by Anne McClane
“‘I’m so sorry! Are you okay?’ I’d asked.”
“What was the noise?” Lacey asked, wanting to let Christine know she was listening.
Christine’s peaceful smile softened, touched by a hint of sadness, Lacey guessed.
“It was just a truck lowering its tailgate. I had asked Aunt Janie the same thing, but she didn’t answer right away. We were across the street, I could tell, and near the door of the ice cream shop. Aunt Janie’s silence began to frighten me.”
Christine took a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back. “I remember that initial fear. That fear of not knowing what was going on. I believe that’s the very worst thing, in the beginning.”
“So . . . ,” Lacey asked. “Was your aunt okay?”
“She was . . . then. We eventually went into the parlor, and ordered as we usually did. But Aunt Janie was strangely quiet.”
“What I would find out later—later that same year—is that my touch has a special power. Some healing power, but no more than any typical masseuse. No, the single, extraordinary thing I would discover is that my touch has the ability to open peoples’ eyes.”
Her smile returned, and her hands spread out, palms open, on either side of the cushion.
Again, Lacey felt the need to speak, since Christine couldn’t see her awed reactions.
“Like, you can give sight to other people?” Lacey thought what a terrible irony that would be, if Christine couldn’t use it on herself.
Christine laughed. “In a manner of speaking. In some instances, but not all, my touch can cause visions. Sometimes it’s the future, sometimes it’s the past, sometimes it’s a potential future.”
Lacey inhaled. “Really?”
It was an involuntary response. She felt foolish for how it sounded.
Christine laughed again. “Yes. I’ve always thought it fitting, that the first time it ever happened was with Aunt Janie, with her love for the fantastic.”
“So, how . . . ,” Lacey asked.
“ . . . Did I discover this?” Christine responded. “Aunt Janie became ill later that same year. My mother and I visited her, around the holidays. My mother didn’t say as much, but I knew we were going to say goodbye to her.”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” Lacey said.
“Remember, Aunt Janie always loved happy endings. She died happy, and at peace. But her final story, the last one she told me, was especially for me. It was about a young girl, who had something like Midas’s touch. But instead of turning things to gold, she helped people see clearly. If it was dark, she’d provide light. If it was foggy, she’d provide a breeze to blow the mist away. And she said the young girl helped countless people through her life, and lived happily ever after.”
Christine wiped her fingers underneath her glasses. “Oh my goodness, how I cried when she told that story.”
“You were the girl?” Lacey asked in a soft voice. “How did Aunt Janie know?”
“When I clasped her hand in the street that summer, Aunt Janie had a vision of her own death. And of my ability to facilitate such things . . . in other people.”
Lacey felt a panic rising. “But it’s not always about death, you said . . . ”
Christine’s happy demeanor returned. “No. It’s more like future or past events. That’s just what it happened to be in my aunt’s instance.”
“Wow. Do you ever find it, like it’s too much to handle?”
“I struggled a bit, early on. Going through puberty and coming to terms with a gift like that, all at the same time, was a trial I’m glad I’ll never have to repeat.”
“But now?”
“There’s not a day goes by that I’m not grateful for this gift.” She folded her hands in her lap, and her smile turned beatific.
Lacey felt a torrent of questions well up. Had Rosie ever received one of Christine’s touch visions? Or was it best to keep it out of a relationship? Was Christine ever part of the other person’s vision? Why hadn’t Lacey received her ability earlier? Though she realized Christine couldn’t answer that last one.
Christine eased herself up off the pillow. “I hope you’ll find that place of gratitude, Lacey. I think you will. You seem to want to find it.”
Lacey struggled to find the right words. “I . . . I do. I think I do. Thank you, Christine.”
“It was my pleasure, Lacey.”
22
When Trevor contacted her, out of the blue, later that evening, Lacey realized something. She was ready for a break from thinking about her “gift.” Trevor had no clue about her ability. That made their conversations—all their interactions—much simpler than the ones she’d had over the last several days.
Maybe that’s the reason everything between them had felt so easy thus far. She’d always had the lingering suspicion with Nathan, that part of his feelings for her were tied to the fact that she had saved his life. At least twice. Like a patient who falls in love with their doctor.
There was no such complication between Lacey and Trevor. The entire affair had been a whirlwind, and based solely on mutual attraction.
Was the attraction mutual? Or did Trevor just read Lacey as an easy hit?
Stop it. Overthinking this will kill it.
And she definitely didn’t want to kill it.
His message had said something about fact checking. She had sent him a picture, taken from the top of the ridgeline, of the vast ocean below. And that he was going to be in the area and wanted to make sure she wasn’t sending doctored photos.
The thread was fairly pragmatic, light on the usual innuendos and double entendres.
But still, her heart had leapt in her throat. The thought of sex with Trevor, out on her lovely, secluded veranda, with the sun setting in the background, got her engaged in a way she hadn’t been since . . . no, not since Nathan. Really since the last time with Trevor.
And a respite from her “training,” such as it was, felt like a good idea.
For just a little while, she didn’t want to think about Superfriends, or the entire universe in need of healing, or feeling grateful for her power, or anything else remotely related to it. She just wanted to be. And being was easy with Trevor.
Wasn’t Eli always telling her to live in the moment?
Wednesday afternoon, Christine told her in passing that she was needed up at the “Rendezvous” hot tub. Lacey expected Eli, even though it was a different location than the site of their training exercise the day of the earthquake. She wondered why he hadn’t contacted her himself, but was prepared this time, nonetheless. She wore a two-piece under t-shirt and shorts.
She climbed the steps up to Rendezvous, and found the privacy gate bolted when she arrived. A little exasperated, she knocked gently, and nearly squealed when she heard Trevor’s lilt attempt his best American, “Who is it?”
Lacey was speechless with excitement for a moment. “Who do you think it is?” she answered, trying to take her voice an octave lower.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said, the brogue returning.
The door opened inward to reveal Trevor standing completely nude and dripping. He must have already been in the hot tub.
Lacey looked behind her to see if anyone else could see him. He didn’t make any effort toward modesty.
Lacey hustled into the cabana. She grabbed the door from Trevor and quickly shut and latched it.
“How did you get Christine in on this?” Lacey asked.
“Who?”
“The tall, elegant woman, visually-impaired . . . ”
“Oh! The blind lass.”
Lacey shook her head.
“Simple. She was in the gift shop when I reserved this tub. I asked the bloke behind the counter if he knew you, and he didn’t seem to, and . . . ” Trevor made a motion toward his eyes.
“Christine,” Lacey interjected.
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br /> “Anyway, she heard me say your name, and she volunteered to play her part in this little game.”
Trevor was still standing like a statue, in the same position.
“Eyes up, love,” he said. “I’m sure my manhood is terribly distracting, but you’re making me feel like an object.”
Lacey laughed and looked him in the eye. “Well, maybe I’m just glad to see you.”
“Likewise.” He took her hand, an incongruously gentle gesture, and led her to a small table to the side of the door.
His clothes lay in a heap, next to a carton containing single-serve, plastic bottles of wine and two plastic glasses. Lacey noticed the unused clothes hooks on the wall and smiled to herself.
“For someone who seemed in a rush to get going, you practiced some patience in not opening the wine.”
“I didn’t want to drink alone. I’m in the buff alone most of the time.”
That painted a picture in Lacey’s mind. She lifted his jeans from the top of the heap and let them drop again.
“Ah, you’re a neat freak, aren’t you?” he said, grabbing one cap-topped bottle. “I suspected that all along. Sorry, love, I’m not.”
He poured out the contents of one bottle into a plastic glass and handed it to her. “So, I’ve concluded your photo was indeed, not faked.”
She lifted herself onto an open space on the table, sitting atop it, and played along.
“I don’t have that skill, anyway. Why were you so interested?”
“I came up here to try to surf. Spent most of the morning out there.” He poured another bottle into a glass for himself. He set it down next to Lacey and stood before her, leaning in.
“Sorry I didn’t wait for you with the hot tub,” he said. His voice was low, his face inches from hers. “It felt too good after that workout.”
“That’s okay. I can think of something else that might feel good.” She moved in quick and kissed him hard. He responded without missing a beat. His hand moved to the side of her face, gentling stroking her cheek and tousled hair.
Lacey’s senses went reeling.
Trevor turned his focus entirely to Lacey. She was pinned by his arms around her; his lips had moved to her neck. She braced herself with her hands on his hips, her hands fitting atop his hipbones like they were made for just that purpose.
Trevor’s hands moved up and inside her t-shirt. The latex of her bikini top was too tight for his hand to slide inside, so he ran both hands over her breasts. Lacey longed to disrobe, to feel skin on skin, but didn’t want to stop the momentum.
Lacey opened her legs to allow Trevor to move in closer. She could feel him hard against her. Hell, she could see it, too. But he made no motion to move inside her. She wondered how long he could stay tumescent like that.
She grabbed him and began to stroke. She longed to taste him.
Lacey hopped off the table and got on her knees before him. Trevor answered with a deep, harmonic moan. One hand on her shoulder, and the other twisted in her hair, he watched her tend to him.
“Sweet Mary, love,” he said. His hand in her hair fell to her shoulder. His grip tightened and he pushed gently.
Before Lacey could react, he had her by her sides and lifted her back onto the table. Her nerves arced at the touch of his hands to her ribs. She breathed in sharply, and was bombarded by the sweet, clean scent of eucalyptus.
Trevor pulled her toward him, so she would have teetered on the lip of the table if he wasn’t holding her so firmly. He pulled on the waistband of her shorts. She praised her luck for having chosen to pull on her looser swim shorts. He tugged them to just above her knees, lifted one leg out, and pulled her even closer.
“Grab a condom, love.”
“Where?” Lacey hadn’t seen any on the table.
Trevor held her fast with one arm, and rooted around underneath his pile of clothes with the other. Lacey reached for the packet as soon as she saw it.
“Take care of it quick,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. Lacey slid the condom on as Trevor kept her steady on the table. Then he drove inside her, a swift, fluid movement that rose in intensity.
Lacey felt the edge of the table drive into her buttocks with each thrust. The pain heightened the experience. She gripped the table with one hand and cried out, certain that it could be heard along the hillside.
She didn’t care.
Trevor’s moans remained low, but increased in frequency, until they stopped. His movements slowed, until his thrusts became a gentle rocking. He pulled Lacey into an embrace and set her on the ground before him. She stepped back and out of her shorts, which still dangled from one leg.
Trevor winked, took a long pull from his wine glass, and with three quick steps, had submerged himself in the hot tub.
“That is a fabulous idea,” she said with a big smile. She took her clothes off, making sure Trevor was watching. She made a show of it, grabbed her wine glass, and joined him in the hot tub.
After her and Trevor’s reservation time had elapsed up at Rendezvous, Lacey checked in with Eli with a quick phone call. He told her he didn’t need her. Just like that. Not, “Enjoy the afternoon.” Not, “Nothing’s going on, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Just that: “I don’t need you.”
Even though she felt more connected to Eli now, his terseness still bugged her.
She shook it off and turned to Trevor. “Are you up for a hike?” she asked.
His eyes lit up. “A roll in the hay on the rolling hillside?”
She pushed at him with a smile. “Aren’t you tired?” And wondered if he would try to take her off trail. The thought of the dry scrub at her back, ants, and possible reptilian visitors did not turn her on.
“Plus, I hear there are rattlesnakes,” she said. She suddenly wondered how she would heal a snakebite.
“Ha! I can handle a rattlesnake. I could use the rattle as percussion. Would make a great story to tell onstage.”
Lacey realized she probably didn’t need to worry about curing Trevor of anything.
Though they hiked up the hillside together, they may as well have been miles apart. Trevor didn’t say much, and took his time taking in the sycamores, the sage, giving way to pines the higher they rose. Lacey tried to draw him out with a few comments, but his answers were pat. It was clear he didn’t want to engage. She tried to respect his space, but couldn’t help but wondering what had caused his sudden mood swing.
Her mood notched down to match.
“The color’s completely different,” he finally said.
“What?” She had no idea what he was talking about. Nothing had preceded the comment.
“In Ireland. The sky can be this same color, certain times of year, but the earth it’s covering is a completely different color.”
“Isn’t that why they call it the Emerald Isle?” Lacey answered.
“You think?”
So is that it, maybe? He’s homesick? I can understand that.
Still trying to allow him his mood, she waited for his reaction when they reached the peak of the hill. They were almost there. She’d had her breath stolen from her the first time she saw it.
He stopped dead still when he crested the hill. “Well, this is terrible,” he said without a hint of a smile. “Take me back this instant.”
It wasn’t until he winked that she realized he was joking. “We need to work on our comic timing,” she said.
They stood where Lacey had when she’d taken the picture. The one that enticed him to make the three-hour drive from Los Angeles. They were two small dots on a hill, side by side, the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean stretched out before them, whitecaps appearing just as squiggly lines marring a massive blue mat.
“How’s that for color?” she asked.
He nodded and gave her a one-sided smile.
The sun was still hi
gh, but beginning its descent toward the watery horizon.
“C’mon,” Lacey said. “There’s something really cool, over here to the left.”
“Yeah, because this isn’t cool at all.” He smiled and pecked her on the cheek.
They walked a short distance along the crest of the trail, heading south. They passed through a few copses of trees, but nothing marred the view of the sprawling ocean beside them. The cars below, along California Highway One were so distant, they appeared as industrious ants in a path to a colony.
This is the California I’ve always wanted to see, Lacey thought. So why do I feel a tinge of homesickness now, too?
They reached a wooden swing, suspended from a sturdy tree branch. This was the first time she’d seen the swing unoccupied, though she’d only seen it twice before. Lovers’ initials spotted the tree trunk. Lacey wondered if Trevor might add something to the woody manuscript. It seemed like something he might do. But with the sudden revelation of his moodiness, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to.
“Whose idea was this?” Trevor said.
“Not mine,” Lacey answered. “Doesn’t seem like a bad one, though.” She steadied herself on the swing and began to sway; low, easy strides. A breeze came up out of the north. She closed her eyes and let the wind have its way.
Trevor came behind her to offer swing assistance. His strength made her feel unsteady.
“Not too hard,” Lacey said.
She expected a snarky response, but he responded only by easing up on his pushes.
It seemed the perfect lover’s moment—a mountaintop, a swing, the ocean, the breeze. But Lacey felt lonelier than she had when she’d made the hike alone. She and Trevor had great chemistry, but it only seemed to apply when they were intimate. She tried to think of something to make light, but nothing came.
“I need to start thinking about getting back down to L.A.,” Trevor said.
Lacey planted her feet and stopped swinging. “Sure. Of course.” She hopped off the swing. “I’m sure I’ve taken up enough of your time already.”
She meant it honestly, as a courtesy, but it came out tinged with bitterness. She looked toward Trevor, to gauge how he took her comment. He seemed not to hear it.
