Sharon Sala - [Lunatic Life 01]

by My Lunatic Life (epub)

  “I didn’t do it,” Flynn said.

  Tara scrubbed her hands across her face. “I didn’t mean you,” she said. “Help me up, will you?”

  “Are you sure you’re okay to stand up?”

  Tara grimaced. She was fine. Now. Unless Creepy came back, she’d still be fine.

  “Yes. I’m sure. I can’t believe that just happened.”

  Flynn helped her to her feet. “Did you get dizzy? Did you hit your head when you fell?” He kept running his fingers all over her head, trying to make sure she wasn’t bleeding anywhere.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “One minute I was up, then I was down. My key is in my jeans pocket. Wait while I . . . ”

  Flynn thrust his hand into her pocket, felt the key ring, and pulled it out before she could argue. He unlocked the door, then helped her walk into the living room. He guided her to the sofa. She sank down on it with a thump, and then leaned back and closed her eyes.

  “Do you want me to call your parents? Does your mom work somewhere?”

  “I don’t have a mom. I don’t have parents. Just Uncle Pat.”

  Flynn looked shocked. He’d thought he had it bad—his dad was in prison and his mom worked so many jobs they rarely saw each other. And yet he had parents, which was way more than Tara could claim.

  “Sorry. I didn’t know,” he said.

  Tara wanted to do was crawl under the couch and never come out again.

  “It’s okay,” she said, and then felt tears on her cheeks. “Crap. I never cry.” She swiped at her face.

  “Come here,” he said softly, and took her in his arms and gave her a hug.

  Tara was too rattled to pull back, and too weak to hide how she felt. Before she knew it, she was sobbing.

  “What did they say to you?” he asked.

  “They who?” Tara asked, then pulled a tissue out of the box on the lamp table, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  “I saw Breedlove stop. Bethany, Prissy, and Mel can be real twits. What did they say to you?”

  That was when Tara realized he thought she was crying because of the confrontation. If he really knew . . .

  “That’s not . . . they didn’t . . . ” she sighed. “Let it go, Flynn. I got dizzy. I’m okay now.” Then she caught his hand and threaded her fingers through it. “Thank you . . . again. You keep coming to my rescue.”

  Flynn wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her real bad but he wasn’t a player He figured that would be a scummy thing to do, considering she was having a weak moment.

  “It’s my pleasure, Moon girl,” he said, gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, then touched his forehead to hers briefly before pulling away.

  “I think I’d better lay down for a while,” Tara said.

  Flynn stood abruptly. “Yeah. Sure. If you’re sure you don’t need something . . . ”

  “I’m good,” Tara said.

  “Yeah, and I’m a monkey’s uncle.” Tara’s eyes widened, then she smiled—slowly—but it was a smile.

  “My Uncle Pat is always saying that, too.”

  Flynn shrugged and grinned. “It’s old school, yeah. Something my dad used to say.” Then he paled, as he realized he’d just brought up the subject he most hated to address.

  “Uncle Pat’s favorite thing is ‘See you later, alligator.’ I’m supposed to answer with, ‘After while, crocodile’.”

  Flynn was so relieved she hadn’t questioned him about his dad that he laughed out loud.

  Tara knew what he was thinking. She felt his shame and embarrassment and also the frustration at a situation he couldn’t control. But she wasn’t about to tell him.

  “You’re sure you gonna be okay if I leave?” Flynn repeated.

  “I’m sure,” Tara said, even though she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  “Then, I guess I’ll be going.”

  Tara knew he wanted to kiss her. She could feel every crazy thought that was running through his mind—even the stuff that made her blush.

  “Oh . . .I’ll wash your jacket and bring it to you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Flynn said, and headed for the door with Tara following so she could lock the door behind him.

  Flynn got all the way to the door before he paused and turned.

  “Well, hell,” he muttered, then gave Tara what was supposed to be a quick kiss. But it turned into something longer—lingering—sweet and tempting.

  “I’m not going to say I’m sorry,” he said, when they finally stopped.

  Tara felt herself smiling like a lovesick fool.

  “You better not,” she said, then watched him leave.

  Chapter Three

  Henry and Millicent were sitting at the foot of Tara’s bed when she got to her room.

  “Where were you two when I needed you?” Tara asked, as she began digging through the dresser and closets for every religious icon she could find.

  Oddly, they had nothing to say to her, and she didn’t have time to delve into why they were suddenly so silent.

  She pulled out a Bible, a china figurine of an angel, and a small, framed photo of The Last Supper that Uncle Pat insisted on packing each time they moved, although she couldn’t remember the last time he’d hung it on a wall.

  Then she wandered into the kitchen, grabbed the container of salt and headed outside. Without missing a beat, she began pouring a ring of salt all the way around their little house, even wading through knee-high weeds in the back yard to do it. When she was done, she stomped back inside and dug through the kitchen spices until she found a small shaker of dried sage. It wasn’t exactly what she needed, but it was going to have to serve. She poured the dried herbs into a shallow bowl, set it on fire then blew it out, leaving nothing but a mini-smudge pot smoking in the bowl. Carrying it with her, she began to move from room to room, saying a cleansing prayer and waving the smoking sage through the air as she went. Once she was done with that, she cleaned up the mess, washed the bowl, and put it back in the cabinet. She’d already had the day from hell. Coming up with a reason for Uncle Pat as to why there was suddenly no salt in the house and why the rooms smelled like burnt salad dressing was going to be tricky enough without leaving the evidence out for him to see.

  Satisfied that she’d done all she knew how to do, she put the Bible under her pillow, the china angel on the table beside her bed, set the small copy of The Last Supper on her dresser, and then crawled into bed. She pulled the covers up around her ears and fell asleep clutching her St. Benedict’s medal, while Henry and Millicent, well aware they’d faltered seriously in protecting her, stood watch over her bed.

  Tara didn’t wake up until her bed started shaking. On the verge of a scream, she came to enough to realize it was only Uncle Pat leaning over the bed, giving her shoulder a gentle shake.

  “Honey, are you sick?” he asked.

  Tara groaned, threw the covers off, and sat up on the side of the bed.

  “No. Not really. What time is it?” She looked toward the windows.

  “It’s after six. I just got home. The house smells funny. Didn’t expect to find you in bed.”

  The sage, she thought. “Oh. Yeah. We need to put air fresheners on the grocery list. The house smelled a little bit like skunk when I got home so I burned a little sage in the rooms, hoping to get rid of it.”

  “Oh. Well. My goodness. I suppose I need to get that back yard cleaned up and mowed. Too many places for varmints like that to hide. I’ll get it done this coming Saturday.”

  “I’ll see about supper,” Tara offered.

  “Don’t worry,” Uncle Pat said. “We’ll go out instead. There’s a neat place not far from here called Eskimo Joe’s. It’s sort of a burger joint, but with a lot of other options. Nothing fancy, but the food is real good.”


  “Sounds great,” Tara said, and meant it. Eating brats for supper had not been high on her list of favorite foods. “Just give me a couple of minutes.”

  “Sure, sure. I need to change clothes, anyway. Take your time.” He got all the way to the doorway before he stopped and looked back. “Are you sure you’re okay? I mean . . . you never sleep in the middle of the day. Is it your period or—”

  Tara rolled her eyes. “Uncle Pat! This is so not a topic for discussion, okay?”

  He looked a little embarrassed, then shrugged. “Okay. Okay.”

  Thirty minutes later they were sliding into an empty booth near the back of Eskimo Joe’s. Judging by the line out front, the people shopping in the attached gift shop, and the number of patrons already seated at the tables, Uncle Pat’s opinion of Joe’s food was shared by a good many others.

  A slim, middle-aged woman with pretty eyes and brown hair served glasses of water with the menus she left on the table.

  “I’ll give you a little time to look over the menus and be right back to take your orders, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure, Mona,” Uncle Pat said, and then frowned when Tara’s eyebrows rose.

  “You know her name?” Tara asked, as the waitress moved away.

  He made a big deal of opening the menu. “She was our waitress at noon, today. One of the guys I work with knows her. Said she has a son in high school and her ex is in prison somewhere for burglary.”

  Tara tried not to be shocked, but she suddenly realized she’d just met Flynn O’Mara’s mother. She glanced through the menu, her mind churning.

  “I think I’m gonna order chicken strips,” Tara said.

  Thankful the subject was changed, her uncle slid into a quick conversation about how his mother used to make fried chicken on Sunday for everyone, and how his sister, Shelly, who was Tara’s mother, always got one of the drumsticks because she was the baby.

  Since Tara never tired of hearing about the life of a mother she couldn’t remember, she urged him to continue. They were still talking about her when Mona came back and took their orders. When their food arrived, Tara made a point of really looking at the waitress serving their food, and saw the resemblance to Flynn.

  “Thank you,” she said, as Mona put her plate of food in front of her. “It looks good.”

  Mona didn’t bother to hide her surprise. Most of the high school kids she served didn’t acknowledge her or the services she provided them. She smiled.

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “I’ll be back around with refills for your drinks in a few. Enjoy!”

  They were almost through with their meal when Tara suddenly picked up on a bad vibe. The strength of it was frightening. She looked up, casually scanning the diners as if looking for Mona, but in reality she was trying to figure out whose thoughts she’d picked up on.

  Then her focus centered on two men standing near the door. She knew within seconds of looking at the taller one’s face that he had a gun in his pocket, and she knew the shorter, older one was high on something. His jittery, disconnected thoughts ricocheted through her head so fast it gave her a headache.

  They were planning a robbery.

  But not here. Sometime before midnight they were going to break into and rob a jewelry store. The name Beckman’s Jewelry, then Main Street slid through her mind so fast she almost missed it. She looked away, and reached for the salt shaker but her fingers were trembling as she shook it over her plate. She had to do something, but she wasn’t quite sure what.

  Call the police, silly.

  The sound of Millicent’s voice was definitely welcome. And Millicent was right. All she had to do was phone in what she’d “overheard.” The police didn’t have to know that she hadn’t really heard them say anything out loud. Only . . . she didn’t want the police to be able to trace the call to her. When it came to being psychic, it was important to stay out of the limelight.

  “Uncle Pat, do you know where the restrooms are?”

  He looked up, then pointed to the right corner of the dining room. “Somewhere over that way.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll be right back.”

  “Um . . . do you want any dessert?” he asked.

  “None for me. You have some though, if you want. I don’t have much homework, so there’s no need to rush.”

  He looked pleased at her suggestion and was already scanning the menu when Tara walked away.

  She looked for a pay phone all the way through the restaurant, then finally spied one.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Uncle Pat was talking to Mona again, supposedly ordering dessert. But she suspected Uncle Pat was somewhat taken with Flynn O’Mara’s mother. He probably freak if he knew the boy who’d caught her eye was Mona’s son. She made a quick grab for the phone, slid some coins into the slot, then quickly dialed 911.

  There were people standing all around her, waiting to be seated, so she turned her back to the crowd and lowered her voice so she wouldn’t be overheard.

  “911,” the dispatcher said. “What’s your emergency?”

  “Um . . . I just overheard a conversation between two men who are planning a robbery tonight. I heard them say Beckman’s Jewelry.”

  “May I have your name?” the dispatcher asked.

  “I don’t want anyone to know I overheard. It’s not healthy to be a snitch.”

  She hung up the phone and hurried back to her Uncle Pat. Luckily, he was watching Mona and didn’t notice she was coming back from a different direction. She slid into her chair with a breezy smile.

  “Let me guess. You ordered lemon meringue pie, didn’t you?” she asked.

  Her uncle grinned. “You know me, don’t you, kiddo?”

  A sharp tug of love for her goofy uncle shot through her so fast it brought tears to her eyes.

  “Yeah, I guess I do,” Tara said, and then took a quick drink of her iced tea.

  At that moment, Mona returned with his pie. “You didn’t want anything, honey?” she asked, as she looked at Tara.

  “No, ma’am. I’m fine.”

  The big smile Mona gave her made her feel good, even if she wasn’t sure why. It was nice to be appreciated for a change.

  A few moments later, she happened to look up just as Flynn walked in. She flashed on that goodbye kiss he’d given her earlier today and felt her face getting hot. When he began looking around the restaurant, she realized he was looking for his mom.

  When he saw her coming out of the kitchen carrying an order, his face lit up as he grinned and waved.

  That’s cool, Tara thought.

  She continued to sneak looks at him, watching as he stood aside while Mona served the food she was carrying. A few moments later, as they greeted each other with a hug and a kiss, she felt even more sure about Flynn being an okay guy. Suddenly, as if sensing he was being looked at, he turned around and scanned the room. When he saw her, he smiled and waved. Tara shivered. He was coming toward them.

  Yummy, Millicent sighed.

  Millicent . . . don’t mess with him.

  I just said, yummy. I didn’t say I was going to do anything.

  Tara smiled at Flynn, but her mind was in a panic. The last thing she needed was for Millicent to make a scene.

  Well! Really! I’m not a man-stealer, you know.

  Could have fooled me, Tara thought, and then Flynn was at their booth.

  “Hey, Moon girl.”

  “Hi,” Tara said, then pointed at her uncle, who had managed to look both startled and territorial while his mouth was full of pie. “This is my Uncle Pat. Uncle Pat, this is Flynn O’Mara. We have two classes together.”

  Flynn stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

  The ‘sir’ struck a nice chord with Uncle Pat. “Um . . . yes, pleasure to meet any of Tara’s fr
iends,” he said, and shook Flynn’s hand.

  “I see you’re a lemon pie fan, too. It’s the best here. My mom works, so I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Your Mom?”

  Flynn pointed to Mona. “That’s her. She’s worked here since I started school full time.”

  “Mona is your mother, is she? Well now . . . that’s something,” Uncle Pat said, and then arched an eyebrow at Tara, who wisely played dumb. “Wow. What a small world,” she said. “She was our waitress tonight.”

  Flynn seemed pleased.

  Uncle Pat was clearly disconcerted. Tara sensed his dilemma. He felt like he should be disapproving of any young male hanging around her, but he was having a difficult time finding a way to criticize the son of a woman he liked.

  Tara didn’t quite know how to act. Uncle Pat was the most important man in her life—except maybe for Henry, who didn’t quite qualify as a man anymore since he’d been dead for at least a century. But now there was Flynn. Yes, she was attracted to him, but she’d only known him a few days. There must surely be a timeline on these things.

  “Would you like to have a seat?” Uncle Pat asked.

  “It’s really nice of you to ask, but I just came to pick up some food. I need to get back home and finish my homework. We’ve got a tough second period teacher, right, Tara?”

  “Yes, tough,” Tara echoed.

  Millicent hissed, Has your brain turned to mush?

  Tara managed a smile while wanting to wring Millicent’s neck . . . if she only had one to wring. Bummer. How do you freak out on a wraith, anyway?

  Freak? I am not a freak!

  No, no, that’s not what I meant, Tara thought, but it was too late.

  The napkins on their table began flying out of the dispenser. In a panic, Tara grabbed the dispenser and clapped her hands over the napkins before Millicent could yank any more free.

  “Wow. Talk about a draft in here,” she said, and then clutched it against her chest while Pat and Flynn stared at her.

  “I don’t think there was a—”

  “You know what, Uncle Pat? Flynn is right. That teacher is a bear about homework. I need to get home and finish mine, too, before it gets too late.”