Bone Dance by Martha Brooks Page A

whole week? Why?”
    â€œThe weather is beautiful now, and there’s a lake where you could swim. I think it would be good for you. Put back some sparkle.” She ran a cool thumb just under Alex’s eye along the cheekbone. “If the cabin isn’t livable, well, then don’t stay. Or if you get there, and you can’t face being alone, then just come home.”
    Alex pulled at the loose threads on her sky blue quilt with the giant tree that always seemed to grow as you drew it up over you. She had always loved this amazing quilt. She loved to lie in the center of her bed, her hands reaching over the covers to stroke the gold-and-green branches. Christmas morning, when she was fourteen, and Mom’s eyes were so shiny with delight, and she knew the quilt had been much too expensive, she had said softly, “Cool,” and felt guilty, but it had been on her bed ever since.
    â€œAlex,” Mom said, “when I fell in love with your father, I never thought about how my life might turn out. I was nineteen years old. I was just a baby. Howcould I know anything? But I’ve been lucky in my life. And you’re lucky, too. Take your courage into your hands, and don’t turn away this gift.”
    After she left, Alex flicked out the candle. Outside her window, the city night hummed restlessly along. Here, in the darkness of her own room, with her eyes closed tight, her hands stroked the cool raised edges of cotton tree limbs.

13
    She is running down the hill, through amber grasses, to the shores of the lake. “Wait for me!” she calls to them. “Look at me. I’m here. I’ve decided to come. Wait! Oh, please wait!”
    â€œYour granddaughter,” Old Raven Man says calmly, pulling a bone-handled jackknife from his pocket. One expert slash, and the fish is split up the middle.
    â€œHello, Alexandra,” Grandpa says.
    â€œHello, Grandpa. Oh, hello! Hello!” she cries joyfully.
    He’s hunkered down, whittling a point on a willow stick. She wants him to turn around.
    â€œLook at me, look at me!” she says, just the way she used to at the pool, where he’d sit in the bleachers, her extra towel, her gym bag, and a snack for her beside him.
    But he still won’t turn around. The jacket he always wore when he took her on camping trips hangs loosely around him. He’s as thin as he was when he died.
    â€œWould you like some fish?” Old Raven Man asks. He turns his eyes on her. She is struck by their beautiful light.
    â€œThis is your dream,” he says, startling her. “You can call me whatever you want. I used to have a name. A long time ago when I was over there. I don’t miss it.”
    He adds wistfully, “I do miss honey. That was good. I remember what it tasted like. Would you like some fish?” he asks a second time.
    She should say yes to be polite. But she hates fish, and so she says no.
    â€œIt’s a spirit fish. They taste like honey.” He smiles sweetly at her.
    â€œHow are you, Alexandra?” Grandpa asks. He spears the fish with the willow branch and leans it, to cook, over a fire.
    She hesitates behind him. She hardly dares to ask, but she has to. “Are you really my grandfather?”
    â€œMore or less,” he says, turning around. “But of course I’ve changed.”
    His eyes, like those of Old Raven Man, are clear and light filled. He is a beautiful spirit. She realizes, suddenly, that she didn’t have to worry about him. He’s finding his way.
    He takes her hand, squeezing it three times like he used to. It was their signal. It meant, I love you.
    â€œI miss you,” she says. “Why did you have to go away and leave me?” She starts to cry. Her tears feel real even though she knows that she is only dreaming.
    â€œWhy,” asks Old Raven Man, “don’t you believe your dreams?”
    â€œBecause they aren’t real,” she says,