8:22 a.m.
She paces the cabin, talking to herself. My Adelynn surrounded herself with friends; this woman—Ada—is foreign in her isolation.
I’m glad I didn’t kill her. After the first swing, I regretted it. Shame, disappointment, and grief hit me like the crashing wave when I was five and my parents left me alone, not knowing how to swim. But relief set in when I saw the face of some woman with faint acne scars on her chin; it wasn’t the adult version of my Adelynn. It was too late by then. The spotted face with full lips and doll eyes mocked Adelynn’s. After I snuffed out the last of the impersonator, I took her to our place in tribute.
I almost left Adelynn the missing charm from a bracelet she wore to school once, but I didn’t want to cause her pain. She’d gotten in trouble for losing the hammered silver unicorn her grandmother had given her for her sixth birthday. Wendy Bailey took the bracelet away, and Adelynn was sent to bed early for a week. I had no idea unclipping a charm would cause such a ripple effect. I became strictly an observer after that.
Lost in memories of days when Adelynn brought peaches with her lunch and I ducked out of class to watch her eat them, I nearly missed Ada getting in the car. She’s clutching her hands over and over, self-talking under her breath. I want to bottle the steam the words make.
I wonder if she puts her seatbelt on before she puts the car in reverse. I picture her gloved hand reaching to adjust a mirror only she uses. Is her console set to play music, talk radio, a podcast that makes her feel like an intellectual?
There’s no time for me to watch how she settles in her car, though. I take off running. She can’t hear the sounds of branches cracking under my boots with her windows rolled up, so I worry less about being careful and more about making it to my car in time.
8:39 a.m.
It doesn’t take long to figure out where she’s headed. I can’t remember how long the drive straight there is; the back way takes about half an hour. I pass the lake’s little official green and white metal sign and three paved parking lots. The second and third turn-offs will allow me to go through the woods to watch her. I can stick to the tree line again. Will she see me this time?
The moment I whip into the third parking lot, I practically leap from the car. Each stride I make is longer than the last. I need to see her reaction to where I left Knockoff Adelynn.
I slow when I see her jacket through a break in the forest. Hunching, I slink towards the edge of the trees. She’s tense as she stares at caution tape.
It’s too far over to be for Knockoff Adelynn; I’m sure of that. Ada turns left and shakes her head. I swear it’s as if she’s laughing.
As she nears our spot, I challenge myself. Run to her. I want to tell her everything. Slowly, she sits on a snow-covered rock and stiffens. Go, be bold. Would she believe me?