Expiration Date

by Kristin Coley

I jerked away, my heart thundering as I immediately tugged on my shirt, making sure no skin was exposed.

  A guy laughed, tipping his red cup at me. “Hey, baby, what’s the problem? I just want to get to know you.”

  I shook my head, unable to speak as I stumbled away from him, my heart beating too fast, and suddenly doubting myself. He’d taken me by surprise, but his touch had instantly sent panic rocketing through me. I looped around the keg, avoiding the laughing partygoers as they danced and flirted, exchanging touches with ease.

  I closed my eyes to block the sight, angry at myself for thinking for a minute that I could fit in here, to pretend to be normal for even one night.

  “Watch out,” someone cried, the warning coming a second too late as my foot hit the edge of a stack of logs, my body pitching forward. My eyes opened in time to see the roaring fire in front of me, directly where my body was headed. The inane thought ran through my mind, at least I won’t die tonight.

  A body slammed into mine, hands wrapped around my torso as I went sideways instead of forward, and we hit the ground hard, my rescuer rolling to take the brunt of the fall.

  “You okay?” I heard, feeling a chest heave underneath me, but I couldn’t answer. The air had been knocked out of me and it was all I could do to try and catch my breath.

  Large hands lifted me upright as he said, “Tiny breaths. It’ll come back. Worst feeling in the world.” He met my gaze, demonstrating as he took shallow breaths. “Watch me,” he coached. “In…and out.”

  The inability to breath took second stage as I felt his warm hand on my face, calloused fingers holding my head steady as he tried to help me. I closed my eyes as I absorbed the extraordinary sensation of his touch, not realizing a tear had slipped down my cheek.

  “Hey, no crying on my team,” he teased softly, his thumb brushing the stray tear away. “You’re tougher than that. You handled that tackle like a pro.”

  My eyes blinked open at his words and my lips curled up. “There it is,” he murmured as my chest rose and fell in rhythm to his own. “I knew you were tough.”

  “Joy,” I heard Hope cry out, running toward us. “I saw,” she wheezed, her eyes panicked as she slapped a hand over her chest, bending her knees as she gasped for breath. “Geez, I think my own life flashed before my eyes.”

  “I’m fine,” I dismissed, forcing a smile as Brandon Hall’s hand slipped from my face as he stood up. He reached down to assist me, taking my gloved hand like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  “I’m glad you’re fine,” he mentioned, ducking his head to catch my eye. “I hit you pretty hard.”

  “Better that than the fire,” Amber commented as she strolled up. “I thought you were a goner.”

  “Trust me, that’s not the way I die,” I assured them, slowly backing away from Brandon as my hand slid from his.

  “Yeah, but it would hurt,” Hope stated, her expression grim and I nodded wearily, knowing exactly what it felt like to die by fire. “I think we should go.”

  “Good idea,” Amber seconded, making a sweeping motion. “This evening has been a bust.” She gave me a severe look, and my respect for her went up a notch. She was loyal to Hope and didn’t appreciate me interfering with Hope’s shot at Brandon.

  “Wait, Joy,” he paused awkwardly, “It is Joy, right?” I nodded, hesitating, and he rushed to continue. “I’m Brandon. I, uh, I owe you a drink at least for that tackle.”

  I shook my head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear as he tracked the motion with his eyes. “I think it’s the other way around,” I countered and his eyes swept to mine. “I owe you a drink for saving my life.”

  A relieved smile broke over his face. “Then it’s settled, we’ll get drinks together.”

  Hope cleared her throat, reminding us she was there, her gaze curious, and I gave a subtle shake of my head.

  I couldn’t explain, I wasn’t sure I understood, but I needed to stay.

  She frowned, tapping her wrist. “Remember, we’re supposed to meet Houston?”

  “You know Houston?” Brandon asked with a flash of white teeth as his smile widened. “The new guy?”

  “He’s my brother,” I explained, not thinking.

  “Small world. Older? Younger?”

  “Same age actually,” I answered, twisting my fingers together, my hands feeling trapped inside the protective gloves for the first time in my memory.

  “Joy.” Hope’s voice held a warning. “We don’t want to be late.”

  “Twins! How cool,” Brandon commented, sounding genuinely interested. “Why don’t you have Houston meet you here?”

  I shook my head. “I’m adopted and we’re supposed to meet my family so I really should go.”

  “Will I see you again?” His eyebrows dipped over the darkest blue eyes I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t stop myself from nodding yes. “Good,” he responded, his head bobbing too. “I owe you a drink.” His fingers grazed my cheek and Hope hurriedly yanked me back. I smiled appreciatively at her attempt to rescue me, as Brandon waved goodbye.

  Hope spared a second to look around for Amber, but when she saw her talking to some guy in a hoodie, she steered us to the car. “Probably fresh meat,” she mumbled as we got in the car. “Amber goes through guys faster than my Dad goes through a case of beer.”

  It wasn’t the first time she’d mentioned her Dad and alcohol and I was starting to wonder if he had a problem.

  “Well, what’s Brandon’s damage? Gunshot? Car accident? Trampled by a horse?” I shook my head, not sure if I should be amused by her guesses or terrified by the truth. “Either way, I’m really glad he was there to save you.” Hope cast a sidelong glance at me. “We both know you weren’t going to die, but burns on top of gunshot wounds would have sucked.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured, touched by the genuine emotion I heard in her voice in spite of the joking words. My fingers went to the spot where Brandon had touched me, his bare fingers stroking my cheek.

  “His expiration date is the same. So, I hope knowing how he’s going to die will narrow down the possibilities, otherwise we’ll have to wind up stalking him,” Hope babbled, giving away her nerves. Saving people was new territory and we both felt the weight of what failure would mean for us.

  “Yeah,” I said slowly, trying to formulate my thoughts as I tried to explain something that had never happened to me. “I don’t know how he’s going to die.”

  “Huh?” Hope stared at me a beat too long and I had to yell as we came to a stop sign. Brakes squealed as she stomped on them, the car rocking as we came to a halt. “What do you mean you don’t know?” This time her entire head swung toward me as we sat at the stop sign. “I saw him touch you. Twice.”

  I nodded, both instances etched into my memory. “He did,” I agreed.

  “So, what you need to touch him with your hand? Touch him longer, maybe?” Hope grasped at straws and I shook my head. A horn honked behind us and she eased off the brake, rolling through the four way. “Joy, I’m gonna need you to explain.”

  “That’s the thing,” I chewed on my bottom lip, staring straight ahead as we drove down the dark road. “I have no idea what happened. For the first time in my life, someone touched me and I didn’t experience their death.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Joy

  I climbed the stairs carefully, avoiding the two steps that squeaked, releasing a sigh as I slipped into my room without being caught.

  “Where have you been?” The quiet voice startled me and I whirled around, my heart pumping as Houston stared at me accusingly. “Joy, are you okay? Do you know how worried I’ve been? I almost told Mom and Dad so we could search for you.”

  “You didn’t?” He shook his head and I took my first deep breath since he’d spoken. “I was out with Hope,” I admitted and shock creased his face. “She’s –” I paused, working up my courage. “I think she’s my sister.”

  “Hope,” Houston stopped, seemingly at a loss for word
s. “I never thought you cared about finding your birth family.” He stared at me in confusion, and I could see a little bit of hurt mixed in there too.

  “I didn’t,” I acknowledged. “But when I saw Hope, I knew.” I went to the side of my bed, sinking down as exhaustion settled though me. “We’re related. Maybe it’s not sisters, but we’re the same.”

  Houston scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think.” His gaze came up. “I’ve never heard you speak this much.”

  “I’m not autistic, Houston,” I confessed, cringing slightly.

  “I know,” he replied, lifting one shoulder as this time I stared at him in shock. “I think we all knew you weren’t autistic. It was just the easiest way to explain your differences.” Awareness dawned on his face, and he murmured, “Different like Hope.”

  “Not exactly like Hope,” I murmured.

  “She wrote the exact time of Gramp’s death on the calendar.” Houston shook his head. “No one can know when someone will die. It’s not possible.” His eyes pleaded with me to agree but I stayed silent. “Joy, where did you go tonight?”

  “To a party.”

  “To a party,” he repeated. “With Hope.”

  I nodded, “And some girl named Amber.”

  He laughed under his breath, the sound anything but amused. “And what did you do at the party?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  He blew out a breath. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I’m not sure I can handle any more surprises tonight.” I remained silent, waiting for him to decide. “Just tell me what you were doing didn’t have anything to do with Brandon Hall.” My eyes widened and he groaned. “What is the deal with that guy? Hope thinks he’s some type of victim, but she refuses to explain why,” he growled bitterly and my eyebrows lifted.

  “Refuses to explain or you refuse to believe?” I questioned, meeting his stare. “She’s trying to save him. We both are.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what I believe,” he muttered finally.

  “I’m tired, Houston.” My hands dropped into my lap and he took the hint, standing up. “Goodnight.”

  He moved to the door, stopping by my side, and I stared up at him. His hand came toward me and I flinched automatically. “Maybe one day you’ll explain that,” he murmured, walking out and closing the door gently behind him.

  ***

  I woke up with an itchy feeling, as if my skin was too tight, and the persistent thought that we were running out of time buzzed in my head. Not for the first time, I wondered how Hope dealt with the constant presence of time. She described it as a countdown, a sense of knowing, but I was positive it would drive me mad. It would be like constantly reliving someone’s death, and I couldn’t stop a shudder at the thought.

  “Joy,” Mom called, tapping on my door. “You want some breakfast?”

  I cleared my throat. “Yes,” I answered adding a belated, “Please.”

  “Okay, come downstairs when you’re ready.” I nodded even though she couldn’t see it through the door and heard her go back down the stairs, hitting the squeaky tread. I dressed quickly, only pausing when I came to the gloves in my drawer. My hand hovered over them as I wondered what it would be like to not have to wear them. To live with someone, to touch them, and not experience their death every time.

  Yesterday, I would have scoffed at the impossibility of the thought. Today, the yearning for it was a physical ache, almost crushing in its pain as I considered the actual, tangible possibility of it.

  My fingers shook as I tugged on the long leather gloves, my only protection against the madness. It wasn’t enough I had to live someone’s death, I also felt every second of their pain as if it were my own. Times that by a thousand and I was still in awe at my own ability to function.

  I glanced in the mirror, touching the collar of my turtleneck, a necessity even during the scorching summer months. My gloved fingers skimmed over my cheek, a poor imitation of Brandon’s surprising touch. I desperately wanted to see him again, to see if it had been real, and if so, to feel his touch again.

  A touch without pain.

  Without heartache.

  I lowered my hand, wondering if I was just setting myself up for even greater agony by pursing this. “A man with hope will know joy and keep mercy,” I murmured to myself, the words a familiar mantra. I couldn’t live without the hope that it would be better, that somehow I could find joy in my own life, and eventually live up to the promise of my name.

  I headed down the stairs, automatically skipping the squeaky steps, and walked silently into the kitchen. “Can I help?” I offered and Mom jumped sky high.

  “Oh! You scared ten years from me,” she gasped, shaking the spoon she held at me. “I’m going to put a bell around your neck.” I smiled at the often made threat. “You can set the table.” She gave me a pained smile. “Gramps is still sleeping. I think last night took more out of him than he thought it would.”

  I nodded, hesitating as I picked up the stack of plates. “I’m sorry I didn’t go out with you last night.”

  “Oh, Joy,” Mom raised her hand, about to brush the hair from my cheek when she froze, curling her fingers in as I leaned back. “I forget,” she shook her head, closing her eyes briefly. “All these years and I still forget.” Her gaze met mine and for the first time, I noticed there was guilt in her eyes. “You don’t need to be sorry, Joy. There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she said, a note of self-recrimination in her voice. “We all understand.”

  I opened my mouth, wanting to tell her, “No, you don’t understand,” but Houston ambled in asking what was for breakfast.

  After we all sat down, Dad said grace, and for the millionth time I wondered if there was a God, and if there was, why He condemned me to have this gift. There was no answer, and I ate quickly, content to listen as they chatted about their plans for the week. Everyone had grown accustomed to my silence so when I spoke their surprise was palpable.

  “I want to go to high school.”

  Or maybe it was what I said that rendered them mute.

  “I want to go to school with Houston.”

  Still no one spoke and I held in a sigh, knowing they needed time to process what I said.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” Dad was the first to speak and I could see the concern in his eyes. He truly cared about me, accepting my quirks fully, and I knew it was only his love for me that made him ask.

  “No,” Mom answered swiftly. “It’s not a good idea.” She squeezed the napkin in her hand as if she was trying to ring the life from it. “It’s too dangerous.” My gaze flicked to her wondering why she assumed it would be dangerous. “You could be overwhelmed,” she replied, lifting her chin. “You might collapse.” Everything she said was reasonable but I couldn’t help feeling there was more to it.

  The only one who hadn’t spoken was Houston and I couldn’t stop my gaze from straying to him. He stared down at the table, ignoring us. “Houston, son, what do you think?” Dad prodded, clearly on the fence as Mom crossed her arms, staunchly against my idea.

  “I think it’s her life and she should do what she wants,” Houston answered, not sparing me a glance as he left the kitchen.

  “No,” Mom repeated, shaking her head as her food sat in front of her, uneaten.

  “Miranda,” Dad coaxed and I took the opportunity to escape, leaving him to convince her. My phone dinged and I fumbled with it, surprised to see a text message.

  It was from Hope and my mouth pinched as I read it. Maybe you lost your gift?

  I typed back - Maybe, but you can’t see Houston’s date.

  Can you test? She responded.

  I groaned, leaning against the wall as I typed a reply. I’d rather not.

  We need to be sure.

  I let out an exasperated sigh, typing rapidly. It won’t make any difference.

  It will to you.

  I couldn’t exactly argue her point so
I pocketed my phone and headed for Gramps’ room. I would have asked Houston, except now, it would raise all kinds of questions he wasn’t ready to know the answers to.

  I made sure no one saw me slip into Gramps’ room, softly shutting his door behind me. I glanced at the calendar where everyone had put their guesses, seeing Hope’s time and date boldly written in ink. I’d went with a random day, knowing Hope was undoubtedly right.

  My feet whispered across the floor as I went to the bed where he slept. I started to tug my glove off, but paused as I considered the possibility that maybe I did have to touch someone with my hand to feel their death. I left the glove on and raised Gramps’ hand to my face. “Here goes nothing,” I murmured, pressing his palm to my cheek.

  Pain radiated through me, barely dulled by the drugs being pumped through my body. My throat burned and I was tired, so tired. Each breath sapped a little more of my energy, leaving me unable to even open my eyes. My heart thumped, then skipped, the next thump coming slower and I welcomed the last beat, ready to see my Anna.

  I lowered his hand from my face, blinking back tears as he continued to sleep. I settled his arm on the bed, fussing with the cover, as I took deep breaths, trying to release the memory of his death.

  Finally, I managed to stand and make my way from the room, ignoring the phantom pain that lingered. When I stepped from the room, I almost ran into Dad.

  “You alright, honey?” He asked, his hand hovering by my shoulder and I realized I was hunched over. I straightened up, my back making a cracking sound, as I forced myself to smile reassuringly.

  “I’m fine, just sitting with Gramps,” I replied, closing the door behind me. “I feel guilty for missing dinner last night,” I confessed and he gave me a thoughtful look.

  “Guilt is an emotion that tells us next time we need to make a different choice,” he advised, lowering his hand without touching me. Clothing acted as a barrier for my affliction, but years of conditioning had created a difficult habit to break. “I convinced your mom.”

  My mouth dropped open, “Already?” Shock was replaced by a tingle of anticipation as I considered seeing Brandon again. It seemed too good to be true and I glanced at him expectantly, knowing there was more coming.