I Am Not Jessica Chen(50)

The corners of Aaron’s lips twitch, and to my surprise, he steps over to my side. “I’ll walk her back,” he says. “Don’t worry, I’ll see that she’s safe and cared for.”

Leela hesitates, one foot in the stirrups, her head turned back and tilted in question. “You’re sure?”

“It’s no problem.” He makes it sound so easy, so natural. But everything is easy for him.

“We’re trusting you with this,” Celine says, her eyes narrowed at him. “You better keep your word.”

“I promise.”

“It’s okay, Celine,” I say quietly, as if my heart isn’t throwing itself against my rib cage at the mere thought of walking two miles alone with Aaron. “I’ll be fine.”

Only then does Celine swing herself back onto the horse with perfect posture. The animals stamp their hooves, snorting, their coats gleaming beneath the light. With one last glance back at me, Celine clicks her tongue and nudges the horse forward with her heels.

“We’ll wait for you,” Leela calls over her shoulder, urging her horse forward as well.

I nod and wave and watch as the two of them disappear across the meadow, Aaron’s horse and mine trailing after them. My head won’t stop spinning. Before today, I would have been willing to bet that Celine wanted something from my cousin—to scare her, or to sabotage her, even. But Celine’s concern for me just now had felt too real to be an act.

“Something on your mind?” Aaron asks.

I startle, and shake my head, even though part of me wants to tell him everything. He’s the only person I could trust to help me figure out who the anonymous sender is. But then I remember the way he looked at me on the banks of the lake, his disbelief, how his voice had hardened at the mention of my name.

My arm throbs. My fingers itch toward it, to hold it or squeeze out the pain.

“Leave it,” Aaron says. “You need to give it time to heal.”

I force my hand to flatten by my side again and start walking very slowly, very gingerly through the grass, my body protesting every step. Aaron follows behind me, his presence steady and quiet as a shadow.

“So what happened?” he asks a few moments later.

“What happened?” I repeat. “I fell.”

“Yes, evidently.” He picks up his pace, so I can make out the outline of his profile in my peripheral vision, the curiosity edging his sharp features. “But you’re so careful all the time. I guess I’m just surprised.”

“Well, I didn’t fall on purpose,” I say flatly, to avoid the truth. I heard your name. All it took was your name, and I forgot myself.

“I would be very concerned if you did.”

I turn to glare at him, then remember that Jessica would never be so thankless, so hostile. So instead I clamp my jaw shut and keep trudging forward, my arm stiff in its bandage, my skin stinging.

As the sun sinks lower, a mist starts to roll in, the white haze washing over the oaks and turning the mountain slopes and wilderness in the background into blurry silver-blue shapes, the shades deepening layer by layer. Everything looks softer this way, like a dreamscape. Even the soil has that musky scent of the woods after a summer rainstorm.

“I’m sorry,” I say when enough time has passed for the silence to feel pointed, too uncomfortable to maintain. “I know I’m slowing us down. It’ll probably be dark by the time we reach the road.”

“It’s okay,” he says at once. “All the more reason I should go with you, don’t you think? And besides,” he adds, turning his eyes to the horizon, all the blue rising against blue, “I don’t usually ride so far out. It’s much prettier here than I imagined.”

I gaze over at Aaron and feel my chest ache with everything unspoken between us. “It’s beautiful,” I agree. “When I was a little kid, I actually used to dream of living in a place like this. Somewhere deep in the countryside, or by the ocean, or the forests, where you could wake up to the most gorgeous views of the grass and the waters and the morning mist. . . .”

He tilts his head. “Really? You did?”

“Yeah. I mean, it was more just a daydream than anything,” I say. “But it was nice to think about. I’d have a dog to live there with me and keep me company—a husky, because that’s the closest you can get to owning a wolf without owning a wolf. And I’d grow strawberries and apples in my garden and bake pies for lunch and share them with my parents when they came to visit. And then I’d spend entire afternoons just lying on the couch or the front porch, reading in the sun; I wouldn’t need to worry about running out of books, because I’d have a whole library to myself. And when night fell, I would stare at the stars and paint and paint. . . .” I trail off when I realize he’s come to an abrupt halt amid the wildflowers, his shoulders tense, his black eyes ablaze with some fierce emotion I can’t understand, his lower lip quivering. He’s staring at me like I might not be real, like I’m someone he might have invented.

“Jenna,” he says, and all the blood exits my heart.

I freeze.

“It’s really you, isn’t it?” he asks. It’s a threadbare whisper, a question and a confirmation. “I can’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it,” he continues, filling up my silence, “but there’s no other explanation for this. I know you too well.”