by Bonnie Dee
“I don’t know. But I don’t particularly want to find out. I usually bounce back, but I don’t know if there’s a bottom to the well, you know? Maybe someday I’ll use up all I’ve got and that’ll be it.”
Ava nodded, understanding his fear. “But you helped Nash’s friend tonight.”
He sighed. “It can be really hard to say no. But then it starts spreading, even when people promise not to tell. Everybody has a friend who needs something. Pretty soon I have to hit the road.”
The matter-of-fact way he said it sent a sharp pang through her, and she realized how quickly she’d started to hope Mason might stick around. But he was a wanderer. And now she knew the reason why.
“This time I promised myself I wouldn’t do anything to stir things up. I’d just take a little vacation. Then there was the fire…”
“Well, you had to help Nash,” she said. “You couldn’t just let him be burned.”
He gave a sharp laugh. “Everybody needs something. Where do I draw the line?”
Someplace after Bryan, she thought. But knowing what she did, there was no way she could ask for that. She refused to put him in the position of having to risk his own health. Still, she couldn’t help hoping he’d offer.
Mason sat back, and the swing creaked beneath his weigh. Ava slid a bit more into him. They sat hip to hip, drinking beer and staring across the street at the neighbors’ lighted windows.
Ava glanced up at the cloudy sky. “No stars tonight.”
“Nope.”
“You want some of that apple crisp?”
“I’d love some.”
“Sit tight, and I’ll get it.”
She went inside and prepared a couple of bowls with crisp and ice cream. When she returned to the porch, the swing was no longer swaying and Mason’s head was bent forward. She hesitated to sit next to him and wake him, but a moment later, his chin hit his chest, and his head jerked up.
He rubbed his eyes. “Damn. I guess I nodded off.”
Ava made a snap decision. “Look, you should go inside and lie down. You can spend the night on the couch. Or I’ll give you my bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch.” The idea of Mason in her bed made gooseflesh pebble her arms. Would it be terrible if she decided to screw teaching Bryan morals she wasn’t sure she believed in and invited Mason to sleep with her?
As he reached for the bowl Ava offered, Mason glanced at the living room window. “That’s really tempting. But I guess maybe I’d better finish this and walk back to my place.”
“I could drive you.”
“I don’t mind. The walk will do me good.”
“Whatever you want.” Ava sat on the porch railing and spooned up a bite of dessert. Even though it melted sweetly on her tongue, she wasn’t hungry for it. The only thing she wanted to taste tonight, she apparently couldn’t have. It seemed Mason wasn’t nearly as eager to be with her as she was to be with him. Disappointing, but probably better this way.
The snap of bugs hitting the zapper and the click of spoons scraping bowls took over the night. Ava didn’t speak but snuck glances at Mason as he gobbled the dessert she’d made especially for him. Poor thing was still ravenous. She should have offered him seconds of casserole.
A car turned onto the street too fast with a squeal of tires. When Ava looked up, headlights blinded her. She shielded her eyes as she watched the pickup screech to an abrupt halt in front of the house. Music blared from inside, and rising above it, two shouting voices. The passenger door flew open and her mother tumbled out, still yelling.
Oh Lord. One of those nights. It was bad enough when Mom floated in a listless, disconnected stupor from whatever combination of alcohol and drugs filled her system, but occasionally the meaner, louder side of her addictions flared up.
“Fuck you too! I don’t need this shit.” She slammed the door and staggered in front of the headlights, still cursing. The driver eased off the brake so the truck moved forward and bumped her.
Ava leaped off the porch and ran to drag her mother out of the way before the wasted driver could do some real damage. She grasped an arm and tugged her mom onto the grass. As the truck peeled away with another loud squeal, Ava caught the shape of a cowboy hat through the window.
“Is she all right?” Mason’s voice came from right behind her.
“Yeah.” Shame swelled through her, as strong as when she’d been a little girl trying to hold back her wailing drunken mother from throwing herself on Daddy’s coffin at his funeral. The woman had been an embarrassment and a trial ever since.
“Get your hands off me!” The drunk pulled her arm away and stumbled forward.
Mason reached out. “Let me help you get her inside.”
“Who the hell are you?” Ava’s belligerent mother slurred as she swatted his hand away.
“It’s all right. I’ve got this,” Ava said. “You can go.” She grabbed at her mom and got a stinging swat in the face for her efforts.
Mason stepped forward and grasped both the drunk woman’s arms in a secure grip. He looked her right in the eye. “Mrs. Wheaton, my name’s Mason. I’m real pleased to meet you. Can we go inside and have a cup of coffee and get to know each other?”
“Ava’s new friend from the diner?” She squinted. “You’re a real cutie.”
Mason chuckled. “Thanks. You’re a real cutie too.”
That got Mom laughing. With a magic snap of his fingers, he’d transformed her from Angry Drunk into Happy Drunk. No special healing ability required, only a little charm. She went inside without any more protest, Mason’s hand on her back guiding her.
Ava trailed after them, simultaneously grateful and a little annoyed at the ease with which Mason handled her difficult mother. Not to mention embarrassed that he’d witnessed the drama. But she supposed they were even now—she’d seen his secret, and he’d seen her less than secret family troubles. They each knew the burden the other carried. Where would their relationship go from here?
Chapter Thirteen
Mrs. Wheaton was a train wreck. Mason didn’t have to plumb inside her with his psychic ability to understand she was in pain. But as he guided her indoors, he couldn’t help but touch the darkness dwelling inside her. She was sick and suffering with the sort of disease he couldn’t cure. The best he could do with addictions was to alleviate some of the pain that caused them—or that they caused. Illnesses of the mind were much trickier than physical sickness.
Touching the woman’s arm, Mason gave her a tiny bit of his power, enough to soothe her and help her find some peace. And then he helped Ava get her into bed. She mumbled something and then passed out.
Ava accompanied him back outside, where they stood on the front porch. “There you have it. My mother.”
Mason just nodded. There wasn’t much he could say. But he could do one more thing for her. He took Ava’s hand, pulled her close, and pressed a kiss to her mouth. Was it to comfort her or him? He wasn’t quite sure. All he knew was the soft press of mouth to mouth felt good and made him want to lay his weary body down beside her. Maybe he should take her up on the offer to spend the night. It’d be so much nicer than going back to his crappy rental unit. But after a few moments of holding and kissing, he stepped away and bid her good night.
As he made his solitary way through the dark sleeping town to the motel on the far edge, Mason thought of Ava and the home she created for her two dependents, the mother and brother she’d cared for since she was a young girl. It was a rough situation, although he’d seen rougher in his time on the road. At least they were a family unit, which was more than some people had.
He unlocked the scarred door of his single room and bolted it behind him before dropping down on the bed and dragging off his shoes. The couple in the room next to his wasn’t screaming at each other for once. Probably out getting drunk and they’d pick up their battle wherever it had left off once they got home in the early hours of the morning. But for now it was blessedly quiet. Mason closed his eyes, figuring he’d wash u
p in a few minutes, but when he opened them again, daylight streaked through the crack where the drapes met.
He looked at the clock. Late for work. He hadn’t been late once since he’d started at the diner, so maybe Deb would overlook it this once. Of all the reasons to leave the area, losing his stupid menial job shouldn’t be one of them.
With a groan, he heaved himself out of bed, showered, and dressed in the last of his clean clothes. Time for another trip to the Laundromat.
Cool morning air that smelled of pine trees and earth caressed his face like a loving hand as he trod the now familiar path to Cozy’s. Not a bad walk and not a bad place to work. He liked his coworkers—except for Frannie—and Deb was fairer than many of the bosses he’d had in the past.
But look at your life. Almost halfway to thirty and pushing broom for a living. You can do better. The voice in his head clamored louder these days and he was more inclined to listen to it lately. What could he do with himself that would be useful, rewarding, and make a little more bank than scrubbing johns? Nothing he could think of that didn’t require a college degree. A real-world education didn’t seem to count for much when companies hired.
Arriving at the diner, Mason tabled his inner discussion of future plans. Nash greeted him with a brief smile and a terse “Morning,” then returned to frying bacon. Good. No weirdness between them. They’d both pretend last night hadn’t happened, and that was fine with Mason.
He went about his regular routine, fetching and carrying and cleaning, and was actually pretty happy to be doing something as undemanding as filling soap dispensers in the restrooms. Plenty of time to daydream about kissing Ava and the other things they’d done that day on their hike. He could move on autopilot and rest, which was good since he was still sort of tired from Carl Butcher’s healing. It seemed to take more out of him than it used to.
He was washing the inside of the front windows when he first noticed it—several people looking at him and talking to each other in low voices. He swiped the glass with his rag and strained to hear snatches of a conversation, but only heard murmurs. Paranoid much? he chided himself.
After finishing the job, he carried his bucket through the restaurant toward the back. His glance caught on a woman staring directly at him. She immediately dropped her gaze, her body rigid with tension. Okay, maybe not so paranoid.
Customers continued to flock in, even during the normally quiet late morning. The diner was busy all the way through lunch and into the afternoon, and Mason continued to notice sideways looks until he was very sure he was the object of everyone’s interest.
He loaded a stack of dishes into the washer, then turned to Nash. “Your friend can’t keep a secret.”
“Huh?” Nash looked up from his stirring. “Naw. You can trust old Carl. I’m sure.”
“People are looking at me. They’ve heard something. Did you say anything to anyone besides Carl?” He wasn’t even going to consider Ava. She wasn’t the gossipy sort, and she wouldn’t do that to him.
“Not a word,” Nash promised. “Are you sure you’re not imagining—”
“I’m not imagining,” Mason interrupted. “I can read a room, and a lot of those people out there are watching me. Carl talked.”
Nash’s eyebrows snarled together. “I guess he might have told Gloria. Kinda hard to keep something like that from your wife.”
“And she told her best friend, Alice, who told her husband, who didn’t really believe it but told the guys at the bar, who told people they know, and by now every busybody in town has heard a version of the story.” Mason exhaled a long, frustrated breath. “I’ve been here before. It doesn’t end well for me.”
“I don’t see why,” Nash said. “Just stonewall, act like you don’t know anything about it. After a while, they’ll find something else to gossip about.”
“Sounds easy, but somehow it never works out that way.” He pictured his sisters’ faces—Gina’s filled with sorrow and disillusionment, Carolyn’s frown of frustration and fury. They were only the first people he’d disappointed, but the most important ones. Miracles simply weren’t in the cards for every person, but nobody seemed to understand why their case was an exception, or that there were limits to what he was capable of doing.
Which brought him to Ava and how she hadn’t said one word about the possibility of him helping Bryan. It had surely crossed her mind. He appreciated that she hadn’t asked, but that didn’t make her need any less audible to him. Of course she wanted him to offer. Why wouldn’t she? Why couldn’t he?
A heavy hand clapped on Mason’s shoulder, startling him. “Take it easy. Folks around here are self-reliant. They might talk too much, but they’re not going to hound you about something you don’t want to do. They’ll leave you alone.”
Mason nodded and turned to take the load of dishes out of the machine, but he could feel the invisible filaments of a web tightening gently around him. Strand by strand he’d be bound to an inevitable conclusion. Maybe now was the time to cut loose and disappear before it was too late.
*
Thirty-six hours. That was how long it took for him to begin to long for Ava as if she were some drug he craved. Fate and Deb’s scheduling didn’t have them working the same shift, so Mason could only ponder the thought of Ava when what he wanted was her physical form in his arms. It was scary how fast he’d grown attached to her and how badly he wanted to see her again. The cool blue-gray of her eyes like early morning mist. The gentle curve of her lips when she smiled, not to mention the curves of her body that molded around his as if made to fit together with him. Jesus, he was thinking like some sappy poet!
He’d come close to calling her, or stopping by the diner when he knew she was working, or swinging by her house when he guessed she’d be home—but he hadn’t done any of those things. Made him seem too desperate and needy, which he wasn’t. He could control his desire. Besides, he needed clean clothes more than he needed a few kisses right now, Mason sternly reminded himself as he strode into the Laundromat with the weight of the duffel on his back bending him over.
He dropped the bag of dirty clothes on the floor in front of one of the washing machines and went to make change for his dollars. No prepay card at this old-fashioned wash joint. The ancient machines slogged along on a steady diet of quarters.
The flowery scent of fabric softeners and detergents wafted on steam as Mason fought to get the coin changer to accept a crumpled bill he’d smoothed as flat as he could. At last, the machine sucked the dollar from his hand, and coins jingled down. He scooped them into his palm and repeated the process at the same time he noticed the girl staring at him.
She was thin as a skeleton. A bush of reddish hair framed her pale face, which appeared both childish and old at the same time. Barely more than a kid, but she’d done a lot of living already, Mason guessed, as he noted the little boy steering toy trucks around the legs of the chair and the baby strapped into an old-fashioned car seat. Tiny arms and hands waved randomly as if casting magic incantations.
Mason couldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed her watching him, so he offered a small smile to the girl before returning to his laundering. Stuff as many stinky clothes as he could fit into the machine and feed the beast soap and coins. He sat down and was just starting to leaf through a tattered back issue of Field and Stream when the redhead came over to him.
He looked up. The skinny girl-woman—God, she couldn’t be over eighteen—clutched her boy’s hand and clenched her jaw as she stared at Mason. “You’re that guy, the one who works at the diner, ain’t you.”
“Uh, yeah.” He didn’t like where this was going. Only one reason he could think of for some strange girl who looked like she survived on a diet of Coke and cigarettes to approach him. Especially when her kid had a runny nose and eyes.
“Zander’s sick. He got pinkeye and a cold,” she stated flatly. “Kin you fix him?”
Mason winced and gripped the magazine as it if might ground him. “They have drop
s or ointment for conjunctivitis. You should see your doctor.”
“Can’t afford no doctor.”
“Aren’t you on Medicaid or something?” The need to fix things began to sluggishly stir inside him. Like some primitive animal, it lifted its head and sniffed the air, perking up its ears with interest.
“No, ’cause Ryan had insurance through work, but he’s gone, and I ain’t filled out the forms yet.” Dark eyes drilled into him. “Can you really do it, what I heard you can do?”
Mason shifted in his hard plastic chair. “Listen. There must be a free clinic or something. I can’t help you.”
The girl looked at him—no, into him—for a moment longer. “Oh. Okay. Sorry to bug you.”
He gritted his teeth. Damn! He’d be happy to buy her the medicine she needed, but she probably had to have a prescription. This was such a little thing really. A glance at the boy told Mason he wasn’t all that sick. Kid could tough it out, and he’d be better soon all on his own. Let nature take its course.
On the other hand, it really wouldn’t take much power to heal the boy. A quick injection of energy, and Zander could stop wiping mucus all over his face with his grimy little paw. His miserable bloodshot eyes would return to normal.
The woman was walking away, leading her scrawny toddler. Mason was off the hook. All he had to do was return his attention to exciting articles about fishing and hunting. Yay!
“Just a second,” he called.
The redhead stopped and turned around.
Mason beckoned with a wiggle of his fingers. “Bring Zander over here.” He leaned forward so his face was level with the small child’s. “Hey, buddy. Not feeling too good, huh?”
The pasty-faced, vitamin-deficient, mouth-breathing waif stared at him with pathetic rabbit-pink eyes. Mason smiled, but the boy didn’t smile back. He’d wager Zander didn’t smile much even when he wasn’t sick.
All right, then. Mason laid a hand on the buzz-cut hair, downy as a chick beneath his palm. Right away he felt the infection, dark and smudged like a dirty cloud on the landscape. The sleeping power within him rose and shook itself, gathered its strong muscles and leaped out of the gate like a greyhound. It tore through Mason, through his cells and corpuscles and the racetrack of his nervous system. It passed through him and out of him, into the child, who didn’t as much as jerk or shudder. People seldom noticed the power—not until it started curing them.
