Their time together during lunch was uplifting. It helped ease the tension Aimee stored. Dylan and James got along like long-time friends, which was a relief since she would be living with James and Sacha and the four of them would be together a lot, at least Aimee hoped. She had forgotten how much she enjoyed being around her brother and his fiancée, and it made her glad she would be moving in with them in a few months instead of getting her own apartment the first time being away from home.
“Hey, Aimee,” James started with his mouth full of food, “hey, remember the robbery at the bookstore a couple months ago, the one you called me about?”
“Yeah, did they ever catch the guy?” asked Aimee trying to act only mildly interested.
“Yep, they caught him, but the dude’s crazy. A freakin’ nut. The story in the paper said he didn’t shoot at the girl he beat up. He told the cops he shot at someone who came out of nowhere like a ghost before he took off running. Friggin’ crazy meth head. At least he’s behind bars now.”
The food in her mouth stuck in her throat as she tried to swallow and Aimee started choking. Dylan reached over and started slapping her on the back. “Do I need to do the Heimlich?” he asked.
“No,” Aimee wheezed out, “I’m…I’m okay. Just swallowed wrong.”
The more she traveled, the more Aimee was realizing how problematic it could be for her. Her timing needed to be so precise. Disappearing and reappearing with people around could be the death of her secret, or worse…herself. In the olden days she probably would be labeled a witch and burned at the stake. It would be impossible to try to explain her gift to a non-believer. Aimee was sure most people would think her story was fiction, a product of a vivid imagination, but she had the broken bones and scars to prove it was real.
Aimee continued when she finally cleared her throat, “Well, I’m glad they got that freak off the streets. So how’s the girl?”
“Oh, she’s fine. Her story is kinda like the dude’s though. She said this girl appeared out of thin air and startled the robber, and he shot at this mystery chick, then she doesn’t remember anything else because he knocked her out and split her skull. The cops have even pegged the missing girl as The Ghost Girl. Of course since the security camera wasn’t working they didn’t catch this girl on tape, but the worker did identify this crack head as the person who attacked her, and even gave them a description of the girl. And get this, oddly the worker’s description fits the same description the robber gave, and in a distorted way it kinda looks like you,” he sniggered before taking a bite of taco.
Aimee dropped her bean taco suddenly into her plate, and everyone looked over at her. “Sorry, slipped.” She shrugged, then wiped the spatter off the table with her napkin.
“Anyway,” continued James after taking a sip of tea, “no one has come forward fitting the description, and no one else remembers seeing this girl in the store that morning. Even the camera on the main floor didn’t catch her. Man, the girl hurt was lucky this chick distracted the robber, or she might have been shot.”
“Well, I’m glad she’s okay.” And she was, too. Aimee guessed her journey hadn’t been a wasted trip, after all. Her startling entry saved the girl from being robbed, or worse, killed. It was comforting to know that her gift might have a higher purpose especially since she experienced serious occupational hazards as a result of the journeys.
After lunch the girls cleaned up the kitchen, and then the four wandered into the den to relax and watch the rest of the baseball game. Dylan stretched out on the couch with his legs sprawled over Aimee's legs. Sacha sat scrunched in the corner next to Aimee. Dylan’s feet dangled over her lap while she tried to study for a biology test she had on Monday. James was glued to the television, intently watching his favorite Texas team battle it out. The game couldn’t hold Aimee's interest. She was too edgy. After a few minutes Aimee looked over at Dylan. The grasp he had around her fingers suddenly loosened. He was sound asleep. Tiny puffs of air escaped his slightly parted lips while his breathing settled into a tranquil, slow rhythm. He looked amazingly gorgeous, even when he slept. Aimee thought about how incredibly awesome he looked last night decked out in his black suit with his black shirt and tie. They looked perfect together; Mr. and Miss Perfect. She thought about how close they were this morning to finally having sex after dating almost four months. Her heart fluttered. It felt like they would never be together without some kind of interruption. At this rate she was destined to be a virgin the rest of her time at East Medford High.
She carefully lifted Dylan’s legs and slid out from under them, grabbed the afghan from James’s recliner and spread it across Dylan’s body, then kissed him lightly on his forehead. He didn’t stir. She figured doing a couple chores would keep her busy, and help keep her mind off what occupied it; her dad's narrow escape from death and her mother’s return from the dead.
Aimee marched to her dad’s bedroom to gather up a load of wash. After dumping the small pile of dirty clothes from his hamper into the washer, adding detergent, and hitting the start button, she slipped into her room to gather another load.
Mom and Dad’s picture on the bookcase caught her eye, and she paused. Aimee picked it up and stared at the woman in the photo, the woman she had greeted every day of her life that she could remember. Aimee knew her every feature, every minute detail; her mole on her right cheek bone about an inch below her eye, her cute, tiny pug nose, the elongated neckline, and those mysterious eyes. She swore she was staring at the same woman she had visited earlier today; her mom - Marie Aimee Schmidt - the woman who died over eighteen years ago the day she was born. Aimee had seen the death certificate from Aunt Lauren to prove it. After all these years of painfully dealing with her death, it was now almost impossible to believe otherwise, but somehow she was going to figure this out.
“Hey, looking at Mom and Dad’s picture again?” James startled her as he slithered noiselessly into Aimee's room and stood behind her. She dropped the photo, but James swiftly snagged it before it hit the bare floor.
“Holy crap, James,” hissed Aimee, “you scared me half to death! What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?”
“I’m sorry. I was just checking on you. You seem really distracted. I imagine it’s been a real bitch, to say the least, dealing with all you’ve been through the past few weeks, you know, your two accidents, and now this with Dad. Geez, Aimee, that’s a lot to deal with. I just want to make sure you’re okay. You are, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, James, I’m okay, I guess,” she confessed. Aimee took the photo from her brother and set it back on the shelf. “I really appreciate you thinking about me.”
“Hey, you know I love you, you little shit.” He smiled affectionately as he punched Aimee lightly on the arm.
She forced a smile while she rubbed the spot he hit. “I guess you do, although you have a strange way of showing it sometimes.”
“Yeah, well, I think we’re about ready to head back to the hospital. We need to get back to Eugene before dark. I have some studying to finish. Are you gonna let Dylan sleep?”
“I dunno. Maybe. I guess I should, huh? Neither of us got much sleep this weekend.”
“My little sis, the party animal. Grrrrrrrr,” growled James as he started to leave the room.
“Hey, James…” Aimee's tone changed quickly. Her thoughts raced back to their mother. James stopped at the doorway and looked back at her. “Uh, I have been thinking about Mom…” She hesitated and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips sorting out what she wanted to say.
“What about?”
“Well…” Aimee paused again, unsure of what to say next. “…well, uh, I’ve been wondering what really happened to her the day she...uh…well, the day she…passed away.” Suddenly talking about her in the past tense wasn’t as easy as it had been. The words stuck in Aimee's throat like a nasty vitamin that wouldn’t go down. “I mean, do you ever wonder what it would be like if she had lived, or like, where she is now…or, uh, like�
��did she really die?”
The look on Aimee's face must have cued James that she was seriously stressing over this, and instead of joking around, as he usually did when they talked, he gawked at her with a sober face. His wide, brown eyes narrowed. “Aimee, Mom died giving birth to you. You know that for Christ’s sake. Man, with all the therapy you’ve been through I think you should have accepted that by now. If you don’t, or won’t, you can’t get better, and for the record, I’m sure she’s in heaven looking down on you, hoping you will finally get it. She’s dead. I wish just as much as you that she wasn’t, but that doesn’t change the fact she’s dead. Got it. D.E.A.D. DEAD! Not coming back. Ever!” He stopped for a few seconds, took a long breath and tried to calm a bit before continuing to talk. “Besides, you need to focus your energy on Dad, you know. He’s still among the living and he’ll really need you when he gets home.”
His lecture stung, but Aimee wasn’t ready to let go, not yet. “I know, James, I’m really worried about Dad. Mega worried. You know, I’d freakin’ die myself if he had, well, if something worse had happened to him.”
“Yeah, well, he’s gonna be okay. You and Hannah will just have to make him mind the doctor. He needs to eat right and exercise, and he won’t do it on his own without you riding his butt.”
She nodded, but couldn't let go of their mother. She began again, “But James, what if Mom isn’t…well, what if she’s not dead? What if she didn’t die the day I was born? What if that story is a bunch of cockamamie bullshit?!” The words now rushed out of Aimee's mouth faster and faster as she desperately tried to rationalize her journey that morning.
James shook his head. His eyes squinted until his eyebrows forged together as he listened to her rant on about their mother. Finally, he had heard enough, reached out and grabbed her casted arm and shook it. “Aimee, listen to yourself. You sound crazy! Dammit, you have to let her go!” With her senses dulled by her out-of-control hysteria, Aimee didn’t feel a thing. He suddenly noticed the grip he had around her cast and he released his hand instantly like he had touched a hot iron, but he continued shaking his head and spun around to leave.
Angry tears swelled in the corners of her eyes. Aimee shook her head defiantly and muttered, “No, James, I don’t. Someday you’ll believe me.” James heard her and arrogantly flipped his hand back in the air at Aimee while she continued obsessively mumbling about Mom.
He curtly spouted, “Whatever...” over his shoulder while he walked away.
“Yeah, whatever. I’ll show you,” she snarled under her breath, then whipped up the smelly load of laundry she had set on the bed.
James and Sacha rode by themselves to the hospital. Aimee snuck out of the house and took her dad’s truck and followed them. She needed time by herself to think, time to cool down after their little tiff. She and James didn’t speak while the three of them walked down the hall to the CCU. The air still felt chilly between them. For now, Aimee decided, she would leave James out of her quest to find Mom, but Aimee had a gut feeling someday he would believe her. He would see her for himself.
Dad looked even better on this visit. More color had returned to his puffy cheeks. The fluid from the IV had hydrated his body amply. The dark circles under his eyes weren’t as visible as earlier. He was giving the new nurse on duty hell about his supper, just like he had with Miss Long over his lunch. He grinned and winked at Aimee as soon as the nurse hastily left to fetch him more ice for his tea.
“Where’s Dylan?” asked Dad immediately. Aimee was beginning to think he enjoyed the extra attention this ailment provided. Dr. Morris had barely left his side. Apparently CCU rules didn’t apply to her. She was sitting alongside him, reading through one of the economic projects turned in early, sailing her red pen across the page stopping occasionally to note a comment. She flipped it over after she noticed Aimee had entered the room. Aimee winced remembering she needed to spend some time finishing her paper later tonight.
“I left Dylan sleeping on the couch.” Her dad surveyed her face looking for a clue to her moody disposition.
She hung back sulking while James and Sacha crowded around Dad’s bed to visit with him. After about ten minutes both bid Dad good-bye reassuring him they would check in on him daily. Dad kissed and hugged both for what seemed like forever. Finally, they started to leave and Sacha squeezed Aimee's shoulder and offered an apologetic smile. James only nodded. His eyes still fumed. Dad stretched his arms upward, then wiped his eyes clandestinely thinking no one was watching. She heard a sniffle, and then he coughed and wrapped his leathery fingers around Dr. Morris’s hand. Aimee watched her brother and his fiancée walk out into the hall, then she twirled around. Her dad was staring at her with his lips pursed to one side.
“Problems?” he asked.
She wasn’t going to trouble him with any of her issues, especially not what was bothering her with James. “Nope, nothing I can’t handle,” replied Aimee without looking him in the eyes. She raked her hand across the ruffled sheet to smooth it out before sitting down on the edge of the bed. Dad placed his hand over hers and patted it gently.
“Well, don’t let me be the cause of any family strife. I’m tough as nails. I’ll be just fine.” He continued slowly patting her hand. A smile spread across his face. He wasn’t fooling Aimee. She knew he was worried about what the doctor would find. She had griped at him for years about his health.
“I know, Dad,” she began, but stopped to wipe the corner of her eye. The words stuck in her throat. Finally she could feel the air slide down her throat and she spurted the words out before it closed again. “Dad, I love you.”
“Love you, too, sweetheart.”
Back at the house she tried to sneak in so Zonker wouldn’t bark and wake up Dylan, but he was already up and sitting on the edge of the couch cushion putting on a shoe. He glanced up and beamed. His beautiful eyes twinkled when he saw her, and Aimee's black mood lifted. Her heart fluttered instantly. God, he’s gorgeous! she thought.
“Hey, how come you didn’t wake me up so I could go with you?”
“You were sleeping so soundly. You looked too peaceful to bother just to run me up there and back for only fifteen minutes.” Aimee scooted in between the coffee table and Dylan, then reached over to snatch his other shoe. He took it from her and set it down on the couch, then before she could blink he swung his arms around her waist and tugged her backwards into his lap. He tightened his arms like tentacles on an octopus and rested his chin on Aimee's shoulder. “Dylan, I can’t breathe!” She giggled while he cruised his lips softly down the side of her neck.
“Mmmm,” he said, “you taste delicious!”
“Geez, Dylan, what’s with you?” Aimee laughed nervously and pretended to struggle against his clutch.
“Nothing. I just had the most awesome dream with you in it,” he professed, “and I wish it could come true…”
“Don’t tell me,” Aimee interrupted with a serious tone.
“Why not? It was freakin’ amazing.”
“Cuz, don’t you know? If you tell a dream it won’t come true.”
“Oh yeah? Says who?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s just an ol' wives' tale.” She pried his arms apart, flipped around, and straddled across his lap, and then attached her body to his. Her lips stopped an inch from his. “I was thinking on the way back from the hospital that we…” Her voice trailed off.
“We…we what?”
“Well, we are here all alone with nothing or no one else to bother us for a couple of hours until Chels comes over. I guess I was thinking maybe we could pick up where we left off earlier this morning when we were interrupted.” The heat between their welded bodies kept Aimee from trembling. She felt all jittery inside, bones turned to mush, just like when she had to get up in front of a crowded room to speak. But this time she wasn’t stopping. Aimee wasn’t waiting for his permission. She sailed her lips to his cheek and and began to lightly kiss it, then continued slowly towards his ear. She too
k the tip of her tongue and gently ran it along his lobe, tracing the contours of his ear, before bringing her lips back to his cheekbone and giving him a tender kiss. His body tensed and Aimee felt his heart pound. Suddenly his hands cruised down her back to her hips. He inched his fingers slightly under her shirt.
“God, Aimee,” he moaned softly. Aimee continued grazing her lips along his temple up to his forehead, intentionally pausing every few seconds to savor his soft flesh until she reached the other side of his face. Then she eased back to stare into his dreamy eyes. They were dark with desire. Their lips instantly crashed together and their hands moved wildly across each other’s body. They melted together onto the couch. Aimee's mending rib never once entered her mind. Dylan kicked off his shoe with his other foot, his lips never leaving hers for a second. Just as he slid his hand under her shirt to the top of her bra, it happened again. This time it was his phone that rang. Both breathlessly shot up into sitting.
“Dammit!” he cursed, then yanked his cell phone from his jeans' front pocket and dropped it onto the coffee table.
“Ignore it!” ordered Aimee.
Before pressing his lips back to hers, he glanced over at his phone on the table, and then suddenly untethered his body. “Crap…crap…CRAAAP!” he snarled. He leaned across Aimee and reached for his phone. It had stopped ringing, but a message lit up the screen.
“What?!” she exclaimed and grabbed his shirt with two fists trying her best to pull his body back to hers. But his arm continued towards the phone.
“Sorry, but I better answer this. It’s Paul. He never calls unless it is really important. I hope nothing’s wrong with Mom.”
Aimee squirmed up onto the sofa pillow and sighed, then raked her loose hair back out of her face. She tugged her shirt down. Dylan scooted to the end of the couch to make his call.
“Paul,” Dylan began when his stepfather answered, “what’s wrong? Is Mom okay?” There was tension in his voice while he quizzed Paul.
The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: The Curse of the Gifted Page 25
