“Not happening!”
My dad’s voice carried in from the kitchen. I scowled, and Logan smirked.
“Sir, yes, sir!” Logan called back, reaching behind his head to stretch as he flashed me a yawning grin. “How about I just tuck you in?” he suggested.
My dad peeked into the living room from the kitchen. “Door open at all times, boot.” Boot was dad’s favorite nickname for Logan now that he was headed to boot camp.
I rolled my eyes. “Enough. Ugh.” I got up and stopped in the kitchen, dumping the bowl of popcorn into the trash while Logan folded the afghan over the couch. We walked upstairs silently.
I headed for the bathroom, and I heard him rummaging around in my bedroom.
Standing in front of the sink, I stared in the mirror. I almost expected to see my reflection as I had lately; older, in a different time and place, and pregnant.
Instead, my wide, green eyes stared back at me. My face was heart-shaped, my skin smooth and even. Morgan often complained that I got the long eyelashes and perfect skin, and all that she got was twenty-twenty eyesight. Morgan was classically beautiful, and she knew it. My grandmother had once told her that she looked like a young Audrey Hepburn.
I turned to the side, placing my hands over my stomach. My long-sleeved t-shirt was thin, and I pushed my abdomen out as far as I could. I looked like I’d overeaten at the Rush family Thanksgiving dinner.
I was never overweight, always slender, but I needed to strengthen and tone. In addition to swimming, I would have to start working out. I remembered West pinning me to the mat, and the only strength that I had was in my vocal cords.
If he hadn’t stopped, I wouldn’t have stopped…
Cringing, I quickly washed my face and brushed my teeth. I made sure to keep my sleeve pulled all the way down my arm.
Logan had stacked pillows in a circle on my bed. I smiled, wrapping my arms around him. I had believed as a child that a pillow circle would chase away monsters and protect me, and I loved that he remembered these things about me.
He knew me.
I need a pillow circle for my mind.
He tucked me into bed, folding the quilt under my chin. “Bun was under your bed in your memory box. I found her while you were in the bathroom. I made a few other interesting discoveries…”
“You can’t read my diary,” I cried, yanking Bun off my pillow and hugging her tightly. He licked his lips, clearing his throat with exaggeration as he opened the leather-bound book. I had kept a diary until fifth grade and stopped the day my mother died.
“If you’re going to be my wife, I need to know what I’m getting myself into. You know, besides genius IQ, fainting like a goat, and wicked dreams.”
“Jerk.” I punched his shoulder, and he only smirked, pretending to lick his thumb and turn a page.
“July 14, 2002…”
“Hand me my iPod, please, so I can ignore this.”
He reached into my nightstand, not taking his eyes off the page as he collected my iPod. I unrolled the ear buds and shoved them in my ears.
“Today I am seven years old. Morgan is getting all of the attention, of course, because she’s a BRAT,” he read in a mock-whiney tone, grinning at me. I smirked.
“She cut a piece of my cake, BEFORE THE PARTY EVEN STARTED, and gave it to her friend Lauren. She thinks the whole WORLD revolves around HER.”
I laughed, tugging the ear buds out of my ears. He flipped pages randomly. “The correct spelling and usage of the dramatic capitalization, for a seven-year-old, is impressively disturbing,” he said.
“Close it, Rush. Come on, I wrote some personal things in there,” I protested. He stuck his lower lip out.
“One more.”
“Fine.” I didn’t want to go to sleep anyway, but I also didn’t want to read passages about my mother’s breast cancer.
“First Kiss Checklist… oh, yeah, I’m reading this one.” He snuggled in closer to me like he was reading me a bedtime story. I closed my eyes, fighting my embarrassment. “When I get kissed for the first time, a real boyfriend kiss, I want it to be like in a movie. So, here are the things that have to happen while I’m getting my kiss.”
“Stop,” I whispered, but he continued.
“One- it HAS to be sunset, like in The Princess Bride.” He narrowed his eyes. “Well, of course it does. That one’s a given,” he commented. I elbowed him playfully.
“Two- I have to be wearing a dress.” He rolled his eyes. “This from the girl who lived in a bathing suit all year long,” he accused. I smiled.
“Three- my hair has to be blowing in the wind, and it has to be long. So, that’s why you freaked out when I cut off an eight-inch piece of your hair in kindergarten.”
Giggling while my eyes skipped forward on the entry, I remembered the final requirement before he read the sentence out loud.
“Four…”
“Logan,” I interrupted, and his eyes darted to mine as he read the fourth condition. I had never told him, and I gestured to the book, my voice barely a hush. “It says four… It has to be Logan.”
He closed my diary with a soft snap, turning and stretching over me. Both of his palms cupped the sides of my face as he lowered his lips to mine. “Of course it has to be me,” he whispered between deep, quiet kisses. I was calmed, lost in his loving, undemanding arms.
“I don’t hear talking!”
My dad’s voice boomed down the hallway. I shifted away from his kiss, rolling my eyes. “Thank you,” I managed, brushing my thumb against his jaw. “I love you, Logan.”
“I love you, Roam.” He kissed my forehead, and then the tip of my nose, and I was smiling by the time he reached my lips.
What am I doing, allowing West to kiss me? Fresh guilt churned in my stomach.
He stood up and walked toward the door, and I turned on my side to watch him go. He stopped suddenly, looking my way. “Please promise me you won’t try to stay awake all night.”
“I promise.” I crossed my finger over my heart. Lie. “I’ll just read for a little while.”
Obviously unconvinced, he sighed and went downstairs.
I was in the middle of three books; a historical fiction, a horror, and a biography of Abraham Lincoln. I chose the biography, not wanting anything to do with history- or horror- in the darkness of night. It was three o’clock in the morning before I started to feel my eyes glaze over.
Sitting up with a jerk, I considered going downstairs to the kitchen to make some coffee. Scenes from A Nightmare on Elm Street slipped into my head, and I worried that I may already be dreaming. I thought of Troy, and decided I’d prefer Freddy Krueger and his knifey fingers over Troy anytime.
Coffee. The prospect of dreaming was terrifying. I climbed over my retaining wall of pillows and went downstairs. The churning of the old coffee pot comforted me as I sat down on the bar stool at the counter. Our family’s laptop was plugged in against the wall. I lifted the lid, powering it up and went to Google.
This time I searched ‘Julie Henry 1977.’ Results were immediate. Cold Case: Woman found strangled in motel. Fingers shaking, I clicked on the link.
April 15, 1977 Atlanta Press… the body of Julie Henry, 20, was found in the Byway Motel at 11:00 AM this morning by the motel manager. Cause of death was strangulation. Police suspect her husband, Wesley Henry, 27. Mr. Henry’s whereabouts are unknown.
Wesley… West?
I cringed. He not only had to deal with my death, he had been wanted for my murder? The website was part of a cold case series in the United States. I searched for more information but found very little.
The coffee pot was silent. I removed a mug from the cupboard and filled it. The laptop was still open, and I sat down and closed the browser. A picture of Morgan and me, both sunbathing in the backyard, splashed across the desktop. I remembered it was early June when the photo was taken, and my dad had taken the picture looking down at our faces. We were smiling, heads together.
This is real, I thoug
ht, staring the screen. I absently scratched my arm, and then focused on the numbers stamped in a rigid line. West is real, Troy is real… all of this is real.
Denial had protected my mind from absorbing what was truly happening over the past week, but I suddenly realized that I had no choice but to accept what was happening to me. I couldn’t walk away.
What was the end of the world like? I thought of the many action packed, doomsday movies that had hit the box office over the past few years featuring volcanoes erupting and birds dropping dead out of the sky. West hadn’t elaborated on what exactly the end of the world entailed… or how our child would save the world.
Our child… I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, gripping my coffee cup.
Opening the internet browser again and searching ‘the end of the world’ would only send me into hysterics, and I knew it. Instead, I gathered my coffee and went to the couch for the television remote. Skipping the History Channel, I settled for a Friends rerun.
With coffee-induced energy, I made it to seven o’clock. When Logan pulled into the driveway, I met him outside. I’d dressed in jean capris and a peasant-style, long-sleeved white top, and was thankful for the cool breeze after the heat wave.
“Happy Friday,” I said with a grin, slipping into the passenger seat next to him. He kissed me softly, returning my smile.
“You’re full of happy this morning. No nightmares?”
“Nope.” I fastened the seatbelt, not elaborating.
“Good.” He smiled my way. “Are you swimming after school?”
Every Friday was open swim at the high school. “Oh, I completely forgot. Let me go grab my swim bag.”
Five minutes later we were on our way. “What are we doing this weekend?” he asked as I struggled to fold and fit my towel into my bag.
“I think I’ll just stay in the pool all weekend,” I teased. Swimming was an escape for me, and an escape was exactly what I needed.
He chuckled. “Hey, let’s go to the lake on Sunday. I have to go to a meeting with my recruiter on Saturday,” he added. “In Columbus.”
He was tentative, and I could tell that he was walking on eggshells around the subject of the military. I nodded, tightening my grip on his hand.
“That sounds great,” I replied, sending him a reassuring smile. “Logan… please don’t be weird with me about Marine stuff. I support you, remember? Crazy Roam is back in her cage.”
He laughed, giving me one-armed hug. “I love every bit of you. Even Crazy Roam.”
I grinned, fighting back a tiny yawn.
Chapter Fourteen
Halfway through history, I was nodding off.
I jolted in my seat, gripping my book.
Oh my God- I’m going to fall asleep in school. I had never slept in school, and the thought of having a nightmare in the middle of class was horrifying. Blinking rapidly, I glanced at the clock. Still a half an hour of class. I’ve only been here for fifteen minutes?
West had met my eyes when I walked in that morning, asking a silent question. I shook my head to indicate no dreams, no nightmares. He appeared relieved, and I turned away from him before he could see my face flush.
I glanced up at him, trying to stifle a yawn. He stared at me intently from his desk, and I tried to avoid his gaze.
He knows I stayed up all night.
“We’re going to prepare for the test on Monday.” He stood and walked to the board, taking the cap off the black marker. “I’m writing every question and answer on the board, so copy it and learn it. My goal is that you learn history, so playing games with you on a test is not the way to do that.” He started writing, and I began transcribing into my notebook.
The class feverishly scribbled the questions and answers, but I set my pencil down and squeezed the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger.
I know this. All of this.
I decided to instead make notes about questions to ask West, specifically about how our child would save the world. What other questions had I thought of in the middle of the night and wanted answers for? I tapped my pencil against the notebook, muffling another discreet yawn. Propping my chin up with my palm, I let my hair fall like a curtain to shield me from the class. Someone was asking a question, and West was answering.
I am in a church. I look around, and everything is familiar. It is the Catholic Church that I was raised in, the same church that Morgan and I spent hours in while my mother taught Sunday school.
The organ is playing a song that I recognize from mass as a child. I think that I haven’t been to mass in years, not since my mother died; I can’t remember why. My father is standing next to me, not singing. He stares forward, toward the altar. My face is wet, and I wipe my cheek. Water… tears? Am I crying? I turn and follow my father’s gaze.
A coffin. Oh, my mother’s funeral, no… I try to find a way out of the long wooden pew, but the church is filled, and I am boxed in. I am in the front row, so I crawl over the pew and into the empty space between the congregation and the altar.
No one notices me. I begin to run to the door but stop. Could I see my mother one last time? I walk slowly toward the coffin. My father’s voice stops me.
“Roam, come here.”
I turn to him, and he holds his hand out to me. Shaking my head, I turn and continue toward the coffin.
“Roam, come here now!” he orders. I am confused by his tone, even more curious. I close the remaining distance between myself and the casket, dropping to my knees in horror.
It is Morgan.
. . .
The bell ripped through my ears, and I sat up with a start, eyes wide. The class was flooding toward the door, ignoring me. I glanced up at West.
He sat at his desk, watching me.
“Tired?” he asked, his arms crossed over his chest. Closing my notebook, I gathered my things into my bag.
“A little.”
“You stayed up last night.”
“I’m afraid of nightmares. I just dreamed Morgan was dead. I don’t even get to have normal dreams?” I zipped the backpack angrily, rubbing my eyes. “I’m swimming after school. Open swim until four o’clock. Do you want to meet me outside the locker room after?”
He kept his even stare. “If you don’t sleep, you will be weak and exhausted. An easy target.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah,” I mumbled, staring at the board that was covered in West’s neat handwriting. “Okay, see you later.”
“Roam.” He lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
I stiffened. “You already apologized yesterday. And I didn’t stop you. So, just forget it. Just tell me that Morgan is okay. Tell me my dream didn’t mean anything just now,” I ordered, my eyes burning. I had to get some more coffee.
Compassion filled his eyes. Those eyes. I had to look away. “I don’t think it means anything. You’re worried about your family.”
“Okay, thanks. See you later,” I snapped, hurrying out the door before he could speak again.
At lunch, Logan offered to pick me up at the pool that afternoon, but I assured him that Morgan was coming. “We’re planning some sister time on Saturday. Head start tonight with a sleepover.” I felt guilty for lying, but I needed to talk to West.
By the end of the day I caught my second wind and hurried to the pool. The locker room was completely empty. When I finally found the gym teacher, she assured me that open swim was still an option. “With it being Labor Day weekend, I think the kids aren’t interested in sticking around here any longer than necessary,” she told me, glancing at her watch and then at the pool. “How long do you want to swim?”
It was obvious that she wanted to leave as well. “I can swim alone, it’s fine.”
“You’re a great swimmer, Roam, but school policy. You can’t swim by yourself. “
“I understand. I’ll just do a couple of laps, is that okay?”
Relief flooded her face. “Sure. I’ll clean up a few things. Have fun.”
&n
bsp; I thanked her and went to change. My suit was dark blue with one white stripe running horizontally down the side, Madison swim team colors. Swim was a winter sport, but the pool was open all school year for normal gym classes.
The deep end of the Olympic-sized pool was beckoning. I dived, the cool blast from the water saturating my senses. When I swam, the world disappeared, and I was fluid. I touched the bottom of the pool, my ears pleasantly plugged from the water pressure change. The lap ropes were still up, and I stretched, careful with my form as I swam up and down the lane.
A half an hour later, my teacher squatted by the pool. “Do you mind if we close up?”
I tried to hide my disappointment, nodding. “That’s fine. I’ll just do four more laps and get out, okay?”
She grinned. “Thanks for understanding. My husband and I are going out to dinner for the first time since my daughter was born, so we’re pretty excited.”
Having forgotten that she’d just had a baby, I smiled warmly. “That’s so nice. Go ahead, I’m getting right out. And if you ever need a sitter, I’d be glad to help.”
“You’re a sweetheart Roam. Have a nice long weekend, and I’ll see you Tuesday.”
Though tempted to continue swimming, my conscience forced me to stop after my promised four laps. My teacher was already out the door, and the pool was blissfully empty. Sighing, I dove to the bottom of the pool one last time, enjoying the calming silence under the water.
When I surfaced, something… someone… caught my eye. Shivering, and I made a small circle in the pool, searching the doors. I stared at the locker room door, deciding that my imagination was working overtime. The edge of the pool was only a foot away, and I leaned back to dip my hair into the water, smoothing the dark strands away from my face.
When I straightened and opened my eyes, a man stood directly in front of me.
My heart skipped essential beats, and I nearly went under. “Hi Roam,” he said smoothly, crouching next to the pool.
He was vaguely familiar, and I moved to back away from him, trying to catch my breath. His dark hair was short, and his eyes were a shade lighter blue than West’s. His face was strongly defined, a cleft in his square chin adding to his overall muscular form. He wore cargo shorts and a black t-shirt, and I guessed he was at least thirty… or older.
Roam (Roam Series, Book One) Page 11
