Authors: L.L. Muir
“She’s a Somerled, dude. You know. A
Somerled
?”
“So?” He really needed to face forward. The banging yardstick sounded like it was going to break.
“So, I think they only date their own kind, bro.”
Jamison sat forward and gave Mr. Evans his best impression of undivided attention. The class settled behind him.
“Since Mr. Shaw requires no extra time to catch up, we’ll test on the first half of the book tomorrow.”
Unhappy classmates groaned around Jamison. Some of them, he thought, were groaning specifically in his direction. But even all the complaining didn’t drown out one girl’s forced whisper.
“Jake saw them holding hands in the parking lot this morning.”
Into his mind popped the image of an incredibly soft white glove, in the center of which was a large red sticker that read, “Push here.” And he was holding it.
Holy crap. He’d never be invisible again.
Neither of his friends showed up that day and the reassurance from Skye, that the pair would be fine, was a promise that faded with every passing hour. Each time he’d entered a classroom he’d hoped to see that blur of white, but they’d only had that first class together.
At lunchtime, he tried to blend into the bleachers, ignoring the girls’ volleyball team while he browsed through
Lost
Horizon
and made a dent in the lunch his mother had packed. After being lugged around all morning the bag looked like something he’d fished out of the trash, but the food was good.
Safe, warm, happy and fed. That’s all his mother ever worried about, and since he hated her to worry, he assured her every day that all four states-of-being were covered. Although in Texas,
warm
had been replaced by
hydrated
, and jackets replaced by sunscreen and gallons of water.
His bladder, at least, was happy to be back.
When the final bell rang, Jamison raced to the parking lot but the green Beemer was gone. He hadn’t hoped for a ride, but for a dozen other things...
Another reassurance that his friends had not been blown up, or frightened to death.
Another moment of slack in the rubber-band between them.
Another chance to hear her laugh.
Maybe a casual question about who Somerleds were allowed to date.
He remembered the PA announcement about the Homecoming Dance the following Saturday, and a cold fish flapped in his stomach.
Please no.
He could just see himself up-chucking on a pair of white Cinderella slippers.
Jamison shook himself. He had more important things to do than stand and stare at an empty parking stall, imagining his worst nightmares. He had to get to the Recovery Center and see Grandpa, then track down Ray. Together they would find out if Burke had any memory of the Exploding Man Ceremony.
***
The Recovery Center smelled like a pharmacy. Med carts lined the hallway leading to his grandpa’s room and Jamison made a mental note to never take Burke along for a visit.
A woman’s voice came from room 124 as he neared.
Ken
Jamison
was still posted under the number. It always made him smile, being reminded who he was named after, but his face froze when he recognized the woman’s laughter.
Someone had pushed that imaginary sticker in the middle of her glove.
A heaping spoonful of jealousy made that cold fish flap in his belly again and for a minute he forgot why he was standing there. Was he jealous someone else had made her smile, or jealous someone else was visiting his granddad?
No telling. Probably both.
Jamison knocked on the door as he pushed it open. He ignored the white blur by the window, looked toward the bed, and was rewarded with his grandfather’s sparkling smile.
Now sparkle wasn’t the kind of term he’d ever used when talking about his rough Scottish grandpa, but this was the second time he’d seen it. The first was the day before, when the old man was being wheeled away for some kind of test as Jamison had arrived. It took less than a second for the old Scot to recognize his grandson and when he had, the world had lit up with the raise of his eyebrows, as if there was no one else who could make him that happy.
In that instant, Jamison had come home, and the past five years had disappeared like popped bubbles.
Today was no different, even though someone else already had the old man in a good mood.
“It’s our Jamie. Come here lad. Come here.” Plaid flannel arms rose to welcome him and Jamison bent and hugged what used to be the biggest man he’d ever known. As if determined to prove he was still as strong as ever, the man squeezed Jamison until he squeaked.
“Mercy, Granddad.”
“Weel, I didna get to touch ye yesterdie, did I? All tied doon as I was.”
The old hands clutched at Jamison’s arms as he stepped back, as if Granddad couldn’t bear to let go, so he pulled up a chair and held his grandpa’s hand. He didn’t care who was watching. He’d waited a long time for such a chance.
“It’s grand to see you, son. Has yer mither come with ye?”
“Not yet.”
If the man was surprised, he hid it well.
“Ach, she’ll come ‘round, I warrant.” Granddad smiled.
The finest actor in the family wasn’t Jamison after all.
“Aye, she will that,” Skye said.
Her mocking Scottish accent pissed him off, then he looked at her. She was grinning at his grandpa and the old man was grinning back, making both green-eyed monsters start duking it out in his chest.
“Jamie, me boy, this is Skye Somerled. Skye, this is Jamison, me daughter’s lad and me pride and joy besides.”
“We’ve met.” Jamison couldn’t help but growl.
One of his grandpa’s eyebrows rose in a look that was completely Kenneth Jamison. “Oh, and I see there’s a bear inside that hide of yers, wantin’ to be let out.” The soft leathery hand slipped from Jamison’s and the old man’s arms folded. “Let’s have it. What have you done that’s got ye feelin’ mean?”
It had been so long since he’d felt so easily...known, recognized...understood.
His mother ‘got’ him, most of the time. But sometimes only a man could understand a boy.
Suddenly he wished Skye would leave the room. Not far, of course, just on the other side of a thick door.
“Kenneth, I’m going to leave you in the hands of your grumpy family.” Skye pulled on her coat. “If you survive, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She hurried to the bed, kissed a whiskered cheek, and pulled the door shut as she left the room, all under three seconds. Jamison realized why she was always a blur out the corner of his eye; she moved like a flurry of energy.
He remembered seeing plenty of Somerleds moving that quickly—through a field, the night before.
“Let’s have it, Jamie. What’s happened between you and Skye? You haven’t insulted my neighbors, have you? They’ve taken fine care of me for the past three years now.”
Jamison wanted to climb under the bed—and maybe have a nurse collapse it on top of him.
“Ach, Jamie, what is it? The truth, if ye please.”
He buried his forehead in the bedclothes, wishing away the last 24 hours. “I was just jealous, Granddad. I don’t like sharing you. I just got you back.” Jamison turned his head to the side.
“Ach, laddie, Skye’s been a boon, I’ll no deny it. But she’s not blood and bone to me as you are, aye?” The old man patted the back of Jamison’s head. “She’s an angel, lad. Be grateful to her for my sake, will ye now?”
“Aye, Granddad.” Jamison sat up and grinned. “I never said I didn’t like having her around
me
.”
They both laughed until the coughing started.
Kenneth Jamison had lung cancer. In his younger days he’d been a mining engineer; now he was paying the price for years of bad air, he said. Only when the old man knew he couldn’t beat it had he hired a lawyer to write his estranged daughter and asked her to come home, promising the house would be empty when she and her son arrived.
Jamison was relieved when his mother had at least called and talked to the doctors. She’d go see her da when she was good and ready and not before. He only hoped it wouldn’t be too late.
His plan was to keep the old Scot happy and alive for as long as possible. Jamison had just gotten him back and he would let Granddad go meet his maker when he was good and ready and not before.
Jamison would never be ready.
***
Ray’s house looked deserted. The day’s newspaper lay in the driveway. The carport was empty, and by the back door a cat stretched and walked away like he’d given up hope of ever being let in.
Jamison pounded on the door anyway.
“Come on, come on, come on.”
Nothing. No creaking floor, no footsteps.
He found the bell and rang it twice. He could hear it through both the door and storm door. If someone was inside, they’d have heard it.
Nothing.
He pulled out his cell for the hundredth time that day and called the only local number he’d had reason to add to his contacts, Ray’s. It went straight to voicemail.
Along Ray’s road the houses were all on the South side of the street with plenty of space in between. Even a nosey neighbor wouldn’t have noticed if a gang of Somerleds had dragged Ray home to confront his parents, or dropped off a battered teenager.
Then again, if they’d blown him up like the first guy, there wouldn’t be much to drop off, would there?
He didn’t have time to look for Burke. After school he’d walked to his mom’s new job downtown and taken her car to the Recovery Center. He’d barely had time to hit Ray’s before he had to go back and pick her up. As soon as he was home he’d start calling hospitals.
What an idiot he’d been, to believe Skye. If his friends were fine, where the hell were they? Ray had promised to meet him before class, but hadn’t. If he’d overslept, he’d be home, or at least answering his cell. He wouldn’t leave Jamison hanging all day long, not knowing. Not after last night.
They couldn’t be fine. They were either hurt, or being held somewhere, or dead.
What was it about that chick that made him forget? He’d run into her three times that day, and each time he’d put his suspicions on hold, hoped he was wrong, decided to wait and see.
Well, he wasn’t willing to wait anymore. He wasn’t going to slink into the shadows and pretend he hadn’t seen anything, like he had in Texas—like he freaking had last night!
He took a deep breath and huffed it out.
This was his home. Ray was his friend. And Jamison Shaw wasn’t going to be a nice quiet boy anymore.
Before he lost his nerve, he turned onto Granddad’s road, toward the Somerleds. His mom could wait. It was better if she wasn’t around for this anyway; questions were going to be answered, and not hers.
Adrenaline poured out his right foot and onto the accelerator. Luckily, as if they’d been warned away, no cars pulled onto the road to hinder him as he closed the distance...
...except the sherrif’s.
Skye sat in the cornfield, her butt between half-dry stalks, the plants’ tassels tangling five feet above her head. Even someone looking down would have a hard time finding her, which was just what she wanted. For the first time in her existence, she was hiding.
For some reason, talking to Lucas or Jonathon was the last thing she wanted to do. There was only one other female on the Flat Springs farm, and it only took a few quick questions and a frown to know she hadn’t a clue what Skye was talking about. Whatever emotional malfunction she was having, she was having it alone.
And since when had ‘alone’ been a problem? Never, that’s when. But it was now.
She felt a sob welling in her chest, but there was no place for it to go. She even pretended to cry, making the motions, making the noise, distorting her face, but no tears came. She lifted her face and glared at what little bit of Heaven she could see.
“Why give me the feelings and no way to get rid of them?” Her whisper was eaten by the corn.
No one answered.
Suddenly, that odd loneliness eased a little as she sensed Jamison nearing—he was almost home. More proof there was something terribly wrong with her. How she wished she could run to him, tell him her troubles, let him comfort her as she knew he would...for a mortal girl. At least that weight in her chest would be shared. She wouldn’t have to carry the burden alone.
But Jamison had burdens of his own, and more to come. How could she even think of distracting him with her problems? At least that’s what the logical Skye would have said. The Skye she was at the moment screamed, “Tell him!”
But tell him what? Tell him the truth about her and she’d be telling the truth about the Somerleds—a secret well-kept for thousands of years. What right had she to tell it?
But rebellion bubbled into her thoughts
.
By
what
right
had
someone
endowed
her
with
emotions
she
was
not
equipped
to
bear?
And they were emotions. Real emotions. She wasn’t capable of conjuring the storm that brewed inside her. Even with all the mortal joy and suffering she’d witnessed, from a detached distance, she never would have imagined frustration so powerful, desperation so consuming. It was a wonder the field did not go up in flames from the friction of her thoughts alone!
If she were mortal, she’d blame it all on PMS, but she couldn’t; she wasn’t pre-anything!
In all her assignments, she’d never known an emotional Somerled. Even Marcus, though he knew he would miss Skye like a daughter, had not been emotional at their parting. It had been she who had wrapped her arms around him and tried to delay the inevitable.
And her inevitable moment was coming. Could she hold on, suffer her emotions in silence, until they were purged from her in the process of transformation? Could she hold out another two weeks? Would she be able to walk calmly to the center of the circle? Would Jamison miss her?
Speaking of Jamison, why had he stopped? Why was he approaching from the South, instead of from Town? He still needed to pass her place to get home, and yet he wasn't moving.