by Debra Doxer
She’s spent most of her life living in poverty, whether it was crowded foster homes or run-down apartments with her mom. But she’s with me now, and those days are over. My father may be a prick, but he’s a generous one. I’m sure he thinks that money makes up for his lack of parenting skills, and who am I to contradict him? I just have to find a way to give her all the things she deserves without ticking her off too badly.
WE FIND Lucas’s mother in the kitchen, arranging the silverware in a drawer beside the sink. The house she’s moving in to is compact and cozy with one large open space on the first floor, sectioned only by furniture into separate dining and living areas. Lucas tells me that a stairway directly in front of the door leads to two bedrooms upstairs, and I think how different this is from the large Tudor house she came from.
According to Lucas, when he informed them of our plan to bring Liam to New York City with us, neither of his parents had much to say about it. Liam actually complained the most. He wanted to go, but he was afraid to leave his mother, just as Lucas predicted. Lucas is anxious to get him away from here, afraid he’s spending too much of his time worrying about her. Since Lucas left for California, Liam quit the basketball team and his grades have started to fall.
“Hey, Mom. Look who’s here?” Lucas calls to her.
She turns and her dark blue eyes, the same color as Lucas’s, find mine. “Hello, Raielle.” Shyly, she smiles at me.
I notice that she still looks thin and pale, but her chestnut-brown hair is neatly brushed, and her gaze is steady and clear. She grips her hands tightly in front of her, and she seems nervous to see me.
I return her smile and approach her slowly, making sure it’s okay before reaching out to give her a hug. As her cool cheek brushes mine, I feel a familiar pull inside me. My stomach hollows as I try to home in on what I’m sensing. But she releases me too quickly and steps back. “Can I get you anything to drink? Are you hungry?” she asks.
I try to shake the feeling off. “No, thank you. Your new place is nice.”
She nods politely and glances around, looking a little lost. When she raises her hand to push her hair behind her ear, I notice that it trembles slightly, and I feel uneasy.
“We’re going to head back to the house to get settled in, but we’ll stop by again tomorrow,” Lucas says.
“Sure, sweetheart.” She grins and almost seems relieved that we’re going, but then she adds, “Come by whenever you like.”
“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Diesel.” I reach out for her hand, wanting to touch her again. When I squeeze her fingers, I feel it, and I’m stunned.
Lucas’s appraising eyes are on me as we walk out the front door. “What is it?” he asks.
I’m surprised he noticed, and dismayed, too, because now I have to explain myself. He watches me expectantly, but I can’t seem to get the words out. I’m not sure I want to. Wasting time, I watch Liam sitting in the truck bed, playing with his phone, and I know I have to tell Lucas. This is too big to keep from him. I stop chewing on my lip long enough to say, “I felt something when I touched her.”
His forehead creases.
I bunch the bottom of my shirt in my fist. “I don’t feel that way unless there’s something I can heal.”
I see the shock on his face as he pulls in a breath. Glancing back toward the house, I wonder if I was wrong to tell him. I’m probably stirring things up that are better left alone. I can sense his thoughts racing behind his uneasy eyes.
“Is it something physical?” Lucas asks quietly.
I shift my weight restlessly. “I don’t know.” I hesitate. “But I don’t think so.”
He gives me a confused look. “Are you talking about her depression? I thought mental illness was out-of-bounds for you?”
His questions make me feel worse because I don’t have answers for him. I couldn’t help with his mother’s depression before when I reversed the damage my grandmother had done, and I made no difference with Leo either. He still killed himself. But I do know that my ability has grown stronger since I last saw Lucas’s mother. When I healed Leo, my power wasn’t fully within my control because of what my father had done to me. I sigh in frustration. “I don’t know what my limits are anymore,” I finally tell him.
He stares at me. “Are you saying that you can help her?”
“I don’t know. I only know what I feel. But yes, that’s what I’m thinking.”
Running a hand through this hair, he takes a small step back from me. “What then? Are you asking for my permission?”
He almost seems angry now. I shake my head and shrug at the same time. “I hadn’t thought it through that far, but I guess I’m asking your permission to ask her permission.”
His gaze shifts above me before returning again and looking even more conflicted than before. “I have to think about it.”
I nod, standing apart from him, hating how tense I’ve made him, and how my power keeps throwing a wrench into any peace we manage to achieve. “I’m sorry.”
Lucas’s eyes close. Then he scrubs a hand over his face. When he looks at me again, the intensity has cooled. “You don’t have to be sorry. I’m glad you told me.”
I study his face for the truth, but I only see confusion there. I try to give him a reassuring smile, knowing that if he seems this upset on the outside, then he must be churning with emotion inside. But as much as I hate making him feel this way, I can’t deny the whisper of excitement inside me. If I could help his mother overcome this once and for all, I know how much I’ll be helping him and Liam, too. How could I not tell him? How could I not want to try?
LUCAS IS quiet beside me. He seems remote, locked inside his own head. We’re on our way back to his house after meeting Myles and Zack at a pub in the next town over. It cheered me to see Myles so happy. He and Zack are good together. I hadn’t wanted to ask Myles if he talked to his parents or if they know about Zack. We were having such a nice time, I didn’t want to bring up a potentially touchy subject.
But I asked Lucas once we were back in the truck. He told me that Myles came out to his parents just after school ended, and their reactions were what he’d expected. Despite that, they haven’t done what Zack’s folks did, which was to cut him off completely. They simply don’t want to discuss Zack with him, like if they don’t talk about it, they can pretend Myles never told them. My chest aches at that news, and I decide that I should go visit him on my own before we leave.
We arrive back at Lucas’s house just after midnight. His father’s car is parked in the driveway. I met him earlier, very briefly, when we came back from Lucas’s mother’s house. His father was pretty much what I expected based on everything I’d heard. He was brusque, in a hurry, and on his way out. Even though he’d never met me before, I know he disapproves of our relationship, thinking Lucas was in California “throwing his life away” because of me. But I don’t hold that against him since I agree. I could see that Lucas was embarrassed by my chilly reception, but I shrugged it off, and tried to reassure him that I wasn’t bothered.
Lucas got his height and his broad build from his father, but his good looks come from his mother. His father’s coloring is paler, and his hair is a lighter brown. Both Lucas and Liam resemble their mother, who used to be striking based on the few family pictures I’ve spotted throughout the house.
“Will your father be okay with my sleeping in your bedroom?” I ask when we walk into his room.
“He won’t even notice,” he says dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”
His back is to me as he rifles around in his bag that he didn’t bother to unpack earlier. We’re not sure how long we’ll stay here. I like the idea of going to the city soon and getting settled, but Liam can’t start at his new school for another month. That’s how long the paperwork is going to take, and I don’t think Lucas wants to leave him here alone again. So, I haven’t brought it up.
I come up behind him and run my hand up and down his back, feeling his muscles shift be
neath my touch. From his bag, he pulls out my beat-up copy of Jane Eyre. I let him borrow it while we were on the road. He mostly read it when it was my turn to drive, and when he wasn’t too busy making comments about my lead foot and how far above the speed limit I was going.
“Did you finish it?” I ask.
“Last night.”
Lucas hands it to me, and I trace the familiar creases on the cover.
“I can see why you’re so attached to it,” he says offhandedly.
I tilt my head at him curiously, and he turns to face me.
“You obviously relate to Jane in the story. Despite everything she’s been through, she didn’t break. She got kind of badass instead, but in a quiet way. The main guy falls in love with her, and even though he’s a dick sometimes, she loves him back. But then that fucked-up situation with the secret wife comes out, and because of her, Jane believes she has to leave him. But when his place burns down and he’s hurt, she comes back and she heals him with her compassion and shit.”
It takes a minute before I can comment without laughing, which I’m pretty sure was his goal. He’s got a teasing glint in his eye. “Very eloquently put. You know, I read Jane Eyre long before I met you. And if you think you’re Mr. Rochester in the story, you just called yourself a dick.”
A ghost of a smile turns his lips. “You called me a dick first. Remember?”
“I remember what inspired me to call you that.” I place the book in my own bag, pulling out the warm pajamas I bought while we were on the road.
“You quoted from it when you left me that voice-mail message.”
I turn to face him again, but his back is to me now. There’s no question what message he’s referring to. I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Yes.”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “You didn’t finish the quote in your message. I didn’t much like the rest of it, about being exiled forever. You really believed I wouldn’t come looking for you, didn’t you?”
His gaze zeroes in on me, and I acknowledge him guiltily because at the time, I didn’t. I had no idea the lengths he would go to.
He faces me. “You understand me now, though.”
I swallow at his sudden intensity. Then I nod.
“You’re not gonna need those,” he says, pointing to the pajamas in my hands.
I hesitate at the odd mix of emotions in his eyes. “We should talk, Lucas, and I’d rather not do it naked. It’s freaking freezing in your house.”
He approaches me and pulls the pajamas from my hands. “I’ll keep you warm.”
“You don’t want to talk about it?” I can hear the accusation in my voice. I know he’s thinking about it, but he’s keeping his thoughts to himself.
Shaking his head, he’s either ignoring my tone or trying to erase it when he slips his finger beneath the bottom of my shirt and starts to inch it up.
“Because you’re the one doing it now. Not talking to me.”
Sighing, he lowers his forehead to mine. “You’re killing my mood here.”
“Lucas…”
“I’m not doing it,” he says softly. “I talk to you. It takes me time, though. I tell you everything. Just not always when you want me to.”
Exhaling heavily, he sits down on the bed and watches me with a bleak expression. I lower myself beside him and wait. The air in the room feels thicker than it did a moment ago.
“It’s not up to me,” he finally says. “It’s her decision. But I don’t want to get her hopes up or scare her, and there’s no way to do this without one or both of those things happening.”
My fear is the same as his. I don’t want to get her hopes up only to dash them again. But I can’t help feeling that it’s worth trying, even if the end result is disappointing. “It surprised me,” I say, trying to explain it to him. “I’ve gotten pretty good at blocking it all out again, but with your mom, it just kind of hit me.”
He eyes me curiously.
My lips press together. “I was trying not to be my usual standoffish self so she wouldn’t be nervous around me. I want her to like me.”
He reaches over and pulls my hand onto his lap. “She already likes you. She thinks you walk on water.”
I can’t help laughing because I find that hard to believe. She seems so wary of me.
He smiles at my reaction, but it fades quickly. “If you could help her, it would be…” Shaking his head, he can’t seem to find the words.
I turn, looping my arms around his neck. “I would never hurt her, not even by mistake like my grandmother did. You know that, right?”
His gaze travels over my face, like he’s looking for the answer there. Then he turns with me, gripping my waist, and laying us back on the bed with my body beneath his. He presses me down into the mattress and says, “I think you should try. I’ll talk to her.”
I smile, and a nervous flutter starts in my stomach at the thought of it. But then I worry that I’ve talked him into this. Looking into his eyes, I try to gauge the thoughts behind them. “Are you sure?”
He traces his finger down my cheek to my lips. Then he skims over them softly. “Yes,” he says, his gaze on my mouth. “But the final decision will be hers.”
Keeping this possibility from her wouldn’t be right, and I knew this would be his decision. But I still hated putting him through this. He’s been through too much already.
I shift my body beneath his, moving my leg out from under him. Then I hook it around his back and press down, placing him right where I want him.
His eyes fall closed, and he hums low in his throat. “See?” he says. “You’re not gonna need those pajamas.” Then he reaches a hand between us and begins to strip off my clothes.
I HATE this.
Waiting.
I’m leaning against Lucas’s truck, and letting the cool fall wind whip my hair around. Blazing red and orange leaves decorate the trees and litter the ground. It’s beautiful, like a postcard. In town, the stores have Thanksgiving decorations in their windows, cardboard cutout turkeys and pumpkins. I used to greet this time of year with such cynicism. The holidays felt like an elaborate play being put on around me. They weren’t real to me since I’d never experienced them firsthand.
But this year, things are different. Kyle hasn’t asked me to join them for Thanksgiving yet. But I can see he’s building up to it. I won’t spend it with them, though, and I think Kyle realizes that. I’ll be with Lucas. Knowing that gives me a sense of security that I never imagined I’d have. From now on, I’ll be with Lucas for everything. He’s my center and my new beginning. He makes it all okay, even when it isn’t.
Smiling to myself, I push away from the truck and watch as a gust of wind picks the leaves up off the grass and carries them along the ground toward the stone wall that lines the edge of the yard. There they gather and fall together in a colorful pile.
A moment later, the front door opens and Lucas waves for me to come inside. I take a deep breath. Here we go. The wind wants to blow the leaves in through the door with me, but Lucas closes it quickly behind me.
“What did she say?” I ask anxiously, shrugging out of my coat.
“That I want to do it now,” Mrs. Diesel answers.
Surprised, I turn to see her standing just behind him, watching us. I look at Lucas.
“She trusts you,” he says.
My gaze travels between them, and I pick up on the jumble of nerves coming from both of them.
She takes a step forward. “Lucas explained things to me. I’ll be okay if it doesn’t work. You don’t have to worry about that.” She gives me a shaky smile, and I doubt she’s telling the truth about being okay. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember much from last time. How do we start this?” she asks, appearing anxious to begin immediately, when I thought she’d need a little time to get used to the idea.
Her reference to the night she attacked me catches me off guard. My heart starts to knock against my ribs because I recall every detail. I look to Lucas, and he nods encouragi
ngly at me.
“Um. We could sit on the couch,” I suggest, cranking up my smile to cover my nerves.
I watch as she moves forward slowly but deliberately, and then lowers herself onto the seat cushion. Lucas whispers in my ear, “No speeches or explanations. Just start. Okay?”
When my eyebrows shoot up at him, he adds, “She’s nervous. I don’t want a big buildup if it’s not going to work.”
I dart a look at her, noticing how stiff she’s sitting and how her gaze is on the carpet rather than us. Nodding my understanding to Lucas, I sit down beside her. He takes the chair across from us, and I can feel his tension ratcheting up in time with my own. This is Lucas’s mother. The stakes couldn’t be higher. I want this to work so badly, I’m already dreading the devastation my failure could bring to both of them.
Mrs. Diesel is watching me intently now, and I can see her chin is wobbly, like she’s on the verge of tears.
“Try to relax,” I say, taking one of her hands and clasping it in mine. I notice right away that the sensation is still there, a calling to my energy from someplace deep inside her. But her skin is ice-cold, and I try not to visibly shiver. Lucas is right. I have to start this now before she shatters right in front of me.
I close my eyes, making my breathing steady and even. Soon I feel my stomach seem to flip inside me as the energy grows and swirls. It surprises me, how easily I can command it now.
Once the power reaches a peak, I gradually send it toward her, not wanting to overwhelm her with the sensation. I know she feels it when her fingers relax in my hand. Then I send out more, letting the entire coil unfurl and flow to her. When the concentration is high enough, saturating her system, it acts instinctively, knowing exactly what to do. It all moves upward to the same place, and I hold my breath, wondering what it will find. The energy begins diffusing rather than focusing. It seems to be stimulating certain sections of her brain, mostly in the front.
When her fingers squeeze mine, my eyes open.
“Mom?” Lucas is out of the chair now, hovering over her.
