by Angie Sandro
“Why do you sound so shocked, Mala Jean?” Mama says. “I told you I put my affairs in order after I got my death vision. Do you think I’m such a bad mother that I wouldn’t set aside money for when I died? You also get your inheritance, which has been passed down through the generations.”
“Yay…” I drawl, lazily punching the air with my fists. “See, Landry? I am officially the owner of a hunk of swamp.”
Landry snorts. “Don’t hold in your excitement. You might bust a gut.”
“I’ll try to contain it.” I yawn, patting my mouth with a hand.
“Well, I can’t lie. I’m sort of relieved you don’t have to pull a fake madame routine to keep your house.”
“Me too.” I curl my legs beneath me, wishing I could take a nap, but I still have to head out once Dena shows up. My eyes get stuck at half-mast. The numbers on the digital clock tick forward with soul-numbing slowness.
Landry nods off in the opposite corner, head tilted against the back of the sofa and arms crossed. His mouth hangs open slightly, showing straight white teeth. His hair has fallen back, revealing the sharp angles of his high cheekbones. Long black eyelashes and eyebrows stand out in sharp relief against his skin. He looks vulnerable. And sinful as a Devil Creme cake.
I lick my lips, mouth dry. Heat radiates upward to burn in my cheeks. I inch closer, until his heat warms the coldness in my hands. His pouty lower lip taunts me, begging to be licked.
“How much longer are you planning on staring at me?” Landry asks. “If you haven’t memorized my face by now, you won’t.” His gray eye opens. Today it warms me.
I sigh, sitting back before my shaky arms give out and I fall on top of him. He’d probably just dump me on the floor again. I glance over at the armchair, but Mama’s vanished. Probably back in the bedroom watching never-ending repeats of Y&R on the Soap Opera channel.
“It’s not my fault you’re so pretty,” I mutter.
“Yeah, blame my parents for good DNA.” His laughter trails off.
I glance at the clock again, trying to ignore the minnows-swimming-in-my-tummy feeling I get when I think of my cousin. “Dena should be here by now.”
“Maybe she changed her mind.”
“It’s her father. She can’t move forward until she has his body.” I grab Landry by the arm. He shrugs away with a slight dip of his shoulder. “I’m going to go look for her. Do you want to come?”
“No.” His eye shuts again.
More avoidance. “Fine. I’ll be back before dark.”
I throw the door open so hard it slams against the wall and don’t go back to close it behind me. Landry’s an ass! To think I worried about living with him. I thought he’d be like before—flirty—a slightly dangerous threat to my virginity. That Landry I understand. I can shield myself from caving to his charm. This guy, yeah, not so safe. The more he pushes me away, the more I’m drawn to him like a freaking meteorite that will shatter when it crashes into the moon.
How did I become the one trying to edge into his life? He obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me. If I keep chasing him, he’ll run. Maybe he’ll go to Clarice. And why shouldn’t he? She loves him.
“Wait!” Footsteps run down the stairs, then I hear a crash and a grunt. I spin. Landry’s on his knees at the foot of the staircase. He grabs on to the railing and pulls himself upright with a wince.
I step toward him and stop. He won’t appreciate my concern. I turn back around and start walking again.
“Hey, I’m coming with you.” His hand latches on to my arm. “It’s not safe for you to be wandering around the woods alone.”
“I’ve wandered my whole life. What makes today different?” I shrug off his hand the same way he did mine earlier. “Look, just go back inside and take a nap. Maybe you won’t be cranky when you wake up. I’m stressing about Dena, and I don’t need any distractions.”
His lips tighten, and his gray eye turns stormy. “I’m worried about her too. Do you have a gun?”
This throws me. “Why?”
He scans the surrounding woods. “It’s gonna get dark soon. I’d rather have protection.”
The woods go silent as if waiting for my response. Even the slight wind ceases to blow. A moment ago I couldn’t wait to escape into the thick brush. Now its shadows look menacing. I scowl at Landry. Way to freak me out.
“I have no idea where Mama put the shotgun.” I rub my arms. “She never liked having Grandma Cora’s gun in the house. The thing was so old, she worried it would backfire and blow off her face if she tried to use it.”
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “’Sides, if I had a gun, I would’ve shot your father’s friends when they broke into my house!”
He raises his hands. “Sorry, I—”
“No.” I wave off his apology. He has a right to be worried. If I had an ounce of self-preservation, I’d act more like him. “I get it. The fourth guy.”
Somewhere the unidentified fourth guy waits for a chance to get us in his sights. I’ve lulled myself into a false sense of security by having Landry living with me. Truth is, he’s in as much or more danger than I am. “You’re right. That guy’s still out there. Bet he’s hiding out with Rathbone and your father, planning their revenge on us.”
Landry’s mouth opens like he’s about to say something profound, like maybe confessing the truth about Rathbone's death. Wishful thinking.
He shakes his head. “I’d feel better if we had a weapon.”
Fine. Rather than heading into the woods, I walk around the side of the house to the screened-in back porch. When Mama lived, I slept out here in the hammock during the summer. The heat made it difficult to get a good night’s rest. The box I store my gear inside sits in the corner. I haven’t used it since Landry and I went fishing. I dig out the utility belt that holds my sheathed fillet knife and wrap it around my waist. A stick from the woods makes a handy club. I left it in the umbrella stand instead of throwing it into the yard for this reason. I dart inside to get it and hand it to Landry.
Anxiety doesn’t sit well on him.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “We’ll just walk to Dena’s house. We’ll be fine if we stay on the path.”
He breathes out a puff of air. “Okay, let’s go.”
I check overhead. White fluffy clouds and clear blue sky share space with the setting sun. We still have about three hours of daylight. More than enough to get to the Ackers’ farm and back. Muggy heat drenches me with perspiration. The temperature drops several degrees once we get beneath the thick canopy of trees, but the stagnant pools of water increase the moisture in the air.
Mosquitoes buzz, and I swat a little sucker on my arm. The tension flows from my body. Nature relaxes me. The song of birds, the chirp of frogs, the buzz of insects, and the feel of dirt beneath my feet. The only thing chipping at my increasingly good mood? Landry.
I feel guilty about dragging him out. My panic about Dena is premature. She’s probably fine. I should’ve ignored the tingling sense of unease turning my stomach into a knot. Being out here only shifts my nervousness off my cousin’s safety onto Landry. After the rebuff he gave earlier, I don’t want to bring up the topic of our relationship, or lack thereof, again. It’s pretty obvious that Dena’s wrong about Landry having a crush on me. Or if he did, I’ve scared him off.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Who’d want to date me after getting to know me? I have a bad temper. I’m too sarcastic. I see ghosts. My mama’s undead or…whatever you call ancestral spirits who never give you any privacy even after they’ve supposedly crossed over to the spirit realm.
That’s the scary thing. How in tune I’ve become to the spirit realm. At first, I felt overwhelmed by all of the ghosts flittering in and out of my hospital room, talking to me, asking me for help. I couldn’t tell the difference between a real person and a spirit unless they displayed the gruesomeness of their death: A decapitated man roaming around the hospital searching for his head pretty much screamed GHOST.
>
I haven’t told Landry, but I stopped taking my psych meds. Part of me regrets it because my PTSD symptoms have increased, but the medication blocked my ability. It kept me from learning how to tell the difference between the real world and the fake, because even while drugged, I still saw ghosts. Meds just reduced my anxiety level enough to keep me from freaking out as much upon seeing them. I also didn’t care about George being my brother or Ms. March keeping that secret from me for years.
Now…now I’m pissed. And disgusted by the overwhelming hurt and betrayal I feel. I’m being crushed beneath the weight of all the emotions George must’ve felt in the psych ward when Ms. March revealed the truth. Now I understand why he ran from me.
I sigh, kicking a rock into the bushes. “Where the hell is she?”
Landry glances in my direction. “Something probably came up at home, and she couldn’t make it tonight. Why didn’t you call her…or drive over?” He swats at a mosquito with a grimace.
“It takes longer to drive than to walk. It’s the twisty way the bayou flows. ’Sides, maybe she’s on the way and we’ll meet up with her.”
“And the phone?”
I bite my lip. “Honestly I forgot I could call. Her dad never let her use the phone unless it was for business or emergencies.”
“So you’d just show up on her property?” He scowls. “That doesn’t seem very smart either. I seem to recall Acker pulling a gun on you. Did that happen so often you got immune to it?”
“Who gets immune to having the barrel of a gun shoved in their face?” I scowl. “I never thought he’d really shoot me. Shows how much I know about human nature, huh?”
“Seriously?”
“No, we usually met at the pond.” My lip curls at his expression. There’s a break in the leaves ahead, and I see the sparkle of water. I grin up at Landry. “Race you to Daisy.”
“Hey, I’m injured, remember? Stabbed…skinned knees from falling down stairs, one eye…” He grabs my arm and yanks me behind his back as he breaks into a limping run.
“Cheater!” I yell, sprinting after him.
“I’m handicapped. I get a head start.” Like he needs one. His long legs eat up ground. Maybe he’s not in prime condition, but he still moves faster than my stubby legs can keep up with. His hand slaps down on the bow of my rowboat about twenty seconds before mine. “I won,” he crows, dancing around while giving the air high-fives. He looks like an idiot.
I tell him so.
Landry’s lip pokes out. “You’re jealous of my skills.”
“You have an unfair advantage since you’re unnaturally tall and fit.”
“Unnaturally?”
“In comparison to me.” I wade into the pond to rinse the sweat from my face. Crystal clear water shows my reflection, and I stick my tongue out. My curls have broken free of my braid and are in revolt again.
Landry slaps a hand on Daisy’s hull. “We should’ve brought some water.”
My head tilts. “Check inside the boat. We left so fast the last time I don’t think we took the supplies back.” I follow him and point to a storage compartment built beneath one of the benches. “Could be some bottled water in there.”
Landry climbs into Daisy and rummages through the storage compartment. My eyes linger on the strip of bare flesh between the bottom of his T-shirt and his baggy jeans. He looks over, and my face flushes. “Two waters and three cans of soda. I’m surprised the carbonation didn’t explode in this heat.”
“It’s below the waterline.” I fan myself with a hand, feeling like I’m about to self-combust from the surge of desire flooding though me. I shove my hands into the water and duck my head beneath the surface. Cold water douses the flames burning inside of me.
“Uh, feel better?” He passes me a bottle of water.
“Fine…overheated.” The words come out in a gargling, shrill tone that gives away my attraction even more than if I had run my fingers up the indentation of his spine peeking from beneath his shirt.
“How far to Dena’s?” Landry asks.
“Remember where we saw her father? Their place is about a half mile from there.” I jump up to sit on the edge of the boat. “So here’s the thing I’m worried about. Acker was one of those survivalists who thought either the federal government was out to steal his land or that a zombie horde would attack. I’m pretty sure he booby-trapped his property.”
“You shitting me?”
“I wish…the man was psycho.”
“You don’t seriously mean for us to dodge booby traps to get to the house.”
I give him a sideways grimace, annoyed by his fake ignorance. If Dena hadn’t spilled about his visits to her place and his proclivity for stalking, I’d believe his false expression of shock. “Nah, if we make enough noise, one of the kids will meet us at the fence. They’ll either lead us to the house or bring Dena to us.”
After a five-minute break, we resume our hike. Landry occasionally presses his hand against his wound, and I slow my pace, until we’re ambling more than walking. “It’s a beautiful day,” I say, smiling up at him.
Landry quirks a raven’s-wing eyebrow. “What’s with the small talk? I thought you wanted to have a deep, meaningful conversation about our relationship.”
A bug flies into my open mouth, and I cough. Mother Mary, please don’t let it be a poisonous species.
“Y-you want to talk? Now?” What’s wrong with him? His mood swings faster than the Chair-O-Planes ride at the carnival.
Landry grunts, holding a low-lying branch aside until I pass. The muscles in my back bunch from the tension of having him behind me, but I keep walking, ignoring the increasing need to look at him over my shoulder.
“You asked why I keep pulling away.” His voice sounds harsh, strained from effort.
“Uh, yeah…it’s pretty obvious my touch disgusts you now.” My lips twist.
“Dramatic much?”
I spin, throwing my hands in the air. “Okay, fine. But you know what I mean.”
“Your mom’s dead ’cause of my family.” His head tilts as he studies me through an eye as distant and cold as the Arctic.
I shiver, rubbing the goose bumps on my arms.
His gaze follows the movement of my hands, and the gray softens. How can gray have so much depth? Hot, warm, cold—light or dark, all depending on his swiftly changing mood. I can’t get a read on him.
“Why doesn’t it bother you?” He strips a leaf from a branch, shreds it into three strips, then tosses the pieces to the ground. “I can’t stop thinking about it. Every time you look at me, I’m reminded of what happened to Ms. Jasmine.”
“You saved me.”
“George saved you.” His voice hardens. “I let you get shot. You ended up fighting Acker alone, and the only reason you survived is ’cause you were resilient enough to crawl to the road where George found you. He said you almost bled to death.”
“Georgie thought you participated in the attack, so don’t put too much stock in anything he said before finding out the truth.” I lace my fingers through Landry’s, and I tighten my grip so he can’t let go. If I could telepathically link to him, he’d drown in the emotional mess inside me. Words seem so ineffectual. I can’t seem to find the ones to break through the wall of guilt he’s built up inside.
“Landry, the person who saved me is you. I would’ve charged in and tried to rescue Mama. I wasn’t thinking rationally when you grabbed me. But even before that… you helped me survive Lainey. You believed me when I said her ghost was haunting me. You really don’t understand how important your belief in me is, do you?”
He brushes a wispy curl behind my ear. The gentle touch of his fingers makes the lobe of my ear tingle. His hand drops to my shoulder. “I do. Really. But, Mala, I’m not the guy for you. I don’t deserve you. I never did…and”—he takes a deep breath and blows it out— “I won’t let you throw away a relationship with George just ’cause I’m way hotter and sexier than he is.”
My mouth d
rops. “What?”
His eye widens innocently. “I was born this way. Don’t hate me.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Who’s kidding? Check out these muscles.” He flexes a bicep.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. “Uh…yeah.”
“See, totally unfair advantage.”
I want to beat my head in with a rock. I even look around for one of good size. My brain has ceased functioning. It really has. What part of our conversation was legit and what part was him deflecting…or is he deflecting? Does he really believe I’m in a relationship with George? Would he even believe me if I tell him, again, that I’m not?
He has a teasing sparkle in his eye, a light-heartedness that I haven’t seen in forever, and I’m afraid to ruin the moment. But this discussion isn’t over. And I’m not giving up on him.
“I concede the fact that you’re God’s gift to the planet, Frog Prince, but even you have to admit that Georgie’s kind of pretty for a guy. You have seen how my brother’s hair sparkles in the sunlight, and his eyes are a lovely shade of green—”
“Plus he has two of them.”
I growl. “Give me your stick.”
“Why?”
“I planned on hitting myself but it’s best if I beat you upside your thick skull until it finally sinks in. I don’t want George.”
Landry laughs and tosses me the stick. I snatch it out of the air and give it a test swing. Landry dodges out of its path. “Come on, stay still. Let me whack you a bit.”
“Oh, I’ll let you whack me all you want…”
It takes a minute before I get it. My cheeks heat.
The bushes beside the path rustle, and I turn. The gun pointed at my face looks huge. I can see straight down the barrel. Everything dims around me. The sky turns pitch dark—only the silvery shimmer of moonlight peeks through the branches overhead—and my heart tries to fly out of my chest.
