Kristin Butcher... has novel ideas

Thistledown Press, 2009.

Eighteen-year-old Jessica Lawler has a dream that when she was twelve, she killed her friend, Charlie. Having the nightmare once would have been bad enough, but Jessica keeps having it over and over again. To make matters worse, she has no memory of that time in her life. Moreover, her family moved away right after the incident in Jessica's dream is supposed to have happened.

So what does the dream mean? Is it truly just a bad dream? Or is it actually a horrible memory? Determined to discover the truth, Jessica returns to Bone Tree Hill.

    I lowered myself to the ground, drew my knees up under my chin, and wrapped my arms around my legs. Then slowly releasing my breath, I looked around.

    The bank I was sitting on slid gradually into a shallow gorge littered with clumps of bush, spindly trees, and a rocky stream bed choked dry after a rainless summer. On the far side rose another bank, higher and more imposing than the one I was on, and my gaze moved irresistibly to it.

    Bone Tree Hill -- that's what we kids had called it, though for the moment I couldn't think why. There were no bones there, just a large rolling hill, barren except for a single oak tree and sun-bleached stalks of rye grass waving their long spears like vigilant sentries. The soldier grasses came and went in an endless parade of seasons, but the oak tree had been there forever. It was the most magnificent tree I had ever seen -- as wide as it was tall -- branches splayed like outstretched fingers, holding the surrounding countryside close. What it couldn't touch, it watched. From its lofty lookout on top of the hill, the tree saw all -- and knew even more.

    For several minutes I watched it watching me. Would it remember? It had been six years, I'd changed. No more headstrong tomboy scampering through its branches, plucking acorns and pelting them at unsuspecting victims below. I was eighteen now -- a young woman -- and in a few more weeks I'd be heading off to college. The tree couldn't possibly remember me now. On the other hand, how could it forget?

    "Jessica! Jess!" From a distance I heard someone calling my name, and I turned to see Jilly waving madly as she hurried up the track.

    I waved back and stood up.

    "I phoned your grandmother's house as soon as I got off work," she shouted up to me. "She said you'd gone for a walk. I knew you'd come here. You're barely in town two hours, and -- zing! -- you shoot straight for the hill."

    I smiled and waved again. Considering the hill was the reason I was visiting Victoria, I thought I'd done well to stay away as long as I had. I watched Jilly's long, sure strides cut the distance between us.

    "How are you?" she demanded the second she reached the top. And then she hurled herself at me.

    Six years hadn't changed Jilly a bit. She was as electric as ever -- still a bone rack too, and though I returned her hug, I was careful not to squeeze too hard. I didn't want to break her on the very first day.

    "Just look at you!" she gushed before I could open my mouth. "You're gorgeous. And you have boobs! Are they real?" She jabbed a finger into one of them.

    "Jilly!" I protested, pushing her hand away. But I couldn't help laughing. It was such a Jilly thing to do.

    "What?" she blinked innocently. "You were always so paranoid you were never going to grow those things. I was just checking to see if your really had." She threw back her shoulders, pulled her tee shirt tight, and eyed her own chest -- what there was of it. "Hmm," she said. "It looks like I'm the one who should have been worrying." Then she shrugged. "Oh, well, what would I do with hooters anyway? They'd just get in the way when I'm running. I'd probably smack myself in the eye or something."

    I threw my arms around her again. "Oh, Jilly," I laughed, "you're crazy," but a wave of relief washed over me. I hadn't realized until that second how much I was counting on that craziness to keep me sane.