Keep You From Harm (15 page)

I beat him to first period, and I nearly cheer when Tucker arrives and sits across the room from me with the girl who usually talks to Lucas. I’m trying not to stare at the door when he comes strolling in. My heart immediately begins hammering when I see him. He glances up, catches my eye, and then looks away when I smile. My grin falters as I watch him survey the room, seeming uncertain about where to sit. Then some kind of resignation takes hold as he finally moves in my direction, taking the empty seat beside me, all without ever glancing in my direction again.

I grip my pen tightly as I realize my instincts were right. Not hearing from him after Friday night did mean something was wrong. Something like regret on his part maybe?

“Hey,” I say quietly to him.

His eyes shift toward me. “Hey,” he replies in a monotone voice, like he’s talking to the mailman.

“I left you a message,” I say, confused by his coldness. If he’s regretting what happened between us, he should say so, not act this way to me.

He nods. “Yeah, I got it.” Then he pulls his pen and notebook from his bag and keeps his eyes trained on them as he sets each one on the desk.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, ignoring the sinking feeling inside me and still wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?” he responds, turning to me causally, before dismissing me again. That emotionless tone of voice is back and hearing it feels like a knife is piercing my heart.

I shake my head and laugh miserably at myself. I should have known better. Don’t form personal attachments because people always let you down. That’s how it works out every time. I should have remembered that before I tossed all my hard-learned lessons out the window for Lucas Diesel. God, I’m an idiot. One amazing make-out session, and I’m ready to jump into a relationship with him. I was actually
waiting
for him to call me. I was
expecting
things from him. Well, if he wants to play it this way, he’ll get as good as he gives. He can run hot and cold if he wants, but from now on, ice cold is all he’s getting from me.

I spend the rest of class building up my resolve so that when the bell rings, I’m able to gather my things and head to the door as calm as can be. I don’t burst into tears when Lucas makes a beeline for the pixie girl, chatting with her, and taking no notice of me as everyone files out into the hallway. That’s how I survive the rest of the day, by pretending I’m fine even as the tears swim just below the surface. I ignore Lucas all morning and as far as I know, he never attempts to talk to me either. I sit and laugh with Gwen at lunch, never hinting at the knot of disappointment twisting inside me. I even grab Myles at the end of the day and ask him what’s going on with April.

“I met someone,” he says with a hesitant smile.

I raise curious eyebrows at him.

“He works at the pet store where we get DJ’s food. He started last week.”

“DJ?” I ask. “You have a dog?”

“Turtle,” he says.

I chuckle, and it’s the first genuine smile I’ve had all day. “You have a pet turtle?”

He appears offended. “I have an aquarium. Turtles are great pets. They’re quiet and you don’t have to walk them. They don’t eat much, either.”

“Well, that’s great, Myles. I’m happy you met someone,” I say, and I mean it. He’s a genuinely nice person. Nice people deserve to be happy. Too often it just doesn’t work out that way.

“April disagrees.”

“What was her reaction when you told her? Did she have any idea?”

“Actually,” he hedges, “I only told her that we should see other people.”

This shocks me, and I can’t help feeling disappointed in him, in all guys for that matter. “You should tell her the truth. If she honestly has feelings for you, you owe her that.” I hitch my bag up onto my shoulder, completely annoyed now. That causes me to say something I hadn’t intended to. “By the way, the warning you gave me about not stringing Lucas along? You gave it to the wrong person.”

He stares at me confused.

“See you later.” With that, I begin the walk home. When he calls after me, without turning around, I lift my arm up in a careless wave and continue walking, determined to get my priorities back in order.

T
he
Spring Valley Assisted Living Center is a squat brick building about ten miles outside of Fort Upton in a town called Springfield. It’s a bitter cold night, and I’m shivering miserably in the passenger seat as Kyle parks in the large, mostly empty lot. I follow him into the lobby of the building. It’s a small alcove with an attendant at a desk, but it’s bright and warm, and I sigh with relief as the chill abates. Glancing around, I wonder if Rob Jarvis is working tonight and what his reaction will be if he sees me.

“We’re here to visit Cora Crawford,” Kyle tells the older man who is eyeing us both.

My ears perk up at my grandmother’s last name. I knew her first name was Cora, but I don’t think I’d ever heard her last name. It must be my mother’s maiden name, too. How could I not know that? Kyle gives his information, and when the attendant locates something on his computer, he motions for us to go inside.

“Why do they need security here?” I ask as we move into a corridor with an elevator. There’s a sharp antiseptic smell in the air.

“Anyone could walk in and try to take advantage of the residents. A lot of these people don’t remember their families or who they are. I suppose it’s intended to keep them safe.” When the elevator door opens, we step inside, and Kyle presses the button for the third floor.

We ride up in silence. When the doors slide apart, I see there’s another desk and a lounge area at the beginning of a long corridor. A round, short-haired woman is standing behind the desk, and she seems to recognize Kyle. “We haven’t seen you here in a while,” she comments as her eyes travel to me and widen.

“This is my sister, Raielle.” He gestures in my direction, but he seems wary of her attention.

She nods. “I see the resemblance. I didn’t know you had a sister.” She narrows her eyes at us.

“How’s my grandmother? Is she awake?” he asks. I’m relieved he’s not going to bother with the story of my sudden appearance here in town.

“She’s awake. I have her sitting in front of her window, like always.”

“Come on,” he says to me. I begin to follow him down the hallway. I can feel the woman’s eyes on my back the whole way.

“Right here,” he says before leading me into a small dimly lit room. I glance around and see a hospital bed in front of a large picture window that overlooks the highway in the distance. Outside, white and red lights blur past, traveling in opposite directions. Between the bed and the window is a chair. It’s facing away from us, and from behind I can see that the woman sitting in it has thinning straggly hair.

“I have someone for you to meet, Grams,” Kyle says. He moves to stand in front of her, leaning back against the window and motioning me toward him. I walk slowly, my eyes on her as I move around the chair.

Once I see her in profile, her resemblance to my mother is immediately apparent. The slant of her nose and the lift of her chin are both familiar to me. But her unkempt hair and her unfocused cloudy blue eyes belong to a stranger. She’s slight and hunched as she sits swallowed up by a white nightgown that covers her from her neck to her ankles. She never moves or indicates that she knows we’re there, but her eyes seem to watch the lights moving outside her window. I can see their starry pinpoints reflected in her glassy stare.

“This is Raielle, your granddaughter,” Kyle explains. We both watch her and note her stillness. He glances at me and smiles sadly.

“This is because of senility?” I whisper skeptically. She looks catatonic.

He shifts uncomfortably. “That’s what the doctors tell us. They haven’t been able to find anything else wrong.”

“Did this come on slowly?” I ask.

“It started with small stuff, like forgetting where she put things, but it got worse in a hurry. Finally, we had to put her here, and for the last year or so, she’s been like this.”

I stand beside Kyle and stare at her. A few silent moments pass before a shiver of anxiety passes through me. I feel a flutter low in my stomach, but it’s not the familiar sensation I have when I’m near a person who’s ill. It’s something similar though. Suddenly, an overwhelming need to touch my grandmother takes hold. “Could I have a few minutes alone with her?” I ask.

Kyle’s eyes widen with surprise.

Those words are out of my mouth before I can think them through. I scramble for a viable excuse. “This is kind of a big moment. I’d like to just be here with her for a little while, on my own. Do you mind?”

He seems undecided as he studies me. “All right,” he finally says. “I’ll be down the hall by the elevator when you’re done.”

“Thanks,” I reply, relieved but also nervous now.

I watch my grandmother’s slow steady breathing as Kyle’s footsteps fade down the hallway. Once I’m sure he’s out of earshot, I reach my fingers toward her. Her withered hand, dotted with age spots, rests in her lap. I bring my fingertips to her skin with the very lightest of touches, and immediately an intense vibration travels from me into her. I notice her turn her head toward me, and I jump back, snatching my hand away, feeling spooked. But then she turns to the window and stares again, as though the moment never happened.

I eye her curiously, seeing no evidence of any awareness now. Then I decide to try it again, but this time I’m braced for the sensation. Hesitantly, I lean forward, bringing only my fingertips down onto the top of her hand. The vibration begins again, strong at first before settling into a low hum. My face is close to hers, and I see her blink, once, twice, and then several times more rapidly. She inhales deeply and her eyes move until they’re on mine.

“Angela,” she whispers, and her stale breath washes over me. With my fingers still on her hand, I lean back against the window, putting more distance between us.

“I’m her daughter,” I say. “My name is Raielle.”

Her blue eyes move over my face. “Raielle.” Her thready voice saying my name unsettles me. “What are you doing here? Where is Angela?” Then she looks down and sees my hand on hers. Realization dawns in her eyes. “You’re doing this,” she whispers.

When I nod, she laughs and it’s a rough, wet sound. “You’re powerful. I can feel it. More powerful than I ever was. Maybe more powerful than your mother.”

“You could do it, too? You could heal?” I ask, remaining outwardly calm as my insides churn with a mixture of disbelief and excitement.

She tilts her head at me. “Your mother didn’t tell you?”

I shake my head.

“Where is she?” She glances around the room and then back to me.

“She’s not here,” I reply vaguely.

She looks down at our connected hands again. “So strong,” she whispers. “You must charge a great deal,” she says, her gaze meeting mine.

“What?” I ask, wondering if I heard her right.

“Money, my dear. You could become very wealthy with your power, you know?” she says, her lips curving into a thin smile. “I made plenty of money curing silly little colds, but I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t cure diseases of the mind. I tried, but it never quite worked.”

I take my hand back as I’m wondering if I heard her correctly. “People paid you money to heal them?”

“Of course. I had people at my door day and night. But your mother was far more powerful than me. She could rid people of terrible things, illnesses that they would pay mountains of cash to be cured of. But she was always so difficult about it. She didn’t want to take money for it. Then something happened and she refused to continue.”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

Her watery eyes meet mine, and I see malice in them. Before she even answers, I feel nausea crawling inside me. “She took leukemia from a boy and gave it to his father.”

Disbelief is my first reaction.

Noting my expression, she explains. “She had her hands on both of them at the same time. She removed the disease from the son and then the father touched her and it went into him.” She chuckles, and I can feel the bile rising in my throat. “He died quickly, about a month later. She was afraid to try to heal him, afraid of where it would go next. The family hated us, those ingrates. She saved their child’s life.”

She grabs my hand back, and she’s surprisingly strong. I can feel her trying to pull more energy from me. “It’s no wonder you’re so powerful. Your father was the strongest healer I’d ever seen. His energy could cure nearly anything. He had quite a following,” she says.

“You knew my father?” I’m practically gaping at her as she caresses my fingers.

“We could work together,” she muses, ignoring my question, grabbing my other hand before I can pull it away. “Now that you’ve cured me, we could work together and make a fortune. Your mother lost her taste for it. Then she met your father, and she ran away with him. Once she was gone, people stopped coming.”

“No. She met my father in San Diego long after she left here.”

My grandmother shakes her head. “He was from Los Angeles. She left Alec and followed him out there. Then they had you.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m not,” she says in a firm voice. “Alec can tell you. I’m sure he remembers it all. She made a fool out of him.”

Could she be telling the truth? I wonder as I stare at her frail form. Alec never mentioned this when I asked him why my mother left. Why would he hold that back? What’s difference could it make now? I start to feel tired. My head grows heavy on my shoulders. Somehow, she’s drawing energy from me against my will now. I’m fascinated even as I’m trying to pull my hands away.

“We might have to go somewhere else,” she continues. “This town might not be so welcoming anymore.”

“Does everyone know about us? About what we can do?” I ask. “Does Kyle know?”

“Of course the whole town knows,” she laughs at me. “I advertised in the local newspaper. Where is your mother? Why has she kept you in the dark this way?”

“She’s dead,” I answer, not even considering withholding the truth from her any longer.

She winces, and I yank harder, trying to get her to release me. “She was murdered,” I tell her, bluntly. “Did you send someone after her?” I ask, thinking of Rob Jarvis, leaning in closer to her, my voice a low, angry whisper.

Fear begins to seep into her eyes. “No,” she replies, shaking her head. “No,” she repeats. The truth is, if she’s been this way for more than a year, she couldn’t have spoken to the janitor here and sent him after us.

“You have to be careful,” she whispers. “With power like yours, everyone will want a piece. Take me out of here, and I can protect you.”

She finally releases one of my hands and unsuccessfully tries to push herself up from the chair. “Please, help me up. We need to leave. I have so many things I can teach you.”

“Tell me how you came to be this way?” I ask. “What’s wrong with you?”

She blinks in confusion. Then her eyes widen. “I tried to cure conditions that were too severe. But the money was too good to refuse. I didn’t know it could hurt me. It almost killed me.” She smiles. “But now you’re here. You’re here and we’re going to be unstoppable. Help me,” she grimaces as she tries to stand again.

“I won’t work with you. I won’t take people’s money.”