Less than a week later, I brought the family back. One baby was wrapped inside her mother’s jacket (that was Willow) and the other—well, I knew what had happened. They were all so deep in their grief, I’m not sure they could have found the place again, but I know that old trail well, and I took them right to it. Marty had two different colored mittens, brown and green—I remember that because the green one kept falling off, and I’d pick it up in my mouth and bring it to him.
That tree wasn’t much taller than he was at the time.
For a few years, I took them all out there every year on Diamond’s birthday. But it was Willow’s birthday, too, and I suppose they wanted her to have happy birthdays like other children, so they stopped doing that. The night I took Willow and Kaylie out there was the first time in years I’d been back there myself.
The storm came in fast that afternoon. The girls are young; they didn’t know how ferocious it would be. I knew they’d need a place to sleep that night, and I was pretty sure I had less than an hour to get them to a place they might find shelter. So I headed down the old trail to see if I could find the diamond willow grove. The trail was overgrown; no one uses it much these days.
I might have missed the place altogether if that spruce hen hadn’t flown along with us. When I saw her stop to rest on a low branch of the spruce tree, I stopped to look around, and sure enough, I recognized the place I remember from so long ago.
Roxy was in the sled; her eyes were bandaged, but she acted like she knew where we were. How? I’ve never figured out who Roxy was in her human life—no one I remember knowing. All I can say is, she was more content than I’ve ever seen her, curled up with Willow through that long dark night as the blizzard raged and then subsided.
I
want
to tell Kaylie
about everything I’ve
learned since I last saw her.
(It’s only been two days, but it
seems like two years.) I get to the
lunchroom first and find an empty table.
While I’m waiting for Kaylie, Richard sees
me and starts to come toward my table. No!
I almost shout, but I manage not to say a word.
I just look away, thinking, I can’t talk to Kaylie
if he’s here. Even though I don’t say anything,
he swerves away at the last minute, and sits by
himself at the next table. Kaylie comes in and
sees us both. She hesitates, like she isn’t sure
which table to sit at. What should I do?
I think fast. I know if I do nothing, my
best friend will have a hard choice
to make. My Diamond story can
wait. For once, inside myself,
I don’t start a big argument.
I get up and move over
to Richard’s table.
Kaylie smiles
and joins
us.
In
about
two minutes
our table is full
and someone pushes
another table up next to it
so there are nine kids sitting here.
That’s not surprising. Everyone likes
Kaylie and Richard. But here’s the surprise:
Almost every other time I’ve been with these kids,
the group I call the sparkly people, I’ve tried really hard
to make myself invisible. Now they are all asking questions
about our night out in the storm, and I’m kind of enjoying myself.
It’s partly because I’m thinking up some interesting answers but also
because I start wondering what makes people ask the things they ask.
Why does Amber want to know if I was more scared of the dark
or the cold? What makes Nicholas so curious about the
lynx: What did it sound like? How big were the
tracks? Did you smell anything when it
got close to you? Richard’s friend
Jon asks me, How’s Roxy?
Will she ever see again?
I can’t answer. Without
warning, my eyes
flood with tears.
Jon is quiet.
I bet she
will, he
says.
Roxy
lies on my bed
with her head resting
on her paws, like she thinks
she has always belonged here.
When I come home from school, I
call out to her—Hey, Roxy—and she perks
up her ears, moves over to make room for me,
tilts her head to one side as if she’s asking what’s
happened while I’ve been gone all day. I talk to her
for so long, I almost forget to check her eyes. I’ve
promised Mom and Dad I’ll do that every day.
Today, for the first time, her eyes seem to be
a little better, not so crusty. I wash them
with warm water, dry them. She keeps
them closed while I put on a fresh
bandage. I get my Dinak’i book
and work on my homework
and Roxy sits with me,
her head in my lap,
so peaceful, so
right.
Roxy (Diamond)
After Willow washes my eyes, she leaves the room to get a clean bandage, and I open my eyes for a minute, first both at once, then one at a time. I see light through a window. I see a shadow in the doorway. The shadow moves away so fast, I know it must be Zanna. She says she isn’t scared of me anymore, but she still steers clear of me when we’re alone.
No one knows that I used to snap and growl at Zanna. She was so small, barely walking; she’d come close and reach out her hand to pet me like Marty and Willow did.
I wanted to be a baby, and get bigger, and learn to walk. I wanted them to take me inside when I got cold, like they took Zanna in whenever she let out the smallest squawk.
And so, when she came close, I’d growl at her, low in my throat, so no one else could hear.
Once I nipped at Zanna’s ankle and she started crying. Willow called her a crybaby: Oh, Zanna, she said, you know Roxy wouldn’t hurt you. Zanna looked at Willow, then back at me, like she didn’t know whether to believe her sister or herself. After that, she never came near me again.
It was a long time ago. I’d never do that now. Zanna might not even remember why she’s scared of me.
Did
I see Roxy
open her left eye and
close it again? Zanna says
Roxy winked at her last night.
I don’t believe her, of course—
only a little kid would believe
that a dog can wink—but I
wonder if Roxy is getting
better. I see her pulling
at her bandage with
her paw when
she doesn’t
know I’m
looking.
If
you
can see,
open one eye,
I whisper in Roxy’s
left ear. I know she hears me,
but I don’t think she understands.
I’ve taken off her bandage. Her eyes
look better, but she keeps them closed.
Roxy, do you want to go for a sled ride?
When she hears that, she jumps off the
bed as if to say, When are we leaving?
I say, Look over there, Roxy! I point
first one way, then a different way,
to see if she looks the ways I point,
but Roxy will have none of that.
Either she isn’t seeing much
or she is refusing to let me
know that she can see.
Okay, Roxy, I’ll
take you out
for a ride.
Let’s
go.
Roxy
and Cora
jump around like
little kids, licking each other
and rolling in the snow together.
I hitch up all the dogs, with Cora as the
leader. Then I try to get Roxy into the sled, but
she acts like she doesn’t want to go after all.
I thought you wanted a sled ride, I say.
Come on, cooperate with me. Her
eyes are closed. It’s not
like Roxy to be
so difficult.
I turn
away from her
for about half a minute; when
I turn back and look at her, she is holding
a harness in her mouth, like she wants to tell
me something. Did Roxy pull the harness out of
my emergency kit? How could she do that
if she can’t see? What is going on here?
Roxy, look at me, I say, and she does!
For a split second, Roxy blinks
her eyes—open, shut—that
clear pure brown,
shining like
the sun
itself.
I
pull
the harness
gently over Roxy’s
ears, very carefully over her
closed eyes. I whisper to her, If you
think you can do this, Roxy, I’ll let you try.
How should I hitch her? She and Cora work well
together. I’ll let them both lead. They are so excited,
and I know that Prince and Lucky are smart enough
to follow my commands, no matter who is leading.
I give all the dogs a pep talk: You know the trails.
We’ll take it slow this first time, see how it goes.
I haven’t told anyone I think Roxy can see
a little bit. I’m not sure why. I just
have a feeling it’s something
she wants to keep
secret.
I
can
think better
out here with my dogs,
the sound of the sled runners,
quiet as my thoughts, inside me
and around me, all at the same time.
It’s so amazing that Roxy is keeping up
with Cora! Is she telling me that she can
see? Or is she saying something else, like:
Seeing isn’t as important as you think.
Roxy is such a pretty dog, so smart.
Everyone always loves her,
but none of us knew
how tough she
could
be.
It’s
hard to say
who’s leading.
Roxy and Cora and I
all seem to have the same idea
of where we’re going. The dogs turn
off onto the old trail before I tell them to.
When we arrive at the diamond willow grove,
they both come to a stop before I can even say Whoa.
I want to know if Roxy is going to keep her eyes closed here.
When I look, they are wide open, like a secret passageway between
her thoughts and my own. Roxy, I am thinking to her, did you know
I had a sister? Her name was Diamond and she died, just four days
after she was born. They brought her ashes here because of these
diamond willow trees. This is where they got our name. Roxy
thinks back to me, Oh yes, Willow. I know about Diamond.
I know her as well as I know you. For some reason, I
am not surprised. Then Roxy thinks, Willow,
don’t tell anyone that I can see.
I understand that, too. Now
we’re both thinking
together, This
will be our
secret.
Yes.
Cora (Willow’s great-grandfather’s sister)
When Willow looks into Roxy’s eyes, I can hear them thinking to each other. The other dogs don’t listen, so I’m the only witness. I don’t think they know that I can hear.
I figured out who Roxy must have been when she was human. She was the baby they called Diamond.
I remember Diamond shining like a star in that brief time that she was here. Everyone kept saying she was perfect. Well, of course she was perfect: she didn’t live long enough to do anything wrong.
No one would say the same for Roxy—when she was a puppy, she was always causing trouble. Once she chewed a hole in the screen door and tried to push herself through. She got her head stuck and pulled it back out; then she gave up and went to sleep under the aspen tree. When everyone came home, Roxy looked so innocent, they looked around to see who could have done it, and guess who took the blame? I got blamed for lots of things that Roxy did. It never bothered me too much. I liked Roxy just as much as they did.
Come to think of it, Roxy was always trying to get into the house. There was that time when she was a little bigger, and she started digging under the front door. When the hinges loosened and the door swung open, Roxy ran inside. I heard them say they found her hiding under some clothes in a corner of Willow’s closet. They put her back out in the dog yard with the rest of us, and for days she drove us crazy with her howling. No one, including me, could figure out what was wrong.
Now I think I understand—if Roxy is Willow’s twin, of course she wants to stay inside.
At
last,
Kaylie and I
have a chance to be
alone. Mom is taking Zanna
to the dentist, Dad is working late, and
Richard has basketball practice after school.
Kaylie meets me at my locker and we walk to my
house together. First she tells me every detail of every
conversation she and Richard have had in the past week.
Then finally she asks: How are you, Willow? How is Roxy?
(It feels like all one question.) When I tell her what I found out
about having a twin sister (I love this about Kaylie), she stops
in her tracks to stare at me, like she almost doesn’t believe me,
but she does. So I tell her everything I know about Diamond.
Remember where we found shelter the night of the blizzard?
She remembers. Well, I say, It’s almost like that’s the place
where Diamond lives. I tell her how Roxy and Cora took
the sled there, and she asks, Are Roxy’s eyes healed?
I think, Yes! But I’m careful. I say, Maybe, almost.
Kaylie asks, I mean, can Roxy see? I hesitate.
I half answer, How would I know that?
but—I’m pretty sure of this—
I made a promise to my
other best friend,
Roxy.
Roxy
sleeps
curled up
on my bed, and
I dream of Diamond
here beside me. We are both
the age I am now. In the dream, we’re
at school and we’re sitting at the same table.
I’m thinking, This must be a dream, because all
the sparkly kids who always sit together are asking
if they can sit with us. They’re all coming up to us and
saying Diamond, Willow, can we sit here? (Or are they
saying Diamond Willow?) I’m quiet, like I always am,
while Diamond is saying, Sure, just save that place
for Kaylie, and, Good luck in the game tonight,
and, Are you coming to our party tomorrow?
Our party? I forgot—tomorrow is my (our)
birthday. I’ve never had a party. (I’m not
sure I’d know how.) I wake up, but I
don’t open my eyes because I know
Diamond will be gone when I do.
After a while, I open one eye—
and there’s Roxy, sitting
right where I’ve been
looking, in the
dream, at
Diamond.
Dad
and Mom,
with Kaylie’s help,
planned a surprise party—For
you and Roxy, Kaylie says, because
Roxy’s almost better, and you’re thirteen.
Marty’s home; Grandma and Grandpa came;
Zanna got to invite one of her friends, and Kaylie
invited four kids we know from school (Richard,
two quiet kids that Kaylie and I both like, and that
boy called Jon—he’s been saying he wants to meet
Roxy). Usually I’d hate this kind of surprise. More
than seven people in a room, and I’m off hiding in a
closet somewhere. Thirteen, I’m actually sweating,
if not crying. But Roxy is enjoying all the attention
everyone is showering on her. This dog, Richard
announces, was nearly blinded, and could have
died when she was out all night in the worst
blizzard of the year—yet look at her now!
Let’s have a toast to Roxy! Okay, he’s
been watching a little too much TV,
but we do look at Roxy: her eyes
are closed, and she’s grinning
the way dogs do, that look
that says, If only I could
talk, I’d have a few
things to tell
you.
I’m
not sure
how the kids
will react when
Grandma starts telling
riddles. I see something, she says.
Someone is untangling his dog lines.
Pretty soon those dogs will start howling.
I laugh, because I know this is Grandma’s
way to have some gentle fun, teasing Dad.
Jon looks all around the room and guesses:
I think I might know the answer. Maybe
it’s your father, changing the strings
on his guitar. Pretty good, for his
first time meeting Grandma.
He glances over at me
like he’s hoping
I’m impressed
and that I’ll
smile, and
I am