Of Poseidon (31 page)

“I don’t know, I just do. I remember those fi sh saving me. I remember you laughing at me when I tried to tell you. But Dad didn’t. Dad believed me.”

She sighs. “Look, I know you miss Dad. But what in the world does that have to do with you being adopted?” I stand up, almost knocking over the chair. “Just forget it, okay? You’re my real mom. Dad’s my real dad. And Ra—

Samantha—swerved to hit a deer. There. Now life can go on. I’m going to bed.” I stomp up the stairs and start peeling off my clothes. Now is one of those times when a hot bath would rein-carnate me into a pleasant Emma. But I’m doomed to lukewarm

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everything for the rest of my freakish life.

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Deep down, I know I’m punking out. I should keep talking

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to her, keep questioning her. But somehow I ended up in the hot seat instead of her. Somehow it’s suddenly my fault that we don’t have an open relationship.

I jerk the shower curtain open and step into the steaming water. It feels like I’m bathing in spit. Dumping shampoo into my hand, I work up a good lather. I stiff en when I hear Mom’s voice on the other side of the curtain.

“You’re right. Dad did believe you,” she says without emotion. “But that man would believe anything you said. Emma, you were so distraught about it and so emotional. Of course you thought it was real. I’m sure it was very real to you. I’m sorry I laughed. I don’t know if I ever said that before. But I am. I didn’t realize it hurt you.”

My lip quivers. I can’t say anything. It would be a simple thing to tell her it’s okay. To accept her apology. But I’ve held on to this bitterness for so long that I can’t just let it go. Not yet.

So I don’t. She doesn’t say anything else. I never hear her leave.

When I step out of the shower, my birth certifi cate is on the bathroom sink, along with a few baby pictures I’ve never seen.

A picture of Dad posing for the camera as he cuts an umbilical cord. A picture of Mom, hours of labor etched into her face, but still smiling while she cradles a pale baby with almost- see-through skin and a cap of white hair crusted in blood. Me.

Could it all have been staged? The birth certifi cate forged?

And if so, then WHY? It doesn’t make any sense. But that could have a lot to do with how tired I am. Maybe in the morning I can look at these pictures with fresh eyes. I’ll even take the

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birth certifi cate to Rachel to see if she can tell if it’s real.

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Satisfi ed with my plan, I wrap a towel around my head genie-style, then wrap another one around my body. I open the bathroom door. And almost jump out of my skin. Galen is sitting on my bed. I’ve really got to start locking my balcony doors.

He looks mad and happy at the same time. It’s only been twenty- four hours since I’ve seen him, but even sleep deprived and grouchy, I’m excited that he’s back.

“I think your dad was a half breed,” he says. He frowns.

“And I never told Rayna I would teach her how to drive.”

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24

FRIDAY NIGHT is fi nally here.

Galen makes the turn down Emma’s road, mentally review-ing the must- do list Rachel gave him for their date to night. He’s determined to keep Emma engaged all eve ning; she needs a distraction even more than he does. She’s been hounding him with questions about her father. Galen told her everything the Archives said. She showed him the birth certifi cate— which Rachel confi rmed was either authentic or the best fake she’d ever seen— and her baby pictures. It all just confi rms what he’d already concluded— Emma’s father was a descendant of the Half Breeds. He had the blond hair and the light skin. Plus, he wore contacts. Emma swears they weren’t color- enhanced, but Galen’s sure they were. They had to be.

There are other coincidences, too. Her father loved the

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ocean. He adored seafood. He believed Emma when she told

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him about the catfi sh saving her. Why would he believe her unless he knew what she was? And as a physician, he had to have known about all her physical abnormalities. How could he not be a half breed?

But Emma resists all of Galen’s reasonings, based on the fact that it doesn’t “feel right.”

Speaking of things that don’t feel right . . . He pulls his new SUV

into her driveway, the excitement sloshing in his stomach like high tide. As he steps out, he notices how much he likes sliding down instead of hoisting himself up from a little compact death trap. He’s almost glad Rayna tied the red car around a tree—

except that she and Emma could have gotten hurt. He shakes his head, crunching across the gravel of Emma’s driveway in his suede Timberlands.

Even over that, he hears the thud of his heart. Is it faster than usual? He’s never noticed it before, so he can’t tell. Shrugging it off as paranoia, he knocks on the door then folds his hands in front of him. I shouldn’t be doing this. This is wrong. She could still belong to Grom.

But when Emma answers the door, everything seems right again. Her little purple dress makes the violet in her eyes jump out at him. “Sorry,” she says. “Mom threw a fi t when I tried to leave the house in jeans. She’s old- school I guess. You know,

‘Thou must dress up for the movies,’ says the woman who doesn’t even own a dress.”

“She did me a favor,” he says, then shoves his hands in his

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pockets. More like she did me in.

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~ ~ ~

After they buy their tickets, Emma pulls him to the concession line. “Galen, do you mind?” she says, drawing a distracting circle on his arm with her fi nger, sending fi re pretty much everywhere inside him. He recognizes the mischief in her eyes but not the par tic u lar game she’s playing.

“Get what ever you want, Emma,” he tells her. With a coy smile, she orders seventy- fi ve dollars worth of candy, soda, and popcorn. By the cashier’s expression, seventy- fi ve dollars must be a lot. If the game is to spend all his money, she’ll be disappointed. He brought enough cash for fi ve more armfuls of this junk. He helps Emma carry two large fountain drinks, two buckets of popcorn and four boxes of candy to the top row of the half- full theater.

When she’s situated in her seat, she tears into a box and dumps the contents in her hand. “Look, sweet lips, I got your favorite, Lemonheads!” Sweet lips? What the— Before he can turn away, she forces three of them in his mouth.

His instant pucker elicits an evil snicker from her. She pops a straw into one of the cups and hands it to him. “Better drink this,” she whispers. “To take the bite out of the candy.” He should have known better. The drink is so full of bubbles it burns clear up to his nostrils. Pride keeps him from coughing.

Pride, and the Lemonhead lodged in his throat. Several more heaping gulps and he gets it down.

After a few minutes, a sample of greasy popcorn, and the rest of the soda, the lights fi nally dim, giving Galen a reprieve.

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While Emma is engrossed in what she calls “stupid previews,” Galen excuses himself to vomit in the bathroom. Emma wins this round.

When he returns to his seat, Emma is gone, her arsenal of food left behind. Doesn’t matter. She already started a war. Since his eyes only adjust to darkness in water, he has to rely on the tingles to fi nd her. She’s sitting a few rows down, on the opposite end of the theater. He takes the empty seat next to her and gives her a quizzical look. The screen brightens enough for him to see her roll her eyes. “We were sitting in front of a bunch of kids,” she whispers. “They talked too much.”

He sighs and wiggles around in his chair to get comfortable—

it’s going to be a long night. Watching humans play pretend for two hours doesn’t exactly fl ip his fi n. But he can tell Emma’s getting restless. And so is he.

Just as he nods off , a loud noise pops from the screen. Emma latches onto his arm as if he’s dangling her over a cliff . She presses her face into his biceps and moans. “Is it over yet?” she whispers.

“The movie?”

“No. The thing that jumped out at her. Is it gone?” Galen chuckles and pries his arm from her grasp, then wraps it around her. “No. You should defi nitely stay there until I tell you it’s clear.”

She whips her head up, but there’s an almost- smile in her eyes. “I might take you up on that, pretend date or no. I hate

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scary movies.”

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“Why didn’t you tell me that? Everyone at school was practically salivating over this movie.”

The lady next to her leans over. “Shhh!” she whisper- yells.

Emma nestles into the crook of his arm and buries her face in his chest, where she returns frequently as the movie goes on.

Galen admits to himself that humans can make everything look pretty real. Still, he can’t understand how Emma can be afraid when she knows they’re only actors on the screen getting paid to scream like boiling lobsters. But who is he to complain? Their convincing per for mance keeps Emma in his arms for almost two solid hours.

When the movie is over, he pulls the car to the curb and opens the door for her just as Rachel instructed. Emma accepts his hand as he helps her in.

“What should we call our new little game?” he says on the way home.

“Game?”

“You know, ‘Have some Lemonheads, sweet lips!’ ”

“Oh, right.” She laughs. “How about . . . Upchuck?”

“Sounds appropriate. You realize it’s your turn, right? I was thinking of making you eat a live crab.”

She leans over to him. He almost swerves off the road when her lips brush his ear. “Where will you get a live crab?

All I have to do is poke my head in the water and tell them to scatter.”

He grins. She’s been getting more comfortable with her Gift. Yesterday, she sent some dolphins chasing after him. The

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day before, she directed every living thing in the immediate area to retreat when a fi shing boat passed overhead.

They pull into her driveway and he shuts off the car. It seems like every force in the universe is pushing him toward her— just like a magnet. Or maybe every force in the universe is pulling her to him. Just like Toraf said. Either way, he’s getting tired of fi ghting it. Something’s got to give. And it needs to happen soon.

He opens his door, but she stops him, putting her hand on his. “You don’t have to walk me to the door,” she says. “Mom’s not home now, so no need for a show, right? Thanks for the movie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And that’s it. She gets out, walks to the front door, lets herself in. After a few seconds, her front porch lights shut off .

Galen backs out of the driveway. When he turns onto the main road, his feeling of emptiness has nothing to do with losing the game of Upchuck.

Out of corner of his eye, he sees Emma glance at the pink gift bag on the island in the kitchen. He knows it’s cruel to play havoc with her curiosity, but he can’t help himself. She’s still on problem two of her calculus homework. She’s been on problem two for close to an hour.