Immortal Mine (35 page)

“I was thinking that maybe, since I have a
long weekend with it being the end of the quarter and all, that you
and I could drive to the city. We could stay there and, I don’t
know, shop, go to a movie, eat out, things like that.”

Jean stops with the cookie poised halfway to
her mouth and stares at me. She lowers the cookie back to the plate
and swallows loudly.

“Just you and me?”

“Well, yeah.” I look at the table, trace an
imaginary pattern on it. “I thought it might be kind of fun, you
know? Just to kind of get away, get to... get to know each other a
little better.”

When she doesn’t say anything I glance up
and see her watching me, her hand at her throat, tears shining in
her eyes and a small up-tilting at the corners of her mouth. My
breath is pulled from me as I realize how very much she looks like
my mother.

“I think that sounds absolutely wonderful,”
she says, her voice not far above a whisper.

I nod, and without another word walk to the
bottom of the stairs.

“Goodnight,” I say, looking back to see her
standing in the same position. I hurry up the stairs, and into my
room, closing the door behind me as my breath whooshes out. The
enormity of my request is no more lost on me than on her.
Basically, I’ve just asked her to stay in my life.

Jean.

My grandma.

“No need for so much subterfuge, Sam, I know
what you’re up to.”

“Maybe I’m having fun,” he says, kissing me
before putting the bandana across my eyes. “I’ve never been part of
a surprise party before.”

I pull the bandana up so I can look at him.
“Really? Never?”

“Don’t feel bad for me,” he says, tugging
the blindfold back into place. “I’ve done and seen a lot of things
most people never get to in their lifetime.” When I open my mouth
to say something, he lays a finger across my lips. “Not all of it
has been bad,” he chuckles.

“All right, let’s get this over with,” I
grumble.

“At least pretend you’re having a good
time,” he says, leading me to the truck. “Don’t be a fun
vortex.”

“A fun
vortex
?” I ask, squeaking in
surprise when he sweeps me up into his arms and plants me in the
truck.

“A quagmire?” he asks before slamming the
door closed. When he opens his door on the other side, I turn my
head toward him—a waste of time since I can’t see anything. “Black
hole?” he says as I hear him climb up into the truck and close his
own door behind him. I’m grinning, but refuse to give him an
answer. “Quick sand? Vampire?”

I laugh at the last one. “How am I a
vampire?”

“They suck the life out of everything,
right?”

I punch in his general direction and
completely miss. He laughs and pulls my hand into his, giving a
little tug to encourage me to scoot closer, which I gladly do. The
gesture brings to mind something I’ve been meaning to ask him.

“Hey, Sam, what’s the deal with your
hands?”

“What?” I can hear the confusion in his
voice.

“The heat thing,” I say, and feel him
stiffen next to me. “It doesn’t happen all the time, only
sometimes. I just wondered what causes that, or do you even
know?”

I can feel the rigidity in him, feel his
hesitancy to answer.

“I’m not going to like the answer, am I?” I
ask.

“Probably not,” he says, voice strained.

“Then don’t tell me yet.” I can’t see it,
but I can sense his head turning my way. “I mean, I still want to
know, I guess.” That’s a bit of an understatement. His absolute
tension has me more curious than ever. “But let’s wait until after
the party. I don’t want to suck any more fun from your night,” I
tease. He doesn’t respond, other than a slight tightening of his
hand on mine. My curiosity ratchets up to worry.

My party is the same as every other party
thrown for everyone who’s turned eighteen before me this school
year, down to the recycled party decorations. It’s fun anyway. All
the seniors are there along with the juniors and sophomores as
well. Stacy’s mom baked the cake, and most everyone else brought
something their moms made as well. It’s sort of like the junior
version of the after-church potlucks. We play music, dance, and
laugh at the boys who suck the helium from the balloons and sing in
chipmunk voices, and underneath it all is Sam’s edginess, making it
hard for me to concentrate on my friends.

Whatever the heat thing is, it’s clear he
doesn’t want to tell me, but he will. He can’t lie about it. And
I’m suddenly not sure if I really want to know. I try to imagine
what it can be, but have no idea where to take that imagining. What
comes after immortality?

Finally, years later, or what feels like
years, everyone leaves. No one has a curfew when we have an event
like this, so it’s 2 a.m. before we finally head back out to Sam’s
truck. Sam is reluctant to be alone with me if his body language is
any indication.

We drive toward my home, but before we get
there, he pulls off the side of the road down a small dirt path. He
turns toward me and in the ambient light I can see the stress
written in every line of his face. He
really
doesn’t want to
tell me.

“All right, spill,” I try to tease, though
my voice comes out wavering and nearly as tense as he is.

He takes my hand in his, and slides his
thumb up and down across the back of my hand, watching the action.
“You sure?” he asks.

“No,” I answer honestly. When I don’t say
anything else he looks up at me and blows out a resigned
breath.

“Most immortals develop a kind of... skill,
I guess, after they become immortal.”

“What kind of skill?” I ask, confused as to
what this has to do with his hot hands.

“Depends. It’s different with everyone.
Usually an immortal begins to develop the skill before they become
immortal; they just don’t recognize it for what it is.”

I think about his words. “You mean, like,
flying or... or someone who can grant wishes?”

He smiles—it’s a small smile, but a smile
nonetheless. “I haven’t met anyone who can fly
or
grant
wishes. Which, by the way, is a strange place for your imagination
to have gone. No genies among immortals.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“So what kinds of things are you talking
about, then, since you’re not exactly being forthcoming with
information here.”

“I’ve known immortals who are incredibly
strong, or who can move things just by thinking about them. Some
can start fire with their hands, or create ice. I knew one who
could transport from place to place, but not through time. And
some,” he pauses, pushing his hand against mine until we are palm
to palm, threading his fingers through mine, “some can read
minds.”

That strange heat begins, intense, and I
decide he must be the fire creating guy.

“Nope, not fire,” he says.

Guess it was easy to figure out what I was
thinking.

“It’s never easy to figure out what you’re
thinking, Niahm.”

My eyes widen as realization hits. “You can
read minds?” I ask.

“Yes... and no,” he says. “What I can do is
more being able to see what’s in someone’s mind. I can see
everything a person has ever done, or thought, every conversation
they’ve ever had. I can see what they’re thinking.” He glances at
our hands again. “But only if I’m touching them. Particularly if
I’m touching their hand.”

I follow his gaze to our hands, my mind
processing his words. If he can see what someone is thinking just
by touching—I rip my hand from his, suddenly feeling very
exposed.

“The heat?” I ask.

“I can always feel the heat, but usually the
other person can’t. I was surprised the first time you told me you
felt it.”

His words freeze me. The
first
time?
I try to think back to the first time I felt the heat... at the
movie, in the dark, the first time he held my hand.

“You can see everything? Know
everything?”

“Yes, even things the person has
forgotten.”

“So every time you were holding my hand,
every time I could feel that heat between our hands... you were...”
I look up at him, betrayal saturating every pore in my body,
“
spying
on me?”

“No, Niahm, I wasn’t... well, perhaps I was.
I didn’t mean to hurt—”

I push away from him to the opposite side of
the truck, horrified.

“You had no right.” I push the words out, an
angry whisper.

“Niahm, please, I—”

“No! No, Sam, you don’t have an excuse for
this one. This wasn’t a lack of planning, or not thinking what a
moments action might do to me like when you—” The vision of him
turning the gun on himself rips through my mind and I shake my
head, trying to clear it. “This was something you
planned
for, something you did continually, over and over, stealing my
privacy
. You didn’t give me the chance to decide whether I
wanted you to know something or not. You just
took
it.”

He holds a hand toward me in supplication,
misery on his face. I stare at his hand in horror. As if realizing
what the gesture must mean to me, he drops his hand back to his
side.

“Niahm,” he says, despair heavy in his
voice. Nothing more. Just my name.

“I wasn’t sure, Sam, if I could deal with
everything.” I laugh sardonically. “But then, you already knew
that, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head mournfully.

“There isn’t much I can tell you that you
don’t already know, is there? Except this: I will
never
forgive you for this, Sam. All this time, you’ve known exactly what
to say, exactly what to do that would make me happy, make me love
you, when you didn’t deserve it. Trust is a pretty big issue with
me—as I’m sure you know.” I can’t keep the mocking sarcasm from my
words. Then again, I don’t really care to. “You went into my head,
without permission, and you took everything from me.” I pull the
handle, opening the door. “I have nothing else to give.” I slide
out of the truck, slamming the door behind me.

Sam shoves his own door open, right behind
me as I stalk toward my house, my arms folded tightly against my
chest, against the heartbreak that I can feel coming. He reaches
out, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“Niahm, please, let me—”

I swing around on him, shoving his hand from
me with all the fury flowing through me.

“Don’t touch me,” I growl, putting all the
anger I can into my words. “Don’t ever come near me again. You said
you’d go away if I asked it. Go away, Sam. Go away and
never
come back.”

I harden my heart against the pain on his
face and turn away from him. He doesn’t follow me this time as I
hurry away.

Stacy rides to the city with us. She’d been
planning to go anyway for some college interviews, was just waiting
for her mom to have time to take her. I offered for her to ride
with us. She promised to keep out of our hair for the weekend and
let us have our “bonding time” as she called it. She was going to
get a motel room even, but that was silly. Jean has a house there,
with plenty of room for her to stay with us. Much safer, too.

Some of my joy in the trip has been taken by
Sam’s revelation. I haven’t told Jean what happened. I’m sure she
knows something is up, but she hasn’t asked. I’m a little leery of
her, wondering what
her
power is. Stacy just thinks that Sam
and I broke up. I told her that he and Shane were going to be
moving away from Goshen.

I’m furious with Sam, and that’s the only
thing holding me together. If I let go of that, I’m afraid I’ll
fall apart. So I’m holding it tightly. My mom always told me that
anger shouldn’t be a bedfellow, but I can’t help it.