Chapter 45
Niahm
School feels surreal after my weekend—almost pointless to be honest. Why do I need to know what absolute convergence is or what a demonstrative adjective is when there are immortals running around the world, and some crazy dudes called Sentinels hunting them? Not to mention suicidal grandmas. What’s next? Werewolves and vampires? I think about asking Sam or Jean about them, but shudder at the thought of what answer they might give.
“Hey, Niahm,” the double-H call simultaneously as they round the corner. I take a breath and paste a smile on my face.
“Hey,” I say back, although not much enthusiasm accompanies the word. They don’t notice.
“You’ve been M.I.A. a lot lately,” Heather grins, winking suggestively. “Been wrapped up in a certain red-head?”
I cringe at her words, not really wanting to think about a certain red-head until I’ve decided what to do about him.
“C’mon, Heather, give her a break,” Hillary says, saving me from responding. “If it were any of us dating him, we’d have disappeared also.”
Guilt rears up again, amplified when Stacy comes over to us. She still looks a little angry with me, her face grim as she greets everyone, mostly ignoring me. Stacy is an amazing friend who came at my urgent call without a second’s hesitation, and I then blew her off first thing in the morning to go and lick my wounds—all without revealing a thing about what was going on.
“We’re all going to the movie Wednesday night for a girls-night-out since we have a long weekend,” Heather says, singing the last two words. “You should come.”
They all look at me doubtfully, as if it’s a foregone conclusion that I’ll say no. Suddenly, more than anything I want a girls-night-out at some movie that the rest of the world saw weeks ago, because that’s normal. That’s the way life is supposed to be, at least here in Goshen.
“Sounds fun,” I say. “Tell me where to be and when, and I’ll be there.”
They all three narrow their eyes at me.
“You do know it’s a girls night out, right?” Stacy asks, not exactly kindly.
“That means you can’t bring Sam,” Hillary clarifies, in case I missed Stacy’s point.
“No problem,” is all I say.
“Speaking of Sam,” Heather pipes in, “Where is he today? Usually wherever you are, he is.”
“Um,” I say, not sure how to answer. I had actually been thinking the same thing, both relieved and worried that he wasn’t here. I might have wondered a few days ago, but now, knowing what I know, my mind begins to go to dark places. Have the Sentinel’s found him?
“Girls, girls, girls,” Kevin sings, doing a decent imitation of Mötley Crüe as he and Jon come up to us, throwing their arms around Hillary and Heather. “No dawdling in the halls. We don’t want to be late for class, do we?”
He’s doing his not-even-close impression of Mr. Hale, the science teacher, which usually amuses me with its ridiculousness. Not today. I’m afraid maybe not ever again. I glance over at Stacy as the double-H allow their giggling selves to be led away. The hurt in her eyes tears at my heart.
“Stace—” I begin, hand held out in supplication. She turns away to follow the others without even acknowledging me, and I’m left empty handed.
After school—to which Sam never does show—I catch up to Stacy.
“Stacy, please, wait,” I say, grabbing hold of her arm and forcing her to stop.
“What?” she demands, impatience in her voice.
“Stacy, I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a horrible friend.”
“Ya think?” Her sarcasm burns me as she turns away and begins walking, though not so fast I can’t keep up.
“No, I don’t think. I know.”
“So, what, you and Sam have broken up so now you want me back?”
“No.” My denial is immediate, surprising me. “We haven’t broken up.”
That stops her. She turns back my way.
“You haven’t?” When I shake my head, she says, “Then what was all of that this weekend? You wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, so I just assumed...”
“Nothing like that,” I say, thinking she can’t begin to imagine how far off the mark any of her guesses would be. “Stacy, what if you... ” I glance around at all the other students still milling about. “Can I walk home with you?” I ask. “I don’t want to talk here.”
She seems about to refuse, but then gives a terse nod. We begin walking away from the school, quickly, hopefully to discourage any others from joining us.
“What if I what?” she asks when the silence stretches.
I’m confused for a second, before remembering what I had begun to ask her earlier.
“What if someone told you something that was a secret?” At her glance, I clarify. “Not just any secret, like Hillary saying she wears a padded bra, but a serious secret?”
Stacy grins briefly at my analogy before turning somber again.
“What kind of secret?” she asks.
I take a breath. “The kind of secret that could threaten their lives if it were to get out to the wrong person.”
Now I have her full attention. She stops and turns so that she’s facing me.
“Then you’d have to keep it to yourself,” she says firmly.
“Even if it meant not telling your best friend, and she was so mad at you that she wouldn’t even speak to you.”
Her mouth tightens, she glances away, arms crossed, and finally brings her unwavering gaze back to mine. “Yes. Even then. A secret that big that is entrusted to you should stay with you.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She gives a decisive nod. “But you said ‘their lives.’ Does that mean this affects more than just Sam?”
“I never said it concerned Sam at all,” I say.
“Oh, yeah, I guess you didn’t. I just assumed again.”
“But yes,” I say. “I guess I can tell you it’s his secret, and that it does affect more than just him.”
“It must be bad,” she says.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you were a mess the other night. I haven’t seen you like that since—” She cuts herself off, but I know what she’d been about to reference.
“It’s bad,” I confirm, the vision of Sam raising the gun to his chest flooding my mind. I shudder with horror and shove the image away. “I wish I could tell you, Stace, because it would help so much to ask someone what I should do. But I can’t.”
She nods again. Suddenly she reaches out and pulls me into her arms. I cling to her, relief flooding through me at her forgiveness, her willingness to accept my words and to support me even if she has no idea what’s going on. Guilt sluices through me again at how much I’ve ignored her over the past few months.
“You want me to come over and we can bake cookies?” she asks as she releases me.
“I really do.” I smile at her, brushing my tears away.
“Then let’s go.” She hooks her arm through mine, and with a lighter step, leads me home.
Chapter 45
Sam
I’m in the paddock with the horses when Niahm and Stacy come home from school, laughing together. It feels like years since I’ve seen Niahm smile like that, even though it’s only been a few days.
They don’t see me as they disappear into the house. I can hear them in the kitchen through the windows Jean opened to let a fresh breeze in. They are banging around in the kitchen, clearly preparing to cook something or other. I hope it’s cookies or pie or anything sweet—then realize I may not get to taste whatever they’re making if Niahm is still peeved with me.
I move closer, Bob at my heel, to spy on them. Just then, Niahm opens the doors and calls Bob’s name. She stops abruptly, one hand still on the door handle when she sees me.
“Hi,” I say, unsure of how to proceed.
Bob bounds forward and jumps up on Niahm, happily nosing her neck and chin. She
turns her attention to the dog, scrubbing him behind the ears and talking her nonsense to him that he loves. She glances back up at me.
“Hi,” she finally says as Bob drops down and pushes past her into the house.
“Bob! No!” I hear Stacy scolding him. I grin at the sound, and Niahm does as well.
“You’d think he’d know better than to aggravate her,” I say.
“Well, she hasn’t been around much lately, so I guess he’s forgotten.” I see the pinch at the corner of her eyes as she says it, can feel the guilt she’s suffering with. I share in that guilt. I’ve been happy to monopolize all of her time without a thought for how it might be affecting her friendships.
“That’s my fault,” I say, and she shakes her head.
“It was my choice.”
I can’t help but notice she said was. Stacy comes to the door.
“What are you doing out her, Vee? Your terror of a dog is out of control without—Oh, hi, Sam,” she says upon spying me. She sounds friendly enough. I realize how much I’ve missed Stacy, my comrade in arms when it comes to taking care of Niahm. She glances between Niahm and myself, and finally says, “Wanna come in and make cookies with us?”
I’m as surprised by her offer as Niahm apparently is, if the look on her face is any indication.
“Um, well, I... yeah, I’d like to...” I pause, trying to read Niahm, but I’m too far away. “But maybe I should—”
“Come on,” Niahm says, standing back and opening the door wider. “It’ll be fun.”
“The Three Musketeer’s ride again,” Stacy says with a laugh, stepping back and turning to chide Bob once again, who looks at her in abject innocence, his nose covered in white flour. I follow them in, and Stacy shoots me a cryptic look, sideways from beneath lowered brows and I suddenly wonder if Niahm has told her. Does she understand the danger this puts Stacy in? More than ever I wish I had the freedom to walk over to Niahm and take her hand.
The two of them make the dough, and I find I’m only in the way. It’s clear they’ve done this many times together, each doing their part without even talking of who will do what. I retreat to the table and watch them, smiling at their silly laughter. At one point Stacy turns on the radio which is playing an old, upbeat song from the fifties.
“Ugh, horrible music,” Niahm moans.
“What? You’re crazy, this is amazing music,” Stacy argues. I have to agree with her.
“Come on, Sam,” Stacy laughs, taking my hand and pulling me up. “Let’s show Niahm how great this music is to dance to.”
I admit I’m showing off a bit as I twirl her into a swing dance—which she manages to keep up with, apparently having been taught by her dad. That memory is front and center. The entire time, I’m listening to her, watching to see if Niahm has given her any information she shouldn’t have. I skim over memories that aren’t related to Niahm, go a little slower whenever Niahm makes an appearance. Finally I reach their interaction of the past few days, and see that Niahm has kept our secret. I’m a little surprised by Stacy’s acceptance, and her advice to Niahm to keep the secret. It comes completely from a place of love for Niahm. That’s something I can relate to.
“Whew!” Stacy exclaims as she drops onto one of the chairs. “You should give some of the boys around here lessons. Where did you learn to dance like that?”
Niahm looks at me oddly, and I can’t meet her eyes as I tell the lie. “In New York. They gave us lessons one year in school.”
Stacy nods, accepting my words. “Dude, you have the warmest hands of any guy I’ve ever danced with. You don’t have a fever, do you?”
I realize I may have overdone it on the brain-picking, not quite sure how to answer.
“That’s normal for him,” Niahm says. “He has hot hands.” Then, blushing at her words and Stacy’s laughter, she says, “I mean, his hands are always hot like that.”
“Weird,” Stacy proclaims. “I’ve never felt anything like that before, at least on hands that aren’t sweaty in the process.”
I look at Niahm, see that she’s watching me, a thoughtful, questioning look on her face. Thank the heavens the oven timer chooses that moment to go off, taking her attention from me. Somehow, though, I don’t think she’s going to forget about Stacy’s words calling her to the fact that the heat she feels from my hands all too frequently isn’t exactly normal.
“Stay.”
I look at Niahm, for one second wondering if she’s speaking to Bob. But she’s looking right at me. Stacy just announced her intention to leave, after we’ve gorged ourselves sick on the cookies they baked. I stood to leave also when Niahm speaks the word. I can only nod, hoping she wants me to stay for a good reason.
Stacy and Niahm hug, then Niahm closes the door behind her. She turns to me, an unsure look on her face. When she hesitates, I say, “If it were possible, I’d probably gain about forty pounds from the amount of cookies I ate. But it’d be worth it.”
“You... you can’t get fat?” she asks, surprised.
“No.” I hope a simple answer is the best way to keep Niahm from freaking out.
“That seems unfair,” is her only response. She walks over to the couch and sits down. I follow and sit in the chair next to the couch. She leans forward, elbows on her thighs, twisting her hands together in front of her.
“I wanted to tell you,” she begins, not looking at me. She glances up at me from beneath her lashes, and I’m struck once again by her eyes. I envy her not having to wear contacts to cover their strangeness. She still has enough of a rim for them to appear unusual but not alarming, as mine do. People tend to cringe away from my eyes, as if they can sense something isn’t right with me. She takes a deep breath and blows it out. A trickle of apprehension creeps up my spine. I can’t read her very well right now. I believe she may be trying to find the words to break up with me. I decide to give her a break. It’s the least I can do after everything I’ve put her through.
“Niahm, it isn’t easy knowing what you now know,” I say. “I’ve had years of learning to live with it, and it still is hard for me. There isn’t any blame for not wanting to be part of it. I promise. And you know I can’t lie to you,” I smile at her. She’s simply staring at me, a ridge of confusion puckering her brow. “It will be hard to walk away, but I’ll do it. For you. It won’t change my feelings for you at all. But eventually you’ll be able to forget about me, and you’ll have—”
I stop when she brings her hand up, palm toward me.
“Sam,” she says, shaking her head a little. “Let me finish, okay?”
I nod.
“I don’t want to forget about you.”
A spark of hope ignites. “You... you don’t?”
“No,” she laughs. “When I told you I love you, I wasn’t kidding. This is all very weird and sci-fi channelish, and I don’t know what will happen down the road.” She shrugs. “Maybe it will be too much at some point, when I’m getting wrinkles and you’re not, or maybe even before then. I don’t know. There’s a lot to consider. But for now, for today, I’m not ready to give you up.”
I slide from the chair so that I’m kneeling in front of her.
“Are you saying...?” I take hold of her hands, nearly floored by the wave of feeling she has for me. I can see the confusion beneath it all, see conflicting thoughts of giving up her idealistic future including a family, see her fear of being old and hunched with me next to her looking the same as I do now. I know I should let her go, so that she doesn’t have to deal with those fears, but I’m just selfish enough not to.
“Thank you,” I whisper, leaning forward to kiss her. She pulls her hands from mine and wraps her arms tightly around my neck. My own arms about her waist pull her close to me, until she’s kneeling on the floor in front of me, kissing me back with all the passion she has.
“I love you,” I say, pulling back to caress her cheek with my thumb.
“I love you, too,” she says, kissing me once a
gain.
Chapter 47
Niahm
On Wednesday, as promised, I go with my girlfriends to the movie. I’ve been wrapped up in Sam for so long that I’ve forgotten how much I like just hanging out, being a silly girl. Sam came back to school on Tuesday after our cookie making night—and making out night, if I remember right.
I decided that I shouldn’t be so stubborn. Yeah, what he did was about the worst way he could have decided to tell me what he was, but I can’t forget how relieved and grateful I was when he woke up, and I first realized he wasn’t dead. Or how I felt when I thought he was.
“Someone’s birthday’s coming up,” Hillary sing-songs. I give her a half-grin in response. I hadn’t ever imagined I would celebrate my eighteenth birthday without my parents being by my side.
“Got any plans next Friday?” Heather asks. Stacy rolls her eyes at me. A few years ago we all decided that we’d do surprise birthday parties for everyone when they turned eighteen. At the beginning of the year, the Double-H decided that if we didn’t speak of it, no one would remember when their birthday came.
“I’m all yours,” I say, no matter how much I want to spend the night at home, curled up in a sobbing ball.
“Well, maybe we can go see a movie or something. It’s your birthday, what do you want to do?” Hillary asks, I suppose thinking I have no idea she’s setting me up for the surprise party.
“I’ll let you pick, Hill,” I say, ignoring Stacy’s smirk. “Surprise me.”
When I get home, Jean is sitting at the computer in the kitchen again. I’m dying of curiosity to know what she spends so much time doing on there, but when I asked her once, she made up some lame excuse that was clearly a lie, so I haven’t asked again.