(Mis)fortune (13 page)

I nodded and led the way down the hallway, thankful for Jim’s intervention.

“Why are you here, Jim?” Emmitt said before we reached the end.

“Aden mentioned something about cookies...”  Jim’s words trailed off as I stepped into view.  Then, he wolf-whistled.

“I regret my decision to think of you as a sister,” he said with a grin.  “Nana can sure pick a suit.  I think you should really wear a t-shirt over that, though.”

“Shut up, Jim,” Emmitt said flatly behind me.

I blushed and kept walking toward the porch door.  Emmitt and Jim stayed behind in the apartment.  I could hear their low, murmured voices as I picked up my blanket and book.

In that moment before Jim interrupted us, Emmitt had wrapped me in his spell.  I’d wanted nothing more than his kiss.  Nana’s comment about shallow connections rang in my ears.  While the boys played school with Nana, I vowed I’d use that time to learn, too.  Time to start Werewolf 101.  Tomorrow.

*    *    *    *

After Nana collected the boys for their morning lessons, I grabbed a cookie and went to search out Emmitt.  He wasn’t hard to find.  I followed the sound of a quick, metallic rasp outside on the porch.  Paint flakes decorated the decking by our doors.  Free of loose paint, the third floor of the back of the house awaited its turn at rejuvenation.

Turning the far corner, I almost ran into Emmitt and smashed the cookie between us.  His quick reflexes caught me and robbed me of the cookie.  Grinning, he took a bite before he offered it back.

“I actually brought it for you,” I said.

His face lost a little of its playfulness.  He tilted his head, studying me with a silent question.

“Will you tell me about your family?”  I reached for the nearby broom.  “Please.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything.  Everything.”  I shrugged.  My stomach was in knots.  I wanted to know, but I didn’t.

“My dad’s side is from Canada.  My mom, from the states.  They met when she was pretty young.  The way my dad tells it, it was love at first sight.  My mom just rolls her eyes.”  He grinned at me between brisk scrapes.  He made quick progress, stripping the boards of paint.  I struggled to keep up with him as I trailed behind with the broom.

“My dad’s brother lives in Canada with them at the Compound.”

I stopped sweeping and looked at him.

“It’s a collection of old buildings; the community I grew up in.  It has been struggling for decades to support itself while keeping away from the corrupt influences of the outside world,” he said with a hint of humor.

“Corrupt?”

He quickly swiped around the window.  “Some believed that humans would lead the world to devastation through their wars, pollution, and overpopulation.  They thought, by withdrawing from it, they could save themselves.”

“The day my mom showed up, about thirty years ago, changed the direction they’d been headed.  She made them see they were hurting themselves by hiding from the truth.  They’d created their own distrust by not learning about the changes they were scorning and made it harder for future generations to rejoin the world.  That’s part of the reason they sent me back here to live with Nana Wini.

“The more of us who leave to learn about the world, the better it is for others when we go back and share what we learned.  The money we earn doesn’t hurt, either.  Part of the reason I know what I’m doing here is because I grew up helping with this kind of work back home.”

We rounded the corner, and he began scraping on the front of the house.  Behind us, I left neat little piles of paint chips.

“My mom started making improvements as soon as there was money, and she hasn’t stopped.  People actually have beds to sleep in now.”  He looked at me after he said the last piece as if he wanted to take it back.

How horrible to be so poor that there wasn’t even beds to sleep in.  After Blake appeared in my life, I’d found the opulence of Richard’s house distasteful as it represented a way of life I wanted nothing to do with.  Clothes, food, an exercise room.  Everything had been high-end and bought at the price of my freedom.  I’d run from it, willingly risking a potential future without beds, warmth, or food, to save us all from a worse fate.  And poverty would have happened, if not for Emmitt.

I reined in my thoughts.  “So the remodeling inside, the painting outside, you learned all this from your mom?”

He nodded, looking adorable with paint flakes dusting his hair.  “Can I ask you a question now?”

Reluctantly, I nodded.  I didn’t promise to answer it, though.

“Will you tell me about your stepfather?”

I sighed and stopped sweeping again, remembering how it’d been in the beginning.  “It was just me and my mom until after my thirteenth birthday.  She met Richard through a friend of a friend.”

“Richard?” he asked, looking puzzled.

I nodded and realized I’d never mentioned Richard by name before.  “He was nice.  He treated my mom well, and I think he really loved her.  Then, things changed.”  Things I wasn’t ready to share with Emmitt.

My premonitions had struck.  I hadn’t understood what I’d been seeing and wrote it down on paper to show my mom.  By that time, they had married and were expecting their first child.  Richard had found the paper and known what it was.  He’d been amused by what I’d written, but after seeing the accuracy of my predictions, he’d started to use them.  He hadn’t demanded anything from me, just said I could give them to him when I thought of any more.

Everything had been fine for a while.  We’d moved into a better house, the one in the gated community.  We’d been happy.  Liam was born, time passed, I went to school, had friends, went on my first parent-supervised date, and my mom got pregnant again.

I wasn’t sure how Richard got involved with Blake, but he had; and Blake had started coming to dinner.  My mom had disliked him immediately.  Seeing past events clearly for the first time, I understood how much Blake had truly controlled our lives.  It had started with my mom’s death.  An accidental death that I could now see wasn’t so accidental.  Blake had killed her just as he had Richard.  After she died, Richard had become Blake’s lackey.

“How did they change?” Emmitt asked quietly, watching me closely.

I’d daydreamed through half the front of the house.  I shook myself and finished sweeping quickly.

“My mom died just after Aden was born,” I said softly, remembering how alone I’d felt.  “Richard shut us away from the world for four years.”

Emmitt had stopped scrapping and studied me closely.

“Richard.  Then, who’s Blake?”

With Blake’s identity firmly glued to my secret, at least in my head, I couldn’t talk about him without everything spilling out.  I didn’t want to tempt Emmitt with the power he could gain by possessing my premonitions.  I didn’t want him to turn out like Blake.

“I have to check on the boys,” I said in a rush.  I leaned the broom against the wall and fled.

I sequestered myself with my brothers for the rest of the day.  The other occupants of the house let me be.

Emmitt knocked on my door the afternoon following our talk.  The boys were outside playing, and I was alone.  I quietly backed away from the door.  It seemed every time we spent time alone, I let too much slip.  We needed distance.  I needed distance.  So, I snuck to the bathroom and avoided him with the skill of a master thief.

After his footsteps faded in the hallway, I risked a quick look out the bathroom door.  The sunlit pattern of the French doors on the kitchen floor caught my eye.  The island blocked a good portion of it, but not the top half.  The shadow of a man drifted through the bright patch.  I spent the afternoon reading on the toilet.

It proved more difficult to avoid Emmitt the following day.  He stood outside the apartment door when the boys ran out in the morning.  Stunned by his unexpected appearance, I gapped at him for a moment before my brain kicked in.

“I have to take a shower,” I said in a rush then slammed the door in his face.

I stayed under the hot spray until my fingers pruned, then I crept around the apartment, stealthily checking the windows and doors.  When time passed without spotting Emmitt, I changed into my swimsuit and grabbed a book.  No more toilet reading.  My legs had gone numb the day before.  I eased open the French doors and tiptoed onto the porch.

The warm summer air surrounded me, and I took a slow, deep breath and shook out my blanket.

“Michelle?”

The sound of his voice directly behind me almost made me scream.  Heart hammering, I clutched the blanket to my chest and spun to face him.  My master thief skills were more like apprentice level.  I caught a glimpse of his hurt expression before he smoothed his features into a carefree mask of indifference.

“I need to go into town for more paint soon.  I was wondering if you wanted to come with me and help pick out the color.”  His eyes held mine as he spoke.  He stood a few feet from me, wearing paint splattered cargo shorts and an equally colorful printed shirt.  A brush hung from a loop on his shorts.

I didn’t answer immediately, and he tucked his hands in his pockets, waiting.  My stomach did its weird flutter.  After talking to Nana, it felt more like a tug.  It made me nervous all over again.  Why did I react like that to him?  It had to be the reason I couldn’t seem to keep my mouth shut.

“I’ll pass.  I’m more comfortable here,” I mumbled.  Riding to town to get paint meant taking the car since Jim had the truck.  Thinking of any amount of time in the confines of Nana’s little putt-putt, alone with Emmitt, did funny things to my insides.

“Okay,” he said with a small nod.  Then he turned and walked away.  My shoulders sagged in relief.

He left me alone for an hour.  Laying in the shade of the third floor porch, I heard his footsteps approaching, but didn’t scramble to my feet fast enough.  He caught me on my knees.

“Thirsty?” he asked holding out a sweating glass of water. 
Who is Blake?
  The last time he offered me something to drink, I said too much.

Fine.  The drink had nothing to do with it.  Not really.  Emmitt was the problem.

“No.”  I popped up as if pulled by a string connected to the top of my head.  “I have to pee.”  I dashed through the French doors and closed myself in the bathroom.  Again.

After a few minutes, I ducked into the bedroom, threw on a shirt, and rushed downstairs to ask Nana and the boys if I could join them.  The boys eagerly welcomed me while Nana gave me a curious look.  She didn’t stop her lesson, though.

Since she kept her door open, I saw Emmitt pass by several times before lunch.  Each time my stomach trembled, and I wished the stupid thing would stop causing me so much trouble.

When Nana announced her lessons complete for the day, I left the apartment with trepidation and led the boys upstairs for lunch.  Our door stood open.  I made Liam go in first while I hid around the corner.

“Emmitt!  Are you cooking lunch today?”

Liam’s excited greeting caused me to throw a spontaneous quiet tantrum in the privacy of the hallway.  There was a lot of silent foot stomping and some pantomimed fainting involved.  Thankfully, Aden walked in right after Liam and missed my awesome display.

Straightening my shoulders, I stepped through the door.  For the first time ever, Emmitt didn’t look up at me.  Not even briefly.  He focused on the boys and their sandwiches.

“Yep.  I thought maybe I’d eat with you guys.  How about we carry these sandwiches downstairs and eat on the grass?”  He handed each boy a sandwich and, carrying one for himself, left with the boys.

Owl-eyed and confused, I stared at the empty door as the lone sandwich he’d left on the counter mocked me.  I’d hurt his feelings with my avoidance.  Drifting to a stool, guilt ate at me.  Dejectedly, I took a bite of the sandwich.  Turkey.  With bacon.  Frowning at the delicious taste, I set the sandwich aside.  Didn’t he know I had no choice?  Couldn’t he stop asking me questions for five seconds?  Cradling my head in my hands, I grimaced remembering his questions today.  Simple, harmless questions.

I sighed and admitted an ugly truth.  The problem wasn’t Emmitt.  It was me.  I
wanted
to tell him everything.  How stupid could I be?  Not even a week had passed since he’d revealed his secret.  Though I’d decided to learn what I could from him, I’d yet to resolve a few things in my mind.  Primarily, the trust issue.  It was too soon for that.

Hardening myself against the guilt, I decided to keep avoiding him.

*    *    *    *

A brief rain shower Friday morning, followed by a hazy, breezeless sky, spiked the humidity.  Instead of lessons inside, Nana encouraged the boys to play in the sprinkler while they recited the things they’d learned during the last few days.  The sweltering heat of the apartment drove me outdoors, too.  I brought the blanket and book with me.

Emmitt painted upstairs until the heat drove him out.  He stepped outside without a word to me.  Calling to the boys to save him some water for later, he disappeared into the shadows of the garage and returned carrying a weed eater.  After a few sharp pulls, it started with a loud drone, and he moved to the treeline, turning his back to the porch.

Part of my frustration with myself was my inability to stop looking at him.  My eyes drifted to his back repeatedly, watching the play of muscles as he held the machine inches off the ground.  I tried lifting my book higher to block the line of sight, but the book always drifted back down on its own.  If only I could get over my fascination, maybe my stomach would stop freaking out and I would lose the urge to spill my guts.

He took off his shirt and tucked it into the waistband of his shorts.  I lost the battle and outright stared, book forgotten.

Finished with the first section of trees, Emmitt killed the motor and moved to the next, glancing up as the boys shouted to him.  I was in his line of sight.  Caught staring, I blushed and lifted my book again.

When the motor started, I quickly offered to make lunch and sprinted upstairs.  I could feel my resolve weakening.  I needed help.

After lunch, Emmitt left with Nana’s car to get the paint he needed.  He hadn’t repeated his invitation.

Nana asked if we wanted to walk in the woods where it would be cooler.  Liam heartily agreed.  Aden, pruned from so much time in the water, nodded.  I insisted they go without me if Nana could manage.  She laughed, assuring me they would be no trouble.

I ran upstairs, changed into cutoffs and a tank top, then waited on the porch.  It didn’t take long for Jim to pull into the driveway.

“Jim!” I called popping up from my spot on the porch and moving to the truck before he parked.  “Will you teach me how to drive?”

His eyebrows rose lifting his sweat soaked hair.  “You don’t know how?”

“I’m self-taught and need practice.  Everyone else is gone.”  I crowded up to the driver’s side door and gave him a pleading look.  Inside my head, a clock ticked.  We still had hours before dinner, and Emmitt would soon return with the paint.

“Sure,” he cut the engine.  “Can I shower quick?”

“I guess.”  I didn’t bother to keep the disappointment from my face.  I really wanted to leave before Emmitt got back.

He eyed me for a moment then grinned.  “I’ll be back in less than five minutes.”

I stepped back as he opened the door.  With a blur and a breeze, he vanished.

Blinking, I looked around.  What game did he play now?  We didn’t have time.  Striding to the house, I heard him singing inside and stopped.  A shower ran.  I smiled.  He moved fast.

I returned to the truck and settled into the driver’s seat.  The keys dangled from the ignition.  I touched them lightly.  I could leave.  So easy.  Of course, my brothers held me—I wouldn’t leave without them—but I could take the keys and wait.  Tell Jim I changed my mind.  No.  At some point, I had come to terms with the fact that we lived with werewolves.  Did I like it?  Not really.  Did it bother me?  Only when I thought about it, which I needed to do more often.  The urge to leave primarily stemmed from my growing fascination with Emmitt.  I needed to figure out a way to deal with that so I could become serious about getting answers about Blake.

The passenger door opened and closed with a gust of wind.  Jim sat beside me.  He was freshly showered and wearing clean shorts, sandals, and a wife beater.

“Start her up.  What do you need to know?”

I cranked the starter and took a moment to remember our quick escape.  “I figured out the gas and the brake.  Sometimes I still mix them up,” I admitted.  He gave me a worried look.  “But it’s mostly the rules I need to know.  Like who goes first at a stop sign, when to use your blinkers, what the ‘N’ stands for here.”  I pointed to the shifter display.

Putting the truck in reverse, I didn’t wait for his reply.  The gas pedal was touchier than I expected, and we flew backward.  Had the garage door been closed, I would have bumped it.  Just a little.  I mumbled a quick apology, shifted into gear, then pulled forward smoothly.

Gravel crunched under the tires as I brought us to the road.  I didn’t quite stop.  Rather, I rolled forward slowly until I could see both ways were clear then pulled out onto the road.

“Okay.  Two things,” Jim said.  “If you’re turning onto a road, use your blinker.  It might not be a law, but it’s polite.  And always stop to look both ways.  A complete stop.”

I nodded and kept driving.  He explained the gauges inside the truck while I kept my eyes on the road.  Mostly.  He suggested I take my foot off the gas when going into a curve instead of trying to keep the speed limit through it.  His advice relieved me as the last curve felt like one side of the truck had lifted off the road.

When we came to the bar Emmitt and I had stopped at, Jim begged me to pull in. This early on a Friday, cars hadn’t yet crowded the parking lot so I didn’t need to worry about avoiding anything as I jerked the wheel to make the quick turn.

I parked with a jarring stop and uncurled my fingers from the wheel.  Jim was already out of the truck and headed toward the door before I could turn to ask what we were doing there.  I unbuckled, plucked the keys from the ignition, and rushed to catch up.  I caught the door on the backswing and followed Jim inside.  Two window air conditioners hummed in the otherwise quiet bar.  It felt nice inside.  Not a bad place to cool off.

Jim called to the bartender for a double shot of whiskey.  I shuddered, remembering the tequila, and sat on the stool next to him.  The bartender gave him the glass with amber liquid.  Jim drank it down and asked for another before the man could move away.  He repeated the process four times then sighed and asked for two beers.

“Can you get drunk?” I asked Jim once the man moved away.

“Yep, but I have to work harder at it, and it doesn’t last as long.”  He pushed a glass of beer toward me.

“But I’m driving.”

“Nope, not anymore,” he said as he reached over and plucked the keys from my hand.  Considering what he’d just consumed, I thought the key confiscation a bit backward.

“Come on, Jim.  I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

Instead of answering, he asked the bartender to line up another four doubles of whiskey.  He handed me his wallet and told me to stop him when he ran out.  The bartender and I exchanged a look.

“Jim, if I’m not driving and you’re drunk, how are we getting home?”  I’d left my brothers with Nana Wini.  What would happen when they got back to the house and I wasn’t there?  I began to worry.  How could I be so stupid?  When I’d asked Jim to teach me, I’d just wanted to put some distance between Emmitt and me for a while, not drive away.

He winked at me and drank his whiskeys, this time spacing them out by a few minutes.  I took a sip of my beer and dug through his wallet to lay out a few bills.  Jim laughed and pulled out a few more.

“So are you going to tell me why you really wanted to kill me today?” he asked when I glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Jim, we should really go back.  Nana has the boys and won’t know where I disappeared to.”

Jim arched a brow at me, and I pouted a little before answering his original question.  I didn’t really want to talk about it.

“I’m avoiding Emmitt.”

“I’ve noticed.  Just can’t figure out why.”