Free Firefly Beach by Luanne Rice Page B

friends. She didn’t feel friendship now, but the memory of their letters was powerful.
    “Why did she want to see me? Do you know?”
    “She was confused,” Caroline said, not wanting to tell him more.
    “I’m sorry,” Joe said again.
    “Thanks,” Caroline said.
     

     
    The dream had been so real, she had been back on the mountain.
    She could smell the gunsmoke. The mountain air was fresh and cold, the yellow leaves twinkling down like falling stars. Skye was holding her breath, standing just behind her. Caroline crept through the brush until she saw the deer Skye had shot. Big and brown, crumpled in a heap. She didn’t want to look at it, but she made herself, for Skye’s sake.
    It was a man. He wore a brown corduroy jacket, the color of a buck. His hair was red, glinting in the sun. His eyes were wide, so amazed at it all. They held Caroline’s as she crouched beside him. She knew she had to look into the man’s eyes and never away, so she barely glanced at the wound in his chest, the blood pumping out of it like a natural spring.
    She heard Skye start to whimper and then cry. She felt the man’s dog, a young golden retriever, bumping against her with his wet nose, trying to kiss his owner and the stranger bending over him. She felt the cold air as she unzipped her red jacket, pulled it off. She felt his blood on her fingers, so incredibly hot as she pressed the jacket into the wound.
    “Did I shoot him?” Skye asked. “Did I? Did I? What have I done?”
    Caroline, who had never ignored her sister in her life, ignored her now.
    “What’s your name?” she asked, looking into the man’s eyes.
    “Andrew,” he answered. He was not much older than Caroline, the age of some of the younger teachers at her college.
    His eyes were so bright. They were calm and kind, reassuring Caroline that she was doing her best, that he understood she was trying to help. At first there was no fear in his eyes at all. Every second seemed longer than a heartbeat. Caroline felt the blood pumping out of his body, soaking her jacket, flowing through her fingers into the ground. Their campsite was only five miles down the dirt road, but that was too far. They would never make it for help. Time had paused for them, Caroline and Skye Renwick, Andrew and his dog.
    “I thought he was a deer,” Skye sobbed.
    The sky was too blue. The day was too beautiful. The dog wanted to sniff the man’s blood, kiss the man’s face.
    “Homer,” Andrew said.
    “He’s just a puppy, isn’t he?” Caroline asked, noticing the dog’s puff-ball body, his eager yellow face. He was barely full grown.
    “Yes,” Andrew said.
    “Call him, Skye. Call Homer,” Caroline said, because the dog had blood on his muzzle from kissing Andrew, and she thought Andrew would look at him and see his blood and be afraid.
    “Homer,” Skye said, her voice thin and high, trying so hard. “Here, boy.”
    The dog ran to her. Only then did Andrew’s eyes look away from Caroline. He watched his dog go, and then his gaze came back to Caroline.
    “I’m going to die, aren’t I?” he asked.
    Caroline knew he was. She saw his lips turning white, felt his blood moving slower. She heard her sister crying behind her, felt the dog return to Andrew, wriggling between them as he snuggled closer to his master. Caroline thought of Joe Connor, of the lesson she had learned about how important it was to tell the truth about death, about how it was the least one person could do for another.
    “I think you are,” she said.
    “Oh, God,” Andrew said. His eyes turned afraid. It was so terrible to see. Caroline pressed harder on his chest, but she knew she wasn’t doing any more good. His hands clenched and unclenched. Homer made a sound like a human crying, a mournful sob that came from deep inside. Skye stood right behind Caroline, her legs shaking against her sister’s back.
    “I didn’t know,” Skye wept. “I thought he was a deer.”
    “Homer,” Andrew