But that was what Rayna was asking us to do, wasn’t it? Help this child find the strength he needed to live under the burden he had to bear. I’d certainly never planned to be a mother again. Physically, I was capable of it, but I hadn’t been sure that emotionally I could handle the task. Yet who was better suited to help this child? Not too many adoptive parents would be in a position to understand a child who believed he’d been kidnapped by aliens—and could recount the story in detail. And I wouldn’t be doing this alone.
I looked at Ethan and saw the same fear in his expression that I knew he could see in mine—a fear that we could never be adequate to this task. I saw something else, too. Wonder. And joy. And excitement. He smiled at me and squeezed the hand he still held tightly in his own.
I sucked in a breath and turned to Jack. “Are you finished with that milk, buddy?”
He nodded and gave me the glass.
I set it aside and held out my free hand to him. “You want to come with me and Uncle Ethan and take a look around the house? You know, we have two cats hiding around here somewhere—one named Jesse James and the other named Pippin. Do you like cats?”
He hesitated only briefly, glancing at Rayna to make sure it was okay. Then he stood, and the three of us set off to explore our home together.
There was something about the way the stars wheeled in the sky overhead that sent a shiver down my back as I nosed the old Ford out of the parking lot and turned away from the lights of town. Something in the way they seemed to follow me down the empty road toward home, though that was a crazy thought, and I knew it. On a stretch of Deerhorn Road just after Dry Run Bridge I began to shake, a sense of dread taking hold of me so strong it squeezed the breath out of my lungs. I punched the accelerator, pushing the truck up to its rattling limit on the twisting curves. I needed to get home, before . . . before . . .
I rounded the last bend, my throat raw, my heart pounding, the engine whining in protest. But whatever I thought I would see was not there. All was quiet along the road where I lived—starlit sky arching over the harvested fields, houses scattered loosely along the country mile, dark and sleeping at this late hour. The lone lights along the road were shining over the garage and porch of my old farmhouse.
I pulled up in my yard and cut the engine, sat listening to the motor ticking as it cooled and the crickets trilling in the hayfield near the house. Nothing disturbed the rural peace except my ragged breath, puffing out against the rapidly fogging side window of the truck. I opened the door, got out, and closed it as quietly as I could, given the rusting hinges and the slightly bent frame.
I went inside my house. Exhaled. Glanced in to see the babysitter asleep on the couch, the TV droning on. Then I padded up the stairs to where my children were sleeping, peaceful and safe.
Micah had slipped into bed with Samantha. They were curled up like kittens under her Lion King comforter, with a menagerie of stuffed animals and half a box of Crayola crayons. I kissed them both on the warm, impossibly soft skin of their cheeks and left them to their dreams.
Down the hall on the right, Ben had his own room. He opened his eyes when I went in to check on him. I sat on the edge of his bed, smoothed the dark hair back from his forehead and smiled at him.
“Hey, bud, what are you doing awake?”
“I waited up.”
“Really? Kinda late.”
“I wanted to tell you something.”
“Oh, yeah? What?”
“You remember that night you didn’t make it home?”
I jerked like he had slapped me. The room, the scene suddenly took on the surreal quality of a dream. I tried to wake up. I tried hard. Nothing happened. My dead son continued to look at me, waiting for me to answer.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I—I should never have left you.”
“It’s okay, Mom. You weren’t meant to come with us.”
“To come with you where?”
He shrugged, grinned a huge grin. “Here.”
I didn’t want to, God knows I didn’t, but I had to ask him. “Ben, that night. Do you remember—”
“Yeah, Mom.” He touched my hand. “It didn’t hurt. We weren’t scared. We just went to sleep. The smoke came, and we woke up Here.”
Oh, God! I had so many questions, so much I wanted to say to him. But time was short; I could feel it. I gathered him up and held him close.
“I love you, Benjamin. And your brother and sister, too. I miss you all so much.”
“Love you, too, Mom. I just wanted to say goodbye.”
My eyes snapped open, and I shot upright in bed, my heart booming inside my ribs. Grateful tears slid down my face and began to soak the neck of my tee-shirt while my only breaths came in great gulps of air taken between sobs.
Ethan sat up beside me, shocked out of his own deep sleep. “Jesus, Asia, what’s wrong?” He pulled me into his arms and held me tight. “What is it?”
I almost laughed. “Nothing. It’s good. Oh, God, Ethan. It’s so good.” And then I told him.
I don’t know what I expected. An analysis, maybe. A gentle dismissal. But his hand shook as he brushed a stray curl from my forehead. And as he bent to touch his lips to mine I could taste the salt of his own tears on his face.
“My sweet Asia. No one deserved that more than you.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest as I sank into his embrace. “You think it was real?”
“I’m not sure it matters.” His lips brushed my forehead.
Then there was a sound, so small I almost missed it, near the door. A shuffle. A sniffle.
Ethan pulled away and looked toward the foot of the bed. “Hello.”
In the light from the street, a shadow was revealed, about four feet tall, boy-shaped. The shadow stood silently watching us, waiting for a reaction, or an invitation.
“Hi, Jack,” I said. “Did you have a bad dream?”
The shadow nodded.
“Want to sleep in our bed?” Ethan made the offer though it broke the rules we’d only just agreed upon that afternoon.
The shadow moved, ran to my side, scrambled up and under the covers. Jack snuggled close to me as I lay down and hooked an arm around him. Then Ethan pressed his chest to my back, molded his hips to mine, and wrapped his arms around us both.
His lips at my ear carried a whisper: “I love you.”
And in that warmth we slept, unbound by the past, tethered only to the future.
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Unchained Memory would not have seen the light of day if not for the unflagging support and just plain hard work of a host of people. I can’t begin to say how thrilled I am to be able to thank them by name:
-My tough and discerning critique partner Linda Thomas, who always made me laugh even as she turned the screws.
-My fellow science fiction romance writers and critique partners Laurie A. Green and Sharon Lynn Fisher, who have shared this road with me from the beginning, come hell and high water.
-My lifelong friend Joyce Dame, R.N., the mental health professional who helped make sure Dr. Ethan Roberts was within bounds, though walking a thin line. Any misinterpretations of medical ethics are my own.
-My gang of beta readers, including my daughter Jessie Wenger, my husband, Graeme Frelick, Nikki Miller, Petra and Ray Blazer, Daryl Durham, Peggy Robinson and the members of the Cultural Expressions Book Club of Richmond, Virginia, all of whom provided valuable insights.
-My editor Deborah Kreiser, who polished this rough stone into a shiny gem. I’ve always said every writer needs a good editor; now I really believe it.
-And, finally, my incomparable agent and publisher Michelle Johnson, who has worked tirelessly to make this book happen. She believed in me and in Unchained Memory, and because she believed, reality was forced to conform. Thank you, Michelle, for all your faith and energy.
chained Memory (The Interstellar Rescue Series Book 1)
Unchained Memory (The Interstellar Rescue Series Book 1) Page 35
