2 Empath

by Edie Claire

  The doorbell rang. My father grinned and hustled to beat me to it.

  Kill me now.

  I stood in the center of the room, trying not to collapse, while my father shook Zane’s hand, introduced himself, invited him in. My mother appeared from the kitchen; there were more introductions. My father was being intentionally intimidating, standing practically at attention as he talked, while my mother was making a laughable attempt to pretend that she — as a respectable middle-aged married woman — was not completely gaga over the shock of Zane’s unnaturally good looks. (I had told her several times; evidently she thought I was exaggerating.)

  Among the four of us, only Zane seemed to be acting normal: relaxed and upbeat. In fact, after his first glimpse of my parents, when he seemed somewhat taken aback by what was probably a flash of recognition, he seemed even more cheerful than usual.

  I had to wonder what feelings he associated with them.

  I tensed as the first moment of conversational silence fell, and I could see my dad inhale, revving up for his first pitch. In the game of awkward questions, the man was a master. Historical highlights had been such gems as: “So, young man, how do you plan on serving your country after high school?” and the particularly cringe-worthy “What ideas do you have for how you’ll support a wife and family?” (the last being famously delivered not to any date of mine, but to a friend of Tara’s brother who happened to be giving us a ride to homecoming). Fathers who let things go with the classic “what are your intentions with regard to my daughter?” had nothing on Mitch Thompson, who had long-since exhausted that line on the bewildered young hosts of grade-school birthday parties.

  But whatever mortifying question my father was preparing in his head, he never got a chance to ask it.

  “I wanted to thank you,” Zane said smoothly, making eye contact first with my father, then with my mother. “Both of you, for letting Kali fly back to the mainland and track me down at that hospital in Nebraska. Not many parents would have done that. But the fact is, if you hadn’t trusted her instincts, I don’t think I’d be alive today. The doctors said there was nothing else they could do for me — that I’d given up. But your daughter dragged me back to life again.”

  He turned to me, his eyes twinkling.

  O.M.G.

  I braved a look at my dad. He’d shrunk about two inches and his face had gone pale.

  “You’re welcome,” my mother said finally, warmly. “We’re just glad it all worked out okay.” She cast an amused glance at my father, then turned back to Zane. “And we need to thank you for convincing Kali to be honest with us about what she’s been going through all these years. We really had no idea.”

  Zane smiled back at her. “I have no memory of doing that, but hey — I’ll take the credit.”

  My mother looked at him thoughtfully. “You don’t remember anything from when you were… here before?”

  He shook his head. “No events. Some things do seem familiar to me, though.” He cast a glance at my dad, who was currently staring, glassy-eyed, out into space. “I do remember seeing the two of you before,” he admitted.

  My dad snapped suddenly back to attention. “Um… what was that?” he asked stiffly, as if he had missed a question.

  “I was wondering,” Zane said easily, obliging, “if you were still looking to surf the North Shore. Kali said you were interested before, but the surf was too rough. It’s plenty tame now, though, and I’ve spent a lot of time talking to the locals, learning all the best spots for getting your feet wet without breaking your neck. I’d be happy to point them out to you sometime.”

  I watched as my dad’s internal struggle played out on his tortured face. Zane’s bringing up the topic of the supernatural had thrown him into a tailspin — he still couldn’t acknowledge it, wouldn’t discuss it, no matter what physical evidence stood in front of him in all its glory. The fact that Zane had brought the matter up so lightly and matter-of-factly only added insult to injury, particularly when, at this point, my dad had hoped to have the fine young man reduced to a quivering mass of jelly, rather than the reverse.

  Then again, he had always wanted to surf. And this was Hawaii.

  My dad’s normal color returned. “Kali says you’re staying up by Backyards? That right? What you got out there right now? One, two footers?”

  And with that, the surfer talk began.

  Slowly, I started to breathe again.

  It took some time to get Zane herded toward the door and out, particularly after my mother started telling him embarrassing anecdotes about my previous fails at learning to swim — a subject Zane took way too much interest in for my liking. But by the time we left, there were legitimate smiles all around: my dad had a firm date to rip a few on the North Shore, and my mother seemed confident that — at long last — she had finally met someone who might actually be able to keep me from drowning.

  I was just happy to be alone with him again. “That went well,” I praised, buckling myself into the passenger seat.

  To my surprise, Zane turned to me with an anxious look. “I hope my talking about your gifts didn’t upset your dad too much,” he said regretfully. “I didn’t mean to make our first meeting awkward for him.”

  I looked into his earnest face and cracked up laughing.

  ***

  I had texted Lacey to ask where she was lifeguarding; when we arrived at the pool, she was on a break and waiting for us by the gate.

  We hugged each other like old friends, which was pretty ironic, since really we were new ones. She looked the same as I remembered her, short and blond with a plumpish figure, pretty face, and sunny smile. I introduced her to Zane and was forced to watch as yet another female went wide-eyed at the sight of him. She recovered quickly enough, though, and within seconds was talking to me as though we had known each other forever.

  Zane soon left us alone to catch up, claiming he was anxious to “warm up with a few dives.” The second he was out of earshot, Lacey whistled out loud. “Are you kidding me?!” she joked. “Wow. Poor Matt never had a chance, did he?”

  “It’s not like that,” I protested. “I mean, it’s not like there was ever any competition, certainly not based on looks. I adore Matt, but… I met Zane first, and he and I are…” I sighed. “It’s really complicated.”

  Lacey let out a sigh herself. “Talk to me about complicated.”

  I studied her face and could feel, vaguely, the conflict within her. She was irritated. Frustrated. At the end of her rope. But a broken heart was not in the picture.

  Matt hadn’t told her about Ty.

  “So, what’s up with you?” I asked gently.

  Her deep blue eyes flickered with an internal blaze. “Well, I have a boyfriend who’s never around,” she answered, her voice sounding way more light-hearted than I knew she was. “But that’s nothing new, is it? Other than that, all is cool. Job here’s pretty good, and we’re all psyched for senior year. So excited you’re going to be there with us!”

  I smiled back at her warmly. She meant it. She really was excited. “I can’t wait, either,” I said honestly.

  A whistle sounded, and Lacey jumped. “That’s me. Gotta get back to work. Damn, he’s hot!”

  I followed her line of vision to the deep end of the pool, where Zane was executing a rather magnificent dive off the high board.

  “Sorry, Kali,” Lacey said with a chuckle. “Couldn’t help myself. You two go play. I’ll catch you later.” She hustled off.

  I looked out over the crowd and felt a queer fluttering in my stomach. It was a community pool, full of kids of all ages as well as adults. As Zane pulled himself up the ladder, shook out his wet curls, and walked around for another dive, he might as well have been a giant, candy-sprinkled donut. Every female over the age of twelve was staring at him with her mouth open.

  I dropped my bag onto an empty deck chair, shrugged off my tee shirt and shorts, and plopped down on the edge of the shallow end to dangle my feet in the water. There really
was nothing I could do about it, was there? It was bound to happen now, wherever we went. Correction: wherever he went. My presence didn’t matter one way or the other.

  I cried out suddenly as a hand appeared from nowhere and tickled the bottom of my foot. Zane arose from under the water, laughing. “Love the uniform,” he said, his green eyes dancing. “You ready for orientation? Fair warning: You will get wet.”

  I grinned back at him. Never in a million years would I admit how much time I’d sunk into picking out this stupid swimsuit. It showed no more skin than a dance leotard, but its curvy vertical side stripes and open back did as much for my boyish bod as any one-piece was going to. “Wet!” I said with mock horror. “You didn’t tell me I had to get wet!”

  Two seconds later I was drenched.

  “You knew that was going to happen,” he teased.

  “Yeah,” I admitted, laughing. “I did.”

  “Come in with me.” He extended his arms.

  Oh my. On the one hand: Zane, bare chested, inviting me into his arms. On the other hand: waist-high water. The combination was too cruel.

  He took my hands. “Come on,” he cajoled. “I’m not going to push you into anything scary, I promise. Just come and hang in the water with me for a while. Get used to the feel of it.”

  His hands, clasping mine, sent waves of warmth rippling through me.

  Safe. With no further thought, I slid my hips over the side and slipped into the water. “It’s cold!” I winced, surprised.

  “It won’t be for long,” he assured, backing me away from the edge to a clear spot near the middle. For a moment, as we moved, I was struck by the feelings of the swimmers around us. But with a little effort I was able to bring the blind down again. I was really getting quite good at it, when I wasn’t made vulnerable with an empty, drifting mind. Or a frightened one.

  We were standing in water just up to my rib cage. It was deeper than I was used to, definitely deeper than I was comfortable with. Still holding my hands, Zane began to move my arms slowly back and forth under the surface, as if we were treading water. “Now, tell me about your other lessons,” he urged. “Everything you remember. What they taught and what you did. What you liked and what you didn’t like.”

  I raised an eyebrow. My pulse was racing. I really, really hated deep water. “You don’t seriously want to hear all that?”

  “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

  I studied his eyes and decided he meant it.

  I have no idea how long we stayed like that, just standing and waving our arms underwater, talking and laughing. All I know is that at some point, I stopped worrying so much about drowning and started to relax. The water did feel… interesting. It almost made my body seem light; which was strange, since I had always imagined myself sinking like a stone. I kept waiting for him to give me some impossible assignment, like putting my face down and blowing bubbles (to my child’s mind, the equivalent of water boarding). But he seemed to enjoy just talking.

  “Your parents looked so familiar,” he mused. “It’s funny to think that they have no memory of me, either.”

  “What did seeing them make you feel?” I asked curiously.

  He thought a moment. “That was strange. It was a positive feeling, but at the same time, there was this weird vibe. Almost like… jealousy?”

  I smiled sadly. “I think I get that. You were comparing my parents to yours. You were pretty impressed with the Mitch and Diane still-crazy-in-love-and-acting-like-kids show.” Which was understandable, I thought to myself, given that according to him, his own never-married parents barely knew each other — either before or after he was born.

  He looked thoughtful. After a long moment, he turned back to me. “Your dad looks Hawaiian. You’re named after his mother, right? But you take after your own mother. Is she Italian?”

  “Greek,” I answered, the uncomfortable, slightly sick feeling I now associated with my ancestry rearing its ugly head again. “When my mother was born her family lived in California, but after the youngest kid went to college, my grandparents moved back to Greece. I don’t see them much.”

  “That’s too bad,” he sympathized. “I wish I had more memories of my grandparents. Who was the Hawaiian girl at your house? Your cousin?”

  I stopped my arm motions and stared at him, puzzled. “What Hawaiian girl?”

  He looked surprised. “She was standing right there in the room with you. When I first came in. I thought your dad would introduce us, but then your mom came in, and she must have slipped out.”

  My eyes narrowed. “What did she look like?”

  He shrugged. “I was kind of focused on your dad when I saw her, but… she was young and pretty and looked… well, Hawaiian. You seriously don’t remember her?”

  “Zane,” I said heavily. “There was no Hawaiian girl in my house. If you saw her and I didn’t, she must have been a ghost.”

  The shock on his face made me laugh out loud. “Don’t look so surprised! You knew you could see ghosts.”

  “Yeah, one, but—” he gave his head a shake. “She didn’t look like a ghost!”

  “Well, they don’t wear white sheets,” I teased.

  “Still,” he protested, “I…” He stifled the comment. “I guess she did disappear kind of mysteriously, now that you mention it.”

  “Maybe she’ll show up again sometime,” I said lightly. The truth was, I didn’t particularly care. I was aware of enough forms of “energy” already — not having to deal with this particular variety was fine by me. “So,” I began, anxious to bring the conversation back to the present and the living. “Are you actually going to teach anything in this lesson, or do I get my money back?”

  “I hadn’t planned on it,” he admitted wryly. “But if you’re determined to jump ahead, you could demonstrate those two moves for me. You know, the ones you said you’d mastered already.”

  I should have kept my mouth shut. “I was thinking more in terms of watching you demonstrate something.”

  “At these prices?” He smirked. “Not likely. Now, go on. Show me what you’ve got.”

  I sighed and walked back toward the shallow end. As we moved through the water together, I couldn’t help but become aware of two particularly watchful sets of eyes. Two college-age girls sat perched on the side of the pool near the stepladder. They were giggling and play-screaming and pretending to be engaged in the most hysterical of conversations. But what they were really trying to do was catch Zane’s attention.

  I tried my best to ignore them. He seemed not to notice them at all.

  I held onto the wall and attempted a practice kick. Both girls were, of course, wearing the skimpiest of two-pieces.

  My feet sunk to the floor. Embarrassed, I switched to the other maneuver: a simple arm flapping thing any four year old could do in a bathtub. The girls laughed out loud.

  Water splashed in my face and I banged my hand on the concrete pool rim. “Sorry,” I said miserably. “I guess I really can’t do any of it.”

  “Don’t apologize to me,” Zane replied, swooping in close with one of his more devilish grins. “The longer I can stretch out these lessons, the more time I get to spend with you in that swimsuit.”

  He lifted a hand and brushed a lock of wet curls away from my face. His fingers grazed my bare shoulder, and a rash of goosebumps swept up my arm.

  The girls in the bikinis stopped laughing.

  For one long, exhilarating moment, I thought for sure that he was going to kiss me. But I was wrong. With an exhale that was not quite a sigh, he dropped his hand and took a half step back.

  “Enough pool time for one day,” he declared. “What do you say we get back to the beach?”

  Chapter 15

  “And here,” he said happily, pointing to the exact spot on the sand where we had enjoyed a picnic lunch our first full day out together. “This place is the best. Nothing but good vibes, here.”

  I smiled. “This was where we had the picnic. Of course, I wa
s the only one who ate anything. You just talked surfing non-stop, except when you were asking me about dance.”

  “Tell me again,” he insisted.

  It had been the same process all up and down the shore, by car and by foot. When he stood in certain places, looked at certain things, the feelings those sights generated told him we had been there together. I knew that, as a wraith, he had had other experiences without me, some of them also positive. But if he picked up on those too, he didn’t bother to point them out. So far, his instincts of where we had spent time together were dead on. He remembered being with me at the beach across from the Dillingham airfield. He remembered the snorkeling pool at Turtle Bay. He looked with frustration at the condo where I had stayed, wanting to walk up onto the deck and look around inside, but knowing the current residents would hardly appreciate it. Everywhere we went, he begged me to tell him everything I could remember. And I did try.

  But sometimes, it got complicated. Zane knew that my father had arranged for the son of another officer to give me a tour of the island, and that this guy had also taken me to a dance at my future high school. Zane also knew that he had tagged along with us. But so far he didn’t know much else, and since we hadn’t been back to any of those locations, he had no visuals to spark any related feelings. Except, possibly, for the stretch of Sunset Beach where Matt and I had our evening walk the night after the dance — the spot where we had kissed. There was a moment, while Zane walked near there, when I thought I saw a flicker of something troublesome pass through his eyes. But I wasn’t sure, and he didn’t ask me about it.

  I was conflicted. A part of me wanted to get everything out in the open right away, whether he remembered any feelings about the kiss with Matt or not. I didn’t want to keep it from him; it was mutual history, after all, and he deserved to know. But having him know was one thing, and telling him about it myself was another. As much as I felt I should apologize for hurting him then, it was an incredibly awkward topic to bring up when I didn’t know how he felt now.