To safeguard my secret, I’d have to pick a hidden injury, one of my taped broken ribs. Like I’d done a dozen times before, I pictured the broken bone and imagined it mending. A sharp stab speared my side as the bone fused, and I gasped even as the pain faded and my breathing flowed easier. I tipped my face to the sun in relief.
In the distance, a camera shutter clicked.
A boy about my age stood some yards away holding one of those large professional-looking cameras with all the mysterious attachments. My heart skittered as my attention shifted from object to boy.
Striking
. If I’d had to pick one word to describe him, that would have been it. Tall and lean, he moved with ease, at home in his skin and sure of his footing. He’d tower over me, I noted with odd pleasure. Deep-chocolate brown hair fell in long waves to his neck. Sharp planes and angles defined his tanned face. Full, sensual lips and a square, shadowed jaw completed the rugged picture marred by a two-inch white scar that slashed through one eyebrow to the top of one high cheekbone.
And his eyes. I sucked in a breath. Even from twenty feet away, their dark green color reminded me of the woods that hugged the marina. The intent expression in those deep-set eyes held a trace of surprise as if he hadn’t expected company on the beach. An all too recognizable air of resigned loneliness hung about him, prompting a pang of kinship.
One of his thick brows rose, and I realized I’d been returning his stare for some time.
Sudden, wild embarrassment sent my gaze flicking back to the view of the harbor.
Stupid, Remy. He was probably taking pictures of the scenery.
I wondered if he would try to talk to me. Perhaps he’d say, “Do I know you?” Except it would not be a pickup line. Gangly and boyishly slim, I wasn’t the kind of girl boys hit on. I was the girl who went to a high school for two years and managed not to have a single friend.
It didn’t matter, anyway. He walked toward the water with long strides. At the edge of the shore he twisted from the view of the bay as if to determine his next shot of the backdrop of sky and forest behind me.
I peeked over at him, only to look away when I found him staring back. My heart stuttered until the meaning of that raised eyebrow penetrated.
It’s the bruises,
I realized. This morning, the bathroom mirror had revealed a black eye and a grisly necklace ringing my throat, the mottled blend of purple and indigo betraying the impression of five fingers. My battered face had sparked the stranger’s curiosity. Feeling like an idiot, I returned his stare with open defiance.
He didn’t pretend he’d been watching anything other than me. As he gripped his camera in both hands, his stare traveled over my face and unkempt hair, and I tried to ignore him by studying the view.
Soon, the town yawned and began to wake, and the odd intimacy of the isolated beach faded as cars and people created a buzz of activity. A restaurant at the marina must have opened for business. The smell of brewing coffee and greasy diner food nearly doubled me over. My last meal had been a packet of peanuts on the plane the night before. My joints had stiffened in the brisk air, and it hurt to stand as I braced myself for the walk to Ben’s home.
A shutter clicked for the second time, and I turned to see the boy aiming his camera at me. Pictures snapped in quick succession, and I was his subject. Not a person, but an object to be studied and captured on film.
Perhaps the boy thought I’d be flattered. I felt violated.
I moved without premeditation. He continued shooting pictures at my approach, adjusting the lens as I stalked closer. Maybe he was taller and more muscular, but the outrage vibrating through me evened the odds. An arm’s length away, I stretched up to grab the camera. The boy shifted away and gave a surprised laugh.
Furious, I tried to grab it again, careful not to touch him. When he sidestepped me again, I slipped on the stones and landed on my back in the snow and mud. My body ached with the jolt, and I focused on the act of breathing.
I expected him to laugh again, but he crouched down on his heels at my side. “Are you okay?”
The anger disappeared, replaced by mortification when he leaned close, his worried eyes capturing mine. My thoughts splintered. I’d been wrong about the scar. It wasn’t an imperfection. Every one of his features had been chosen with care by a master.
“I didn’t mean to make you fall. I was protecting my camera.”
He stretched one arm toward me, and panic had me twisting away until I gained my hands and knees. The remaining broken rib protested, and I breathed in harsh gasps. Bracing an arm around my middle, I looked up into the boy’s startled face, his hand still frozen in midair. He’d been offering to help me up, unaware that any illness he carried could flatten me.
He didn’t know what to make of my actions, and I couldn’t blame him because I’d acted crazy. An unexpected laugh bubbled out of my lips as I kneeled in the muck with an arm wrapped around my ribs and wet sand caking my jeans. The boy’s lips twitched. When I lifted one hand to swipe my hair back, I realized that mud covered it and laughed again.
My raised arm caused his eyes to drop to my neck, and I sobered in an instant as his eyes narrowed on the bruises my blouse didn’t cover. I bared my teeth in a polite smile and stood without his help. He rose, too, and the lithe movement hinted at a power leashed by tight control. This wasn’t the first time some stranger had studied me after one of Dean’s beatings, and I hated to be pitied.
Up close, I could see that the camera wasn’t digital. Who used film anymore? I held out one dirty hand and asked, “Do you mind?” At his puzzled look, I added, “The film, please.”
“Why?”
My irritation resurfaced. “You should’ve asked before you took my picture.”
One side of his mouth tilted up in the smallest suggestion of a smile. “You’re on a public beach.”
I couldn’t place his accent, and it occurred to me he could be a tourist. His rough voice had the clipped precision of the British, but the tone sounded a little flat, like an American. Maybe I looked like a local to him.
“You still should’ve asked.” I said.
One elegant shoulder lifted in a shrug.
He had no intention of giving me the film. Those pictures of me would end up out in the world to be viewed by complete strangers. People like him could never understand what it felt like to be reduced to a defenseless animal.
No more wasting energy on lost causes, Remy.
Without another word, I walked away.
His low voice followed me. “That’s it? You’re going to give up that easy?”
“Yes,” I called over my shoulder.
“You’re not going to ask why I took your picture?”
I wanted to, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, I shouted, “No.”
The boy walked at my side and I hadn’t heard him move, though my steps crunched in the grit of crushed shells and rocks. Startled, I tripped over a piece of driftwood. He threw out a hand to steady me, but I jumped out of reach.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I never thought you would.”
“Then, stop overreacting.” His voice gentled as if he reasoned with a child.
“Go to hell.”
We glared at each other until the wind worried my blouse. I forced my hand to be still at my side instead of hiding the marks like I wanted.
“Who did that to you?” He indicated my neck with a tilt of his head.
Years of living with Dean had taught me to lie about my injuries and my ability to heal. I’d developed a talent for spinning stories because no one would believe the truth. Most people didn’t care enough to ask questions and, if they did, they believed any explanation offered because they didn’t want to get involved.
“I ran into a door,” I said. Not one of my better lies, but what did it matter?
“When did you run into this . . . door?”
I sighed. “Three days ago. Are you always this nosy?”
His eyes took on a speculative gleam as a breeze ruffled his hair.
My body stilled, and I wondered if he suspected what I could do. What I was. A freak. It wasn’t likely, but I hurried my pace. I didn’t know what would happen if people found out about me, but every instinct I had shouted bad things. Very bad things.
I looked toward the parking lot nearest the beach and saw Ben’s silver Mercedes pull up. He’d discovered me gone and had come looking for me. When he got out of the car and stood with one hand on the roof, I waved to catch his attention.
“Here.”
The boy’s smooth voice stopped me, and I turned to see the roll of film he held out in one palm.
“Take it,” he said, when I hesitated.
I don’t know why I did it. I’d never tried to scan a person without touching them. My ability had always required a physical connection to work. Yet I lowered my mental wall and opened my senses, letting the energy flood through me before pushing it out toward him.
The boy frowned, and his eyes widened. His dark head tilted to one side as if he could
feel
me scanning him. I tried to break the connection. Usually I thought it and it happened. Now, a fiery wave of energy poured back at me from him. The boy hadn’t moved, but his forehead wrinkled in concentration.
This had never happened.
It wasn’t how my healing worked. Pain I expected when I touched someone for the first time, not knowing what their injuries and illnesses were. But always after the aches followed a . . .
humming
. A hum of electricity flowed through me, and I could direct the current of energy to scan a person. That’s how I knew what their injuries were and how I healed the diseases, the broken bones and bruises I found. It felt like a thousand pins and needles rippling under my skin like my entire body was one large limb gone to sleep. It was always a relief to break contact with a person after healing when the humming would fizzle out. That’s when whatever ailment I’d healed would settle into my body, and the real pain hit.
It all began with a touch.
This boy and I weren’t touching, but my entire body hummed with energy like I was healing stage-four cancer. Except I wasn’t focusing the power. The heat of his energy surrounded me in an unbreakable embrace, and my heart skipped because I had no idea how to stop him.
A green spark passed between us.
My father called, “Remy?”
The boy’s focus broke. The electric current dissipated, and I threw up the mental barrier I kept in place when walking through crowds. Ben still stood at his car, and I noticed with relief that he couldn’t have seen the sparks with my body blocking them.
I waved again before turning back to the boy. He hadn’t moved an inch and stared at me with hunger. His energy felt like a lit keg of explosives, and I sensed it coming at me again. The boy’s face twisted in something like pain and frustration when my defenses held. I wasn’t sure what he’d done, but I knew I’d never been this terrified, even when Dean stood over me with both fists raised.
I took several steps toward Ben, and, when I was brave enough to turn my back on the boy, ran the distance to my father’s car. Not caring that my wet, sandy jeans ruined the gray leather, I slid into the passenger seat. Safe inside the car, I chanced a look at the beach. My retreat had taken maybe twenty seconds, but the shore was empty.
The boy had disappeared.
C
HAPTER
T
WO
S
itting across from Ben in a maroon vinyl booth at the Seaside Café, I waited for him to yell at me for sneaking out my first morning under his roof or for ruining his leather seat with my muddy clothes. His continued silence made me uncomfortable, but the scene on the beach had left me shaken.
“Hey, Ben. What can I get you?”
A server—Dana, according to her plastic name tag—arrived to take our order, and she eyed me with curiosity.
Ben asked me, “Are you hungry?”
My stomach gave an embarrassing growl. Ben must have been a café regular because Dana took my order for a veggie scramble and coffee and left without taking his order.
The café butted up against the bay with huge windows offering sweeping views of the harbor, filled with everything from working boats with their tangle of nets to expensive sailboats rocking against their wooden berths. I studied my father in the bright morning light. A lot of women would consider Ben attractive in his jeans and cable-knit sweater. He examined me, too, his gaze roving over my face. I grimaced when I realized my black blouse mirrored the exact shade of his sweater—no one could deny I was his. Except he had, time and again, when birthdays and holidays passed without a call or a stupid Hallmark greeting card.
“You look like me. I don’t see your mother in you at all. Except the hair and freckles.”
“I’m not like either of you,” I answered in a flat voice.
With a frown, he started to speak, but Dana returned with our coffee. Ben watched me dump three packets of sugar and four thimble-sized containers of creamer into my mug. “You’re too young to drink coffee.”
Taking a sip, I eyed him over the ceramic edge of my cup. The time had passed for him to tell me what to do.
He almost smiled, and some of his edginess disappeared. When he shook his head and laughed, it vanished entirely. “I see what you mean. Your mother would never have your nerve.”
I thought he laughed at me, and I scowled. He spread his hands wide, palms up on the table as if to apologize. His eyes flicked to the bruises on my face, but Dana interrupted again by bringing our food. It smelled incredible, but I felt too self-conscious to dig in while he watched. Ben seemed to understand because he waved for me to start eating and excused himself to make a call.
I’d finished my eggs and was playing with a piece of toast when he slid back into the booth. He eyed my empty coffee mug and the crumbs on my plate, but I didn’t make excuses. The food at the hospital had sucked.
“You called Laura?”
We’d arrived in Blackwell Falls so late I hadn’t met his wife or daughter yet.
He smiled. “I didn’t want her to worry. We thought you’d run back to New York.”
“Oh.” After tossing the toast on my plate, I wiped my fingers on a napkin.
“Remy?” Concerned eyes met mine. “At the hospital, you asked me where I was the other eight times you were hurt. Will you tell me what happened?”
Shredding my napkin, I shook my head. Some things I couldn’t talk about.
Ben’s brows drew together in frustration. “Your mother called last night. She asked if you were okay.”
His eyes scanned my face, inspecting the bruises that would match those that had covered Anna’s face. My least favorite part of healing was that it always came at a cost.
“Well?” he asked.
“Well, what?”
The edgy tone returned as he grew impatient. “Are you okay?”
Watching a local refill his coffee cup from the server’s station, I wished I could do the same with my empty mug.
Ben slapped both hands on the table, causing me to jump. “Talk to me, Remy, because I don’t know what you need.”
Of course he didn’t know what I needed. He didn’t know
me
. I shrugged. “I’m fine. I can handle a few bruises.” Then, to make my intention clear, I added, “I’m not going back to New York.”
Without hesitation, he nodded. “Where does that leave us?”
The edge of the booth cut into my thighs as I slid forward. “I want to be emancipated. I turn eighteen in a few months anyway.”
My eager answer surprised him, and he leaned away to study me. “What do you need from me, then?”
He didn’t seem against the idea, and I rushed on. “I need a place to stay until I get on my feet. I’ll pay rent, of course.”
I tapped my fingers on the table until Ben’s hand stopped me. My guard was up after what happened on the beach. No blue sparks. Warm brown skin blended with mine. The brief touch revealed he had an irregular heartbeat before I yanked my hand away.
He waited for me to look up. “What kind of job will you get without a high school diploma? Where will you live? What about college? Have you thought this through?”
“Yes,” I hissed. “I’m not stupid. I intend to finish high school, and I have money put away for college.” It wasn’t much, but he didn’t need to know that.
“The little you saved working at the video store? I don’t think so.”
How did he know that?
“I’m not going back,” I repeated.
With an encouraging smile, he pushed his coffee mug toward me as if he knew how badly I yearned for another cup. “Of course not. There’s another option. The one we’ve already set in motion. Live with me.”
I shook my head before he finished. I wasn’t prepared for how tempted I was to take him up on it, but I’d learned the hard way not to count on anyone.
“Think about it,” I said. “You don’t want me. I would get in the way of your perfect life. Have
you
really thought this through? Imagine having to tell your friends about your seventeen-year-old mistake. You couldn’t even bring yourself to introduce me to Dana, who obviously knows you.” Bitterness crept into my tone. “What about your wife and daughter? You think they’d be happy if I stay?”
His expression didn’t change, so I exchanged logic for persuasion. “Look, just sign emancipation papers and let me go. It’ll be like I never came here.” I didn’t know how I’d keep that promise considering my savings, but I would.
Ben said nothing, and I hated him for stringing this out.
We both know you want me gone.
He signaled the waitress for the check. When she came to our table, he smiled and said, “Dana, I’d like you to meet my daughter. Remy moved to town this week to live with my family.”
I stared at Ben in shock, ignoring Dana’s greeting. She wandered away, and I said, “That’s not funny. What do you think you’re doing?”
He stood and threw money on the table to pay for the check. “I’m not signing any papers. You’re coming home with me. No job and no rent.”
Simmering, I followed Ben when he walked away. He had to be toying with me. He held open the café door for me, and then the car door. The mud that speckled the passenger seat went unmentioned.
“Why?” I demanded when he sat next to me.
“You need me.”
At my stormy expression, he said, “Okay, maybe you don’t
need
me, but you shouldn’t have to go it alone. I won’t let you. I’m going to be there for you this time.”
A new emotion overwhelmed me. Hope. Irrational, unreliable hope. Ben put a hand under my chin, touching me for the second time. Blue sparks shot from my skin through his fingers, and I noted again his heart arrhythmia. The condition didn’t seem harmful, but my body worked to heal him.
He didn’t seem to notice the flash of light. “You don’t believe me.”
I didn’t deny it, and he let me go to start the car. “It’s okay, Remy. I wouldn’t believe me if I was you, either. But I am your father, and I’m going to start acting like it.”
“You’re not my father, Ben. It’s too late.”
Grimacing at my use of his first name, he nodded in reluctant acceptance. “Okay. That’s fair. Then I’ll be your friend as long as you let me.”
I shrugged this off as one of the lies adults told kids when they thought it was what we wanted to hear. “Why the about-face? For seventeen years you’ve acted like I didn’t exist.”
Shame and guilt twisted his features. “I’ve wanted you in my life a long time. Your mother convinced me it was better for you if I stayed away. I
let
her convince me because it was easier for me that way.” His eyes turned fiercely to the road. “I won’t be that selfish with you again. I’d like to get to know you if you’ll give me a chance.”
My arms crossed in stubborn refusal as we turned onto his street.
“Give me one month,” he entreated. “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll help you go out on your own. Deal?”
Hope tried to emerge again, but I wouldn’t let it. A person didn’t change from one heartbeat to the next.
And yet . . .
My heart skipped in an irregular rhythm while his now beat a steady tempo. He almost didn’t hear me when I whispered, “Deal.”
Laura met us at the door when we arrived home.
Home. This isn’t your home, Remy. Don’t forget that!
I could handle being unwanted, and Ben’s wife and daughter would not hurt me when they rejected me, as they were sure to do. Squaring my shoulders, I reminded myself this was temporary as I faced his family.
Laura, a petite woman with a heart-shaped face and short red curls, had a mouth ready to tip into a smile at any moment. The top of her head just reached my shoulder, making me a giant next to her.
“Hi,” I said.
“Remy, you’re okay!”
Her arms surrounded me, as she enveloped me in a cloud of floral perfume. Another scan and diagnosis:
Healthy
. I sighed in relief. During the short car ride I’d realized how drained I felt, both emotionally and physically. Another sick person might be the end of me. When I didn’t return the embrace, her arms loosened and she stepped back, dropping her hands to her side. Dark circles underscored her soft brown eyes, and I was certain I was responsible for them.
“Thanks, Laura,” I said, licking my chapped lips. “I’m sorry if I worried you. I went for a walk and lost track of time.”
She beamed, but she didn’t touch me when she gestured for me to enter the oversized white “cottage” I’d only seen the likes of in pictures of Cape Cod or the Hamptons. My surroundings surprised me as I looked at the interior for the first time in the light of day. The wild outdoors trailed inside like the ocean had crashed through the house, leaving behind bits of coastline. Sea glass hung from invisible threads in the windows, setting off a colorful display of light on the walls and ceiling. A stone fireplace blazed with a welcoming fire, and the furniture and decorations mimicked the sea and sand in shades of blues and tans. Better yet, the wide windows offered an unobstructed view of the harbor and the beach I’d walked earlier.
Also reflected in the window were Laura and Ben sharing an intimate look behind me. He gave her an encouraging smile, and she reached for his hand, their love for one another obvious. What would it have been like to be raised by them? My throat ached: It did no good to wish things were different. Reality sucked, but you couldn’t escape it.
Laura smiled when I shifted and cleared my throat. “Are you hungry, Remy?”
“No, thank you. I had breakfast at the café.”
“Oh, of course. Okay, then.”
An uncomfortable silence ruled the room, and none of us knew what to do next. I decided to retreat. “Ben, would you mind if I rested for a while? I’m pretty tired.”
He’d mentioned going to the hospital again on the drive here, but I’d refused. Instead of picking up the thread of that argument, he said, “Sure. You remember where your room is?”
I nodded and left them to walk up the stairs to a huge second-floor landing with two doors on either side opening to bedrooms. I headed to the right and shoved the door open with my foot. My new bedroom was larger than both mine and Anna’s together in Brooklyn and decorated with furniture that cost more than our savings account had ever seen. The view from the window drew me.
My breath iced the glass. It was snowing outside now, and white powder dusted the sea grass that crept from the beach toward a tangle of leafless maples. The scent of wet earth and sea permeated everything, cloying and clinging with each breath. It should have been depressing for a girl used to miles of concrete and steel. Instead, the untamed beauty of the landscape fascinated me.
As I had been by the boy from the beach.
Perhaps I’d imagined the whole thing. I wasn’t suffering the normal aftereffects of a healing, and my aches weren’t new. Yet, he’d sensed when my guard had come down and turned the flow of energy back on me before I could scan him. Was that what it felt like to be on the receiving end of my power? A raw buzz of energy had poured through my body. When I did the scanning, there was
humming
and pain. It hurt Anna when I healed broken bones, but no worse than what a doctor caused when setting the same bone. Sharp pain followed by intense relief, as I knew from experience.
Could he heal people, too? Maybe he’d been trying to heal my injuries. If so, being on the receiving end of my ability was scarier than I’d imagined.