Diamond Willow by Helen Frost Read Free Book Online

beside it. Grandma sitting in it, rocking. They put me in her arms. She looked at me and told a riddle: I see a dewdrop shining at the center of a rose.
    Grandpa whispered, You’ll be back. I’ll watch for you.
    Marty was six years old. He kissed my hair, and asked, Why, Mommy? She looks perfect. They let him hold me in his little arms, and he looked at me so deeply, I wondered later, when he held me as a puppy and looked at me that same way, if he might recognize me. I’m certain no one else does. Not even Grandpa.
    That one night in their house, I slept beside Willow. They covered us with a soft yellow blanket and they all sat beside our crib. Our father played a long, slow song on his guitar. Our mother sang to us. Our brother reached into the crib and held our tiny hands. The room grew dark. Through a window, red and green and purple lights shimmered in the sky. A beautiful half moon shone on our faces.
    I heard a wolf howl in the distance. Was it calling for me?
    I loved the world and everything I saw and smelled and heard. I wanted more than anything to stay.
    I went to sleep. Once I woke when Willow cried. Our mother picked her up and fed her, put her gently down.
    She picked me up. She checked to see if I was breathing. She put her ear against my heart. It was still beating. She held me for a long time, then kissed me and put me back with Willow. I went to sleep.
    In the morning, Willow woke, but I did not.
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    I
    had
    a sister,
    a twin, not
    identical. (They say,
    She was so beautiful, as if that
    proves the point.) Why haven’t you
    told me this before? I ask. Long silence,
    before Mom answers, I’ve always planned
    to tell you. I know I’ve missed a few chances,
    but it’s hard to talk about her without crying,
    and I don’t like you to see me cry. Dad says,
    We’re so lucky to have you. I try not to think
    too much about what might have been.
    Grandma looks at Grandpa, who says,
    It was not our place to tell you.
    Zanna says, Don’t blame me,
    I didn’t know. Everyone
    laughs at that. Roxy
    gives a quick, sharp
    bark, as if to say,
    Hey, I’m here,
    too! I would
    have told,
    but who
    listens
    to a
    dog?
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    Why
    are they
    telling me this
    today? When they
    were worrying about me
    last night, did it remind them
    of those four nights Diamond was alive?
    Or are they telling me that they know how it feels
    to love someone you can’t help, like I love Roxy now?
    It’s like walking through the kind of deep snow where each step
    makes you break through the crust and sink down to your knees.
    After they tell me about Baby Diamond, I say, Whatever we
    decide about Roxy, I’ll always remember the day we all
    went to pick her out. Remember her intelligent
    clear eyes? (Will we ever see them again?)
    I say Whatever we decide, like it’s
    obvious to everyone: no matter
    what happens, I’m part of it
    as much as they are.
    Dad nods, Yes,
    he says, I do
    remember
    Roxy’s
    eyes
    that
    day.
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    Roxy (Diamond)
    I like hearing Willow say she remembers my eyes from the day they brought me home. I remember her eyes that day, too.
    I was born to a malamute who had led her team through six Iditarods, winning one of them. We were so proud of that. All the puppies scrambled for attention, tumbling over each other to get our mother to notice us. Maybe we’d grow up to win races like she did.
    But there were too many of us in that dog yard. The musher put out word that she was selling puppies, and people started coming by. They’d look us over, ask a lot of questions, and sometimes leave with one of us. I figured out that if I tucked my head into my paws, closed my eyes, and pretended to sleep until they left, no one would notice me.
    So I was “sleeping” when I heard voices I remembered from way back in another life. I opened one eye and saw a big boy, a little girl, and a man and woman I thought I’d seen before. The woman