by S.E. Akers
The compassionate act of his union brothers forced even more tears to surface. I stood there transfixed on the touching message. I was in such a daze that I didn’t realize someone was behind me until a hand landed on my shoulder like a gentle breeze. I turned to see Samuel standing beside me. No sooner than he’d opened his arms, I eagerly fell into his soothing embrace.
“Let it out, honey,” Samuel urged. “You’ve had a great loss. We both have. He was like my brother, Shiloh.”
My tears continued to fall. “I loved him so much, Samuel. I feel abandoned . . . like I don’t have a father,” I sniffled.
“You still do, baby girl. He’s just in a much better place now. But you still have me. You’ve always been like my daughter. I know I can’t replace him, but you can count on me for anything, just the same. I know he would have wanted that.”
I wiped my eyes and smiled as best I could. “Thank you, Samuel,” I said appreciatively and hugged him even tighter.
“Now,” Samuel grinned as he stepped back and lifted up my chin, “Let’s get you home and outta this rain. You’re drenched.”
I couldn’t argue with him on that point, but I really didn’t want him to take me home.
“Do we have to go there?” I pleaded as he opened the passenger-side door and motioned me inside.
“Yes . . . But don’t worry about earlier,” I heard him say as I climbed into the Jeep. “Turns out Chief Roberts and Officer Ryan aren’t pressin’ any charges against you. I guess they want to keep the fact they had their butts whipped by an eighteen-year-old girl under wraps. I suppose that was little more than their fragile egos could handle.” Samuel winked at me as he jumped into the Jeep. “Congratulations. You’re not a fugitive after all.”
“Yay for me,” I replied half-heartedly as Samuel cranked up his old Jeep.
“So, Shiloh . . . What was that this morning?” Samuel asked, his tone reeking with obvious concern and a searing hint of curiosity.
Undoubtedly I was going to have to do some heavy explaining to all the parties who were present this morning. Well, maybe not to the officers… I doubt they’ll want to bring it up ever again.
An off-the-cuff theory swiftly popped into my mind. “A freak rush of adrenaline?” I replied.
Samuel rolled his eyes and shot me a look of disbelief as we wound up the mountain. “Try another one,” my surrogate father swiftly lobbed back.
Fooling Samuel wasn’t going to be easy. A little creativity was definitely in order.
“I don’t know . . . It had to be some kind of hormone surge,” I fibbed. “Come to think of it, I’m about ready to start my—”
My surrogate father interrupted me with a gruff and flustered, “Okay, okay — I’ve got it!” I turned my head towards the side window to hide my grin. I didn’t know if he’d truly bought it or not, but he sure didn’t bring it up again.
Samuel was pulling up to the house before I knew it, regrettably. We sat in silence for a moment, simply listening to the raindrops as they tapped against the soft top covering the roof of his Jeep like a sad, repetitive song.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” Samuel asked.
“No,” I declined politely and directed a blank stare towards my father’s truck. “I’ll be fine.”
Samuel placed his hand over mine and gave it a heartfelt squeeze. “Shiloh, I’m here for you . . . whenever you need to talk about anything. Anything at all.” He released my hand and then purposely lifted my chin. “No matter how crazy.”
I had to force a smile. “I know, but I don’t feel like talking right now . . . not to anyone, about anything.”
That was partly true. I didn’t want to talk about my father’s death. The wound was still so fresh, and my emotions were too raw. I didn’t want to be filled with constant reminders, like I would never catch him downstairs in the morning making blueberry pancakes or that I would never be woken up to the sound of him sawing wood in his workshop during the middle of the night. However with everything I’d uncovered today, I was bursting at the seams to tell someone about my discoveries. But I knew I shouldn’t, or rather couldn’t. Samuel was very lax the other day when I’d told him that I could hear Lazarus Xcavare’s thoughts, but I didn’t think he would be as carefree with his rationale when it came to the subject of Talismans or other supposed “supernatural creatures”. Quite frankly, I didn’t even know what to make of that last one myself.
Samuel nodded. “I understand. Call me if you need anything.” He paused to look at the house and then turned his worried gaze back to me. “Even if it’s a place to stay for a spell,” he added with a serious nod, fully aware of how horrible Charlotte and Chloe could be.
“Oh, I’ll definitely call you if I need that.” I gave Samuel a hug, grabbed Ty’s tuxedo jacket, and hopped out of his Jeep. Still not caring one iota about the rain, I wandered listlessly towards the front porch and waved to him as he drove off.
I turned the antique-white ceramic knob on the front door. Great… It’s locked. I shook my head as I stared up at the porch ceiling. Well, you did run off without your keys, idiot. I took my foot and flipped up the doormat, only to find that the spare key wasn’t there. Even better, I grumbled. After one hellacious deep breath, I rang the doorbell.
I pressed it several times. When no one answered, I began pounding on the door. Roughly a minute later, I heard someone sashaying into the foyer.
A shadow fell over the peephole. “Yes. WHO is it?” Chloe sang snidely.
“Not funny, Chloe. I don’t have time for this. Just open the door!” I demanded, crossly enough to drive home my point.
“I’m so sorry,” my little sister apologized with a wry laugh. “I’m not sure if I can let you in. The last time you were here, you acted like a roughneck brawling in a bar. Mom made ME clean up the mess YOU MADE all by myself because she had to stop by the hospital and see about her hand — THAT YOU BROKE!”
I ignored her bitching and pounded on the door even harder. “Let me in!” I yelled.
“Daddy’s service is tomorrow morning. Hey — Katie did such a good job getting you ready for the dance. Let’s see how she does making someone over for a funeral,” Chloe snickered.
I stepped away from the door feeling as pissed as all get-out. With her dead-set on tormenting me for who knows how long, there was really only one thing left I could do. So with a casual spin, I walked over to the front living room window, laid Ty’s jacket on a chair, and then removed a pot of mums off one of the plant stands sitting on the porch. From out of nowhere, a wave of exhaustion overcame me when I lifted its wrought iron base into the air, causing me to stagger backward.
“I’ll tell you what,” Chloe called out, “If you managed to pick up some manners while you were out, I’ll let you in. How’s that sound?”
I could hear her chortles intensifying. I wasn’t in the mood for her little games before, and I certainly wasn’t now, not with me oddly feeling weaker by the second and growing strangely queasy.
Okay, if that’s how she wants to play, I affirmed and then swung the wrought iron stand against the fragile windowpane like a batter striving to snag a homerun. Glass went crashing into the living room. Just as soon as I set the wrought iron plant stand back down on the porch, the bizarre sick feeling started to subside. Mentally I passed it off as stress—Chloe-stress—as being the culprit. Now that I was feeling physically tip-top again, I picked up Ty’s jacket and hopped through the broken window and into the house effortlessly, making sure I cleared any large shards.
I looked over at my little sister, who was presently standing in the doorway with her mouth gaped open and staring at the fragments of glass that now littered the floor.
I threw the jacket over my shoulder and made my way to the foyer. “I think you missed a spot,” I simpered snidely as I strode past her.
“I’m NOT cleaning that up!” Chloe raged.
I smiled and
trotted up the stairs. “Well, I wasn’t the one Mom told to clean up the glass in the living room,” I hollered down and then gave my bedroom door an extra-hard slam.
I threw myself back against the wooden slab and rode its bumpy panels all the way down to the floor. I hadn’t shut my closet door this morning, so my eyes couldn’t escape the draw of the garment bag from Lavish still hanging on the hook. I clenched my mouth in hopes of abating the escalating quiver plaguing my bottom lip. When that didn’t work, I pressed my head against the door and tried inhaling a deep, calming breath. Sadly, that attempt fell just as flat. Though realistically, how could it not when I was sitting in the very room where visions of Daddy tucking me in with thousands and thousands of goodnight kisses and promises of “seeing me in the morning” were torturing me?
My eyes fell to a defeated close. Everything reminds me of him.
Even though I didn’t feel like talking, I needed some sort of connection to the outside world, especially if I was going to hole up in here for a while. I felt so low I figured, Why even get up, and just crawled over to the nightstand where I’d plugged in my cell phone.
I looked at the screen. Full charge, I noted.
