Page 2 of Scars Like Wings

My mom was nowhere to be found.

There was no note. No one had warned me she would be late. Sheshouldbe here. There was no reason sheshouldn’tbe here.

Panic grew within me. I felt like I wanted to throw up.It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. It. Is. Okay.

I ran back downstairs, almost jumping straight down from the top of the stairs to the bottom floor.It’s okay.I tried to control my breathing.It’s okay.I tried to calm my racing heart, my shaking hands.It has to be okay.But I worried hownot okayany of this was. This wassounlike her.

Suddenly, I heard a key in the door. My heart skipped a beat. It had to be her, surely. Maybe she forgot something for dinner? Perhaps she had to run some quick errands? Who knows? Honestly, who cares? As long as she was home and here to make me feel silly for fretting over her like this, I didn’t care where she had been.

Itwasgoing to be okay!

Finally, after what felt like too long, the door unlocked and opened?—

“Sorry for taking so long, kiddo! I was talking to your dad on the phone outside, letting him know that we got home, and I got carried away.” My Uncle Everett stood in the doorway instead of the person I truly wanted—needed—to see.

The wind was knocked out of me. The smile I had faded away. It wasn’t my mom. I still had no idea where she was.

It wasnotgoing to be okay.

Everett took me in, closing the door. His face immediately fell. He closed the distance in just a couple of his long strides, with enough time to catch me as my legs gave out. He tipped his head down, eyes searching my face for answers. “What’s wrong, Byrdie? What happened?”

My tears spilled over and down my cheeks. “I can’t find Mom! I’ve looked everywhere for her, and she’s not here. Did she tell you that she would be late coming home?”

Uncle Everett shook his head. “No, she should be here.”

His nostrils flared. I knew he was taking in the scents around him. As a supernatural creature, Uncle Everett had to control his senses to avoid sensory overload from all the details he was able to perceive. Mom, Pops, and Auntie Max had to do the same as shifters. Someday soon, I hopefully would learn how as well. His face was unreadable as he allowed himself to scent the house. Then his golden hazel eyes went to the back door.

“You checked the entire house?”

“Yes, I did. What do you smell? Is it her? Why would she be back there?” I asked, looking to the French door that overlooked the backyard.

I turned back to him. He appeared to be weighing something, his jaw clenched and his narrowed eyes unsure. Finally, he said, “I don’t know.”

I swallowed around the swelling lump in my throat. No, we don’t know anything yet. She’s okay. I’m sure that she’s okay. She’sgottabe.

I followed behind Uncle Everett to the door. It was unlocked and cracked, like someone had let the breeze close the door for them.

Outside, the air held its breath for the rainfall. The sky was so cloudy that there was no sign the clouds were moving at all. We ran down the hill that was our backyard to approach the wood line, the same entrance I often used when I snuck into the woods. The entrance was an archway of hardwood limbs. Thickets of small yellow daisies sat at the bottom of each side. There were leagues of trees all around. Normally, it was a welcoming sight to me, like an entrance to a fairytale wonderland.

Today, however, the entrance felt more ominous, severe. It made me hesitate before it. The branches appeared heavy, the yellow flowers more dull. It resembled the mouth before entering the belly of the beast. Feeling expansive, it hit me that there were too many places for Mom to be. But she had to be here. She just had to be.

She wasgoingto be.

“Hey.”

I looked over at Uncle Everett. Everett wasn’t myrealuncle, but Mom’s best friend from college. He had always been around and even lived a few houses down from us. The lack of our blood relation frequently came as no surprise to any of the other parents, students, or staff when they saw us in the pickup lanes. Looking at him, I was always reminded of the golden-brown sands of the Sahara Desert that I saw in my textbooks. His eyes, skin, and longish straight hair were all a stunning sandy-brown, complete with freckles from his constant time in the sun. He was tall and muscular, with broad shoulders, like a lacrosse player. He could charm a room with his dazzling white smile alone.

We couldn’t have been more different. My jet black hair was full of kinky coils when it wasn’t in long box braids, like it was now. My eyes were as brown as the forest floor beneath us behind my large glasses. My skin was a dark tawny brown, like a mountain cliff rather than a sandy beach. I was short and fat—or “curvy” as Mom preferred I say. While I did gymnastics and ballet, I remained wider than most of my peers, yet I could outrun most of them by a mile at least. Perks of my genes, I guess.

“Hey, kiddo,” Uncle Everett said. “Don’t you worry. We’ll find your mom, and then we will be laughing about this by dinner. You’ll see.”

I gave him a weak smile. Everett and I were always on the same wavelength of thought, so he always knew the right thing to say.

“Thanks, Uncle Ever.”

“Don’t mention it. Now, lead the way.”

It was no wonder Uncle Everett had asked me to lead the way. I knew these woods better than I knew myself, all the way down to my bones. Near a cave’s entrance, I had found a giant rose quartz that was now taking up most of the desk in my bedroom. At the base of a tree, about a mile to the left of the entrance, I plucked a perfect bouquet of Georgia Asters for Mom every Mother’s Day. I was pretty sure I had climbed almost every tree in this forest, seeking the perfect nook to read for hours. I had lost count of all the skinned knees, scratches, and bruises I had gotten. I knew every tree, every crystal growing from the ground, every stream and creek, and every cave. I knew the paths like the veins under my skin.

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