Nathan carried me to my bedroom, even though I told him I could walk.
Yeah, I felt like crap, and my whole body throbbed, not to mention a mad butcher was having fun with my stomach, but I wasn’t some damned invalid who couldn’t take care of herself. I’d been independent most of my life, and though I appreciated his attentiveness, I wasn’t as delicate as he thought. All I wanted to do was pop a few Tylenols and sleep, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
When we entered my room, he turned the light on, then carefully placed me on the bed. But when I moved to get up–my arms still around my stomach–he stopped me and asked where I was going.
“I’m going to the bathroom. I have to pee and change my clothes,” I said.
“Tell me where your clothes are, and I’ll take you to the bathroom.”
Now he was going too far.
“I can do this myself.”
He backed off when he heard the growl in my voice and asked me if I had any vinegar in the house. I told him underneath the kitchen sink and shuffled to my dresser like an old lady bent in half.
“Do me a favor and grab a pair of old socks.”
“What for?” I looked up, and he was gone. “Whatever,” I grumbled, getting a pair of socks, pajama bottoms, and a T-shirt from my dresser drawer.
A few minutes later while attempting to brush my teeth, I looked in the mirror and became horrified at the corpse like image looking back at me. My green eyes were dull, almost lifeless, and my already pale skin appeared paler than usual. I looked like death girl. I groaned and took two capsules of Tylenol. Now I understood Nathan’s behavior, and all my irritations vanished. If I were in his position, I’d be acting the same way.
When I stepped into my room, I got a strong whiff of vinegar and wrinkled my nose. Nathan was sitting on the edge of the bed with his sleeves rolled up and a mixing bowl beside him on the nightstand. He helped me into bed, pulled my socks off, then placed his hand on my forehead, and frowned. He turned back to the bowl, submerging the socks in the water.
“What are you doing?” I hope he didn’t expect me to wear those wet, smelly socks.
“I filled this bowl with half vinegar and half water,” he answered, sloshing the socks around. “I’m going to put these on your feet and tie a plastic bag over them.”
“I don’t want to wear those socks,” I said as I watched him wring them out. The sound of water pouring back into the bowl seemed to bounce off the walls. He turned, facing me. I scooted to the other side of the bed, giving him a wary look.
“Trust me, Paige,” he said with a crooked smile. “My mother used to do this when my brothers and I were struck with fever, and it worked every time.”
I eyed him suspiciously, and then relented when I realized his intentions were genuine and he wasn’t messing with me. I scooted back to him. He cupped my foot in his hand and slipped the sock on. I scrunched up my face.
“I know,” he said, sounding apologetic. “I used to hate it too.”
After he tied the plastic freezer bags around my ankles, he took his shoes off and climbed in bed with me, taking me into his arms. I rested my face against his chest, breathing him in, his natural smell becoming my personal aroma therapy. For a long while we didn’t speak, but then he broke the silence.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why aren’t there any pictures of your father in this house?”
I wasn’t expecting him to ask that, but I quickly recovered. “My mom says it’s too painful for her.” My contempt dripped off of each word. “And besides, there’s nothing but a few pictures left of him. She hid them in the attic without telling me.”
“That’s odd,” he said. “You would think she’d want you to know everything about him.”
“You would think, but there’s very little she’s told me about him.” I paused. “At least I have a couple pictures of him I found. She doesn’t know I have them.” A part of me reveled in defying her, and in the fact I found something she didn’t want me to find. I mean, seriously, she was in the wrong, and I didn’t feel one bit bad about it.
“Do you think there’s more stuff of his she’s hiding?” He paused. “And what about his family?” he wondered aloud. “Don’t you have contact with them?”
“My father grew up in foster homes in Phoenix. He met my mom at ASU. That’s all I know, and I’ve already searched this house and found nothing else.”
“Have you tried talking to your mom’s family about him?”
“My mom is an only child. Her mother died when she was a teenager, which devastated her and her father. My grandfather became an alcoholic and was unbearable to be around. Mom left as soon as she could and never turned back. He never even met my father … or me for that matter. And to be honest, we don’t even know if he’s still alive. He said some horrible things to her that still makes her cry, and I’ve learned not to bring him up in conversation.”
Inside myself were empty holes. Whenever I saw kids with their grandparents or thought of what could’ve been, those holes ached, like they hurt now as I spoke to Nathan about my grandfather.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know this is difficult for you to talk about. I wouldn’t have brought it up if there wasn’t a reason behind it.”
“What’s your reason?” Pain clawed through my stomach, but I bit down on my tongue, not wanting to distract him from what he was about to say.
“Before I tell you. How did your father die?”
“We lived in Phoenix. He was found dead in an abandoned warehouse. Apparently he fell off of a scaffold and broke his neck.”
“What did your father do for a living?”
“He was a contractor.”
“Were there any witnesses?”
“No, not to my knowledge. Some kids found him the next morning. Their dog led them to him.”
Nathan didn’t respond. I propped myself on the pillow, still feeling like crap but not caring. I could tell he was debating something, making me more curious by the second. “What is it?”
His face turned somber. “I’m sorry. I should have waited to talk to you about this, but I sense an urgency.” He took a deep breath. “I think your father was murdered.”
Instantly, everything in the room warped around me, and a zinging noise filled my head. For years I’d secretly pondered this very issue, but never came up with a motive. I even planned on going to Phoenix after graduation to check it out. This of course was before I met Nathan.
But nobody knew about it. I would’ve told Carrie, but if he was murdered, I didn’t want her involved. So I kept it to myself. Now, Nathan brought this very idea to the surface, shocking me into a mixed state of relief and anxiety.
“Wh-why would you think that?” I stammered.
He shrugged. “It’s a gut feeling, and I think we should check into it. Maybe search this house again.”
Without a word, I settled back into his arms, mentally thanking the universe for bringing him to me. Because all my life I’d been alone, but now I had Nathan, my personal guide, carrying a torch and leading the way through the dark caverns of my untouched world.
Feeling cold all of a sudden, I pulled the covers tighter around me. Nathan hugged me closer and placed his hand on my forehead. I could tell the fever was coming back from the heat creeping up my neck, but I didn’t want him to move.
“You’re starting to feel warm again. Maybe I should get up and–”
I placed my finger over his lips. “Not now. Stay.” I draped my leg over him to emphasize what I wanted.
He kissed my finger and reached to turn the light off, upsetting my comfortable position. But before I could complain, he arranged me back as before. I sighed in contentment and closed my eyes.
Beyond the Eyes: YA Paranormal Romance Page 22