s go this way,” I call back to Mom and Jeffrey. We hurry across the crosswalk right as the little orange hand starts to flash. Then we linger for a minute under the arch, gazing up at the latticework of antlers, which vaguely resemble bones. Overhead the sky darkens with clouds, and a cold wind picks up.
    â€œI smell barbecue,” says Jeffrey.
    â€œYou’re just a giant stomach.”
    â€œHey, can I help it if I have a faster metabolism than normal people? How about we eat there.” He points up the street where a line of people stand waiting to get into the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar.
    â€œSure, and I’ll buy you a beer, too,” Mom says.
    â€œReally?”
    â€œNo.”
    As they bicker about it, I’m struck with the sudden urge to document this moment, so I’ll be able to look back and say, this was the beginning. Part one of Clara’s purpose. My chest swells with emotion at the thought. A new beginning, for us all.
    â€œExcuse me, ma’am, would you mind taking our picture?” I ask a lady walking past. She nods and takes the camera from Mom. We strike a pose under the arch, Mom in the middle, Jeffrey and me on either side. We smile. The woman tries to snap a picture, but nothing happens. Mom steps over to show her how to work the flash.
    That’s when the sun comes out again. I suddenly become super aware of what’s going on around me, like it’s all slowing down for me to encounter piece by piece: the voices of the other people on the boardwalk, the flash of teeth when they speak, the rumble of engines and the tiny squeal of brakes as cars stop at the red light. My heart is beating like a slow, loud drum. My breath drags in and out of my lungs. I smell horse manure and rock salt, my own lavender shampoo, Mom’s splash of vanilla, Jeffrey’s manly deodorant, even the faint aroma of decay that still clings to the antlers above us. Classical music pours from underneath the glass doors of one of the art galleries. A dog barks in the distance. Somewhere a baby is crying. It feels like too much, like I’ll explode trying to take it all in. Everything’s too bright. There’s a small, dark bird perched in a tree in the park behind us, singing, fluffing its feathers against the cold. How can I see it, if it’s behind me? But I feel its sharp black eyes on me; I see it angle its head this way and that, watching me,