a Touch of TNT (An Everly Gray Adventure) (17 page)

My final goal was to have both the master bedroom and the study empty by the end of the day. I glanced over the list and decided there was only one way to do this: put on The Stones, crank the sound up loud enough to shake the house, and dig in.

By the time I’d belted out
I Can’t Get No Satisfaction
and
You Can’t Always Get What You Want
(several times over) everything was sorted and bundled up to either donate to charity, or toss in the trash. I knew better than to exacerbate my injuries by hauling the plastic bags downstairs, but worked out a slide-them-down-the-staircase routine that didn’t involve any lifting.

When I was finished, I turned off the iPod and strolled through the rooms, touching the walls, open to whatever the house had to tell me. It didn’t talk. Disappointment curled through my belly, but there was a sense of “right” about the rooms that I couldn’t deny. I’d made space for my parents to rest in peace.

A clunking sound against the kitchen door jarred me from my melancholy, and I hustled downstairs to see what the heck was going on. The door flew open just as I entered the kitchen, and Millie stood there, her arms full of paper bags. She balanced a fresh-baked pie on her palm, steam curling from the slits in the crust. The aroma of warm peaches and cinnamon wafted toward me as I ran to help her.

“Morning, child.” She set the pie and a palette of paint swatches on the counter, then shook her finger at me. “You didn’t do too much now, did you? Shouldn’t have carried those bags down here.”

“I didn’t. Rolled them down the stairs. That pie smells—”

“Let it cool a bit more first. Soon as me and Harlan get those bags loaded in the SUV, we can have a little something for lunch, and decide what color of paint my Harlan should pick up at the Sherwin Williams store.”

I leaned over the pie and took a deep breath. “I’m on it.”

Lunch—and a trip to the thrift store—gave Harlan and two of his friends time to load the furniture into a couple of battered pick up trucks for a second trip to the thrift shop. I waved them off, and was left with two empty rooms and endless possibilities for paint and decorating options.

Freedom licked at my heels as I wandered through the rooms. I stopped in the middle of the bedroom and twirled until I dropped to the floor with the room spinning around me. I hadn’t done that since I was, oh, maybe four or five years old. It felt good. Really good. I knew somehow that my parents had been waiting for me to get on with my life—and could feel their love pouring through the windows, riding on wisps of sunlight.

Apparently the storm was over.

Or not.

I reached for the clip that had flown out of my hair while I played whirling dervish and noticed a small box tucked into a corner shelf of the closet. I stood on tiptoes, stretched to reach it, snagged the corner, and pulled. It tumbled off the shelf and dropped to the floor with a clatter.

Memories flooded my mind, and I grabbed the closet door for support.

My mother’s gun.

An ankle holster she always strapped on before she went to work. A clear image flashed in my mind of my dad telling her to be careful, that it wasn’t enough protection, and she shouldn’t let her guard down.

Funny how the memory was so clear. I hadn’t thought about that day, well, since it happened. I stared at the gun lying there and froze. No way was I going to touch it, not with my fingers on the fritz. Guns often knocked me on my ass, well, when my fingers were working. But even now I wasn’t going to chance it. Not with this weapon. Especially not with this one.

I headed for the kitchen, grabbed the scissors out of a drawer, hotfooted it back to the study, and slid the scissors into the gun barrel. It took a minute to get it balanced so I could pick it up and lever it back into the box without touching it. I snapped the lid on the metal container and locked it in the safe.

My mother. A weapon. What else had my mind blocked?

I needed to be outside. The rain had left a fresh, clean scent in the air that was irresistible, so I stripped off my clothes, crawled into the hot tub, and soaked until my skin wrinkled and I started slapping at mosquitoes. I gathered my clothes and let the evening breeze dry my body as I wandered back to the house.

It had been a long day, but I still had work to do.

I poured myself a glass of Kim Crawford sauvignon blanc, and curled up in bed with the tollo nunc tacitus envelope. The light fruit flavor of the wine rested on my tongue, delightfully delicious, and just the right accessory to go with the thinking I had to do.

Educating in the present time, silently, without speaking of
. I trailed the definition through my mind. How was it related to blowing things up? Explosions weren’t educational activities, and they certainly weren’t a
silent
way to communicate.

I picked up the envelope, rested it on the palm of my hand, took another sip of wine, consciously focusing on the flavor.

Images—faint, swirling, and blurry—but images nonetheless, began to form. Maybe it was an overactive imagination, but I would swear there was a hazy picture forming of me writing out the words and putting them in the envelope. Hardly a huge breakthrough, but it was a good place to end the day.

I tumbled out of bed with determination. Today I was going to buy my new car, a Toyota Prius. Being of a think-green mind and all, my new car had to be a hybrid, but not black. In the back of my mind I’d been toying with going for the in-the-wind, macho, badass look, but after driving Annie’s Acura, I’d changed my mind. I wanted to go with silver again—close to badass stealthy, but more like a smoky fog than in-your-face blatant.

I showered, and for the first time since the explosion, shampooed without bumping into sore spots. My leg was healing nicely, but not ready for scratchy denim, so slipped into a long cotton skirt, silver cami (to match my new car), and a favorite pair of Via Spigas. For us Libra types, great shoes make car buying so much easier.

Sunlight sparkled against a deep blue sky, bright enough to make me smile and reach for my sunglasses. I snagged my Oakleys off the kitchen counter, and did a fast-walk out to the Acura. After I carefully maneuvered down the driveway, I used the fancy, built-in phone system to dial Annie. Weird, saying the numbers out loud when no one was in the car but me. She answered on the first ring, “Morning. Great day isn’t it?”

“Yep, great day. I take it Sean is still at the top of your happy list.”

“So at the top.”

“I’m on my way to buy a new car. Thought you might want to come with me, besides you get so bent when I don’t keep you in the loop.” I’d reached the end of my private road and signaled to merge with traffic.

“I thought you were supposed to be retreating, not purchasing.”

“Yeah. Well, the weekend hasn’t gone exactly like I planned. I’ve worked through some things…truth is I was going to stay another day, but I woke up with the need to shop.”

“How soon can you be here?”

“Traffic is minimal. Say, ten minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

She stood on the front steps when I pulled up in front of the townhouses. I got out and circled to the passenger side.

“You could drive. I’m not attached to being in control.”

“Uh-huh. Better for you to drive Black Beauty.”

She grinned. “Guess she’s been christened. So where are we headed for car shopping?”

“The Toyota dealer on Glenwood. I want a silver Prius.”

She slid me a look. “They have huge wait lists for hybrids you know.”

“I know. But if I don’t order one, it’s a sure thing it won’t show up in my driveway. And the Prius is a snappy little car.”

“A Maserati it’s not.” Annie had an excellent sense of understatement.

“Seriously? Me driving a Maserati?”

“Right. The Prius it is.”

Turned out there was a new Prius on the lot. Dark grey, which was okay with me. And there was a problem with an engine part. They offered to replace the part with a brand new one from the factory, and assured me it would be good to go in several hours. I ran my fingers over the hood.

“Get anything,” Annie asked.

I shook my head. “No. Not an image in sight.”

“So, what’s your plan?”

“I’m not getting any bad vibes, so I’m going for it.”

She shoved her hands in her pockets. “That’s what I’d do.”

It took a while to complete the paperwork, handle the bank transfers, and schmooze with the salesman. While they were working on the engine, Annie and I headed for the Angus Barn to grab some lunch.

Our server placed huge salads in front of us, and we dug in. It must have triggered my memory of having dinner with Mitch—that time we discussed my getting a security clearance—because next thing I knew the words were sitting there in the space between Annie and me.

Her face crinkled up. “So you can touch Mitch without screwing up his career?”

“Yeah. We’ve been lucky until this last assignment, but letting him go without a hug or kiss, it threw me more than I thought it would.”

“Not an easy situation,” she said, moving the bread out of the way so the server could refill our water glasses.

“I don’t want to go through all the testing again, but there’s probably no other way.”

Annie forked in a bite of salad, her forehead wrinkled in thought. “What testing? They do an extensive background check—right up to the brand of toilet paper you prefer. It’s invasive, not awful. Even going through a polygraph isn’t that bad. Especially not for you. Well, let me rethink that.”

“Not funny.” I swallowed some water, the taste flat against my tongue. “It’s not the business-as-usual stuff that scares me. It’s the reason I need the clearance. The touch thing. Explaining it to people. People with power. And maybe some bias against weird, spooky things. You know how this goes with law enforcement.”

“Yeah I get that,” she said as she focused those deep green eyes on me and tried to tuck her too-short hair behind her ear. “So this is the psychological barrier you’ve put up to keep your head separate from your gift?”

I took my time, dipped a bit of salad into some bleu cheese dressing. “Could be. It’s a strong possibility. You know, because the explosion happened just a few hours after Mitch left.”

“I’m guessing here, but it’s bad, that kind of testing?”

“Um-hmm. I had to go through a battery of tests when I was a kid ’cause my parents wanted to be sure I wasn’t…unbalanced.”

“You know, that
would
be a typical parental reaction to a weird and spooky child with unusual gifts. Do you hold it against them?” She eyed me over the rim of her glass.

“No. Not anymore. I was tested every year from the time I was four until maybe seven or so. After I’d been in school for a couple years they relaxed and stopped with the testing.”

“I’ll mention the security clearance to Pierce. You know I don’t have unlimited access to that kind of information anymore, not like he does. He may know a way around it, or be able to finesse it for you. Probably not, but it’s worth asking. Or would you rather ask him yourself?”

“No, better it comes from you. I go off-the-chart twitchy when I think about having to touch stuff for the government.” I gulped down the last swallow of my soda.

“Um-hmm, good point. You can’t let this affect your gift, though. And the biggie: you and Mitch won’t make it if there’s something this big between you.”

“I know. I have to stop with the mental blocks. Surely that must be what’s wrong with me. It’s probably like a temper tantrum, I got tired of being weird and spooky, so I’m blocking the images. Too bad there isn’t an on-off switch.”

She checked her watch. “Mitch is a good guy. You need to talk about it, see if you can work it out. We better get going. I have a client scheduled soon.”

“Okay.” I pushed back my chair and dropped some money on the table. “You’re right about talking to him. There’s no way we can put this off—but I’m afraid he’ll be relieved my ESP has disappeared.”

She gave me a stony look as she clicked her key fob to unlock the Acura. “Then he’s not the man for you.”

“You’re right, again. I can’t change me, not and build a successful relationship with Mitch. Hell, with anyone. It’s time to get on with my life. Whatever that means.”

“It means there’s nothing wrong with you,” she explained as she pulled into the Toyota dealership to drop me off.

I posed with a smiling salesman while his assistant aimed a Polaroid camera at us. They made a show of his handing me the keys and the picture, and then I slid into the driver’s seat and gently placed my fingertips on the steering wheel. Tingling. No images. But tingling was at least something. Progress. Maybe talking to Annie about Mitch had helped.

I stopped by my parents’—my—house to leave notes on the walls as to what colors I wanted their study and bedroom painted, then I wandered through the other rooms, allowing my mind to adjust to it being my home, and not a memorial for my parents.

Maybe the conscious effort to change my perspective would help me to return to my normal weird and spooky self.

I tossed a few things I wanted to take back to the townhouse in the back seat of my new car and took an extra-long way home so I could spend more time driving—bonding with the engine and all.