A Beautiful Dark

her look pretty—outdoorsy and alive and younger than she was. It was weird to think that my mother’s best friend was the same age my mom would have been if she were still alive. I couldn’t imagine my mom doing the active and strenuous things Aunt Jo did. I imagined her as fragile, ethereal. Perfect.
    “Listen, before I head home, I’m going to pop into the Bean to see Ian,” I told her.
    “Don’t stay out too long.” She frowned upward at the heavy clouds. “We’re in for some major weather.”
    “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Seriously. See?” I knocked on one of the tires. “Snow tires. It’s all good.”
    She looked at me a moment longer. “Okay,” she said, entirely unconvinced. You’d think for someone who spent 99.9 percent of her time trekking through the mountains avoiding bears and rattlesnakes, she’d put more faith in things like snow tires. “Be careful.” She mussed her hand through my dark, wavy hair.
    “It’s just a little snow,” I insisted. “We get it, oh, twice a week?”
    She gave me a warning look. “I’m serious, Skye.”
    “I’ll be fine. What’s with the gloom and doom?”
    “Oh, this whole explosion thing just has me shaken up, that’s all. Thank god I was home and not out on a trip. I hate my new schedule; I wish I didn’t have to be away from you for so long. What if you’d been hurt and I wasn’t here?”
    I didn’t want to admit that, secretly, I was kind of thinking the same thing. She had enough to worry over with all the extra work she’d taken on after Jenn’s fall. I gave her a reassuring smile. “But I wasn’t hurt and you were here.”
    “Promise me you’ll be home soon, and I’ll make you dinner tonight or something.”
    “A real home-cooked meal—from scratch?” I widened my eyes in mock surprise and batted my eyelashes. Aunt Jo had become the queen of stocking our freezer with frozen dinners. The “healthy” kind that had ingredients like wild brown rice, organic kale, and quinoa—this totally bizarre little grain that Aunt Jo had instructed me was pronounced “keen-wha.” The meals couldn’t possibly be as healthy as the manufacturers claimed. Anything that came in a little plastic dish you had to heat in the microwave couldn’t be that good for you. When Aunt Jo was home, though, she cooked real meals good enough to dream about the whole time she was away. “I want lasagna!”
    “Don’t push your luck,” she said dryly. “But if you hurry home, I’ll bake you some cookies.”
    “I’m glad to see you’re not above bribery.”
    “You can’t be above anything when raising a teenager.”
    I stuck my tongue out at her. “Love you!”
    “Yeah, yeah,” she said, shooing me away. “Love you, too. Say hey to Ian from me.”
    I pulled away, watching as she got back into her car and drove off. Something wet stuck to my forehead, and I looked up to find it was already snowing—thick, heavy white flakes. Perfect. After the point I’d made about overreacting, Aunt Jo would kill me if I got stuck in the snow. I pulled my hood up to cover my neck and started walking down the street. The sidewalk outside the Bean was charred and black. Standing in front of the empty wooden frames that had once held windows, I stared at the destruction.
    Glass had shattered all over the floor along the walls where the picture frames had fallen. Chairs were overturned; couches were torn and bleeding upholstery. The glass in the pastry display case under the cash register had blown out.
    Every single sheet of glass in the entire place had been splintered into tiny shards; a fine, prismatic dust covered everything. The afternoon light glinting off the shattered glass was almost blinding. I shielded my eyes.
    “Ian?” I called.
    I heard a clatter in the back.
    “Who’s there?” he shouted.
    “It’s Skye.” The clattering stopped. Silence.
    Ian emerged from the back looking completely harassed. His short sandy hair was sticking up as if he hadn’t even brushed it, and his eyes were bloodshot.
    “Do you see?” he asked, shrugging and dropping his arms to his sides. “Do you see what I have to do? This may be too big a job for even the Sexy Handyman.”
    “I’m so sorry,” I said. “This is unreal.” I didn’t bother with the door—just stepped through where one of the huge storefront windows had been. I forged a path through the debris to the counter. “Are you okay?”
    He picked up the broom leaning against the wall behind