Siren's Song

by Heather McCollum

We park the motorcycle in his garage. He calls to his mom that he’s walking me home and we head out into the sun. But he suddenly pulls me behind the tall evergreen next to the garage and kisses me. “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he says and smiles. I laugh and kiss him back. It takes me only seconds to realize the hold he has on my upper arm is too tight.

  I surface out of the kiss. “Ouch.” I look where his fingers are digging into my skin.

  Luke jumps back. I cover my arm with my other hand. I have a zip-up jacket on over a strappy, sleeveless shirt.

  “Cac!” Luke curses.

  “It’s okay, really,” I say. “Let’s go.”

  I try to catch Luke’s fisted hand, but he slides up the sleeve of my jacket and gently turns my arm. Four fingertipsized red marks sit on my skin, ready to turn into bruises. I don’t need to turn it over to know the thumb mark will be on the underside.

  “God, Jule.” Two words, but filled with infinite emotion. Regret, anger, desperation, and even fear.

  “It’s okay, Luke.” I yank the jacket back down my arm and grab his hand. We walk out from behind the bush and start down the street. He doesn’t say anything, but takes my backpack and swings it over his other shoulder. We look out toward my house, but I’m not really seeing anything. “Is it…getting harder?”

  He exhales. “Yes…no…I don’t know. Sometimes it’s easy and then…I smell you or taste you or you laugh and I love you even more. Then it…leaks out of me, steers me. My hands…” He flexes his left hand in front of him. “It’s like I can crush anything if I don’t pay attention.”

  I place my other hand on top of our clasped hands. “Okay, so I have to stop wearing deodorant and brushing my teeth. Got it.” He doesn’t laugh. We walk on a ways before I glance up at my driveway. I stumble.

  “Oh, God,” I whisper.

  “Whose car is that?” Luke asks and jogs after me as I run up the street.

  Patricia Ashe’s car sits prominently in front of the walkway. I burst in through the front door. “Mom?!”

  “In here, Julietta,” Mom calls from the kitchen. I run from the foyer into the living room and smack into…Eric Ashe. My stomach drops. His hands catch me by the upper arms. I flinch as he grips the same spot Luke bruised.

  “Get your hands off her,” Luke says softly from behind me. I step back and into Luke’s chest.

  Eric raises one eyebrow and stares at Luke. “Sorry, Jule. Didn’t mean to block your path.”

  I dodge around Eric and into the kitchen. Patricia Ashe is pouring tea from Mom’s blue china teapot where they sit at the kitchen table, the sun shining in. Dad’s leaning against the entrance to the back hall, eating a big bite of chocolate cake.

  “Mom?” I ask as I run up to her. She stands and wraps me in a hug. I cling to her fiercely while she laughs a little. Her voice is happy, like usual, like before… “Is everything okay?” I whisper near her ear.

  She pulls back and smiles with a little nod. “Things are good. Patricia and I were just talking about my snooping problem.”

  Snooping problem?!

  Patricia laughs behind me. “Would you like some chocolate cake, Jule?” she asks and places a piece on the table next to my mom. “And your friend, here?”

  Mom turns to Luke, who has made it past Eric and now stands in the kitchen doorway. I see Eric looming behind him in the living room, wearing a scowl so fierce it makes me shiver.

  “Uh, this is Luke Whitmore.” Luke smiles and steps forward to shake Mom’s hand. He meets Dad’s gaze and nods. “His family moved here from Boston. His dad’s the new assistant coach of the Carolina Blizzards.”

  “Oh, yes,” Patricia says. “Your parents are wonderful. I sold them the house down the street.” She looks at me. “I didn’t know you two were…dating?”

  “Technically, we haven’t been on a date yet,” Luke says.

  “Wasn’t that a date when I caught you two in the dark at the country club the night your Dad couldn’t find you?” Eric’s voice comes from behind me. “Or when he took you for a race on his motorcycle the other day? You had tattoos the other day.” Shit! Stop talking! Eric ignores my internal screaming. “Where are they now?”

  Crap! Shit! Cac! Whatever that means. Not only are the Ashes here, but now my fragile mom has to find out from my psycho-stalker that I’ve been riding motorcycles and hanging out with Luke in the dark.

  Luke pulls up one of his sleeves to the shoulder and turns his arm. “I let my little brother draw some dragons on my arms that day,” Luke says casually. “They wash right off. I wouldn’t get something like that for real on my arms.” He laughs. Luke turns back to my parents. I’m still too in shock to say anything. “We were having dinner with my parents at the country club the night Eric ran into us. I was just about to take Jule home so she wouldn’t miss her curfew.”

  Silence stuffs the room for a second. I guess silence is better than screaming. Mom catches the last bite of her chocolate cake on her fork. “It sounds like you’ve been having some adventures while I’ve been away, Julietta.” She looks at me and a sparkle in her eyes lets me breathe. She’s trying very hard not to laugh.

  “We’ll talk about the motorcycle later,” Dad says, frowning over his fork.

  “Have some chocolate cake.” Patricia insists. “It’s my specialty.”

  “No, thank you,” I manage to say. I feel Luke at my back. He doesn’t touch me, per se, but his chest brushes against my hair. With him here I feel like I can handle anything. “Uh, what snooping problem?”

  Mom lays her hand on mine and steers me to one of the chairs at the table. Patricia pushes a piece of cake and fork toward me. She mouths just in case. But my stomach is clenched so tight it’s a wonder I’m not yarking, to use Matt’s favorite verb.

  “Carissima,” Mom says. “I don’t know what I was so upset about. I think I must have been headed toward a breakdown, but when I came upon Patricia’s scrapbooking closet in the den and saw all those pictures…” Mom shakes her head and laughs. “I just jumped to the most bizarre ideas.”

  “I should have just told you about the heritage scrapbook I was doing for you,” Patricia says and pours herself some tea. “I just found all these amazing pictures of your ancestors when I joined that Scottish society, and I know you love looking into your family history. I thought it would make a fantastic Christmas gift.”

  “Closet?”

  “Richard cleared out the old storage closet in the den, under the stairs, so I could set up all my scrapbooking paraphernalia. Now I can leave it out and then just shut the door when I’m done working on it for the night.”

  “I’m really so embarrassed,” Mom says and squeezes my hand. “To think I thought…”

  “Don’t worry about it, Isabella,” Patricia says. “I’m just glad I got a chance to explain. That place you were at wouldn’t let me talk to you.” Patricia frowns over her teacup. “I mean, we’re like sisters, even if it’s not by blood.”

  I stare numbly at the scene while Luke’s hands rest lightly on my shoulders. Dad smiles, relief evident on his face. Was it all a mistake? Just like that? No psycho-stalker to worry about? Pictures of the Ashes back in the various frames around the house? Could life really just go back to normal? I stare at Patricia. Could she be in on this, whatever this is? I blink. No. She’s been like a second mom all my life. God, I wonder again if paranoia is contagious.

  I reach for the fork, but Luke beats me to it. “I just love cake,” he says and scoops up the plate. He sits down next to me and sets the plate on the edge of the table. It tips and falls to the floor with a ringing sound as the plate wobbles in a spiral on the linoleum. Mica runs for it, but Luke scoops the mess up in his hands.

  “Shoot, I’m so sorry,” he says. “No chocolate for you, Mica.” He walks over to the trash.

  “Nothing broke,” Mom says. “I’ll cut you another piece. Patricia brought a whole cake.” She smiles at Carly’s mom. “Trying to plump me up?”

  “Max mentio
ned something about needing to keep you fed.”

  Luke runs his hands under the faucet. “Actually, now that I think about it, my mom’s making a big dinner tonight. I’d better not.”

  Eric continues to watch the scene from the doorway into the living room. His gaze scans between Luke and me.

  “Speaking of new friends,” I look directly at Eric, “Carly mentioned that Eric is seeing someone named Angie?”

  Patricia’s lips tighten on the edge of her teacup. Eric’s gaze goes directly to his mom. “Um, Angie’s just a lab partner in microbiology this semester. We text each other a lot.”

  “Maybe we could double-date sometime,” Luke says with an amazing amount of sincerity.

  “Angie and I don’t date,” Eric reaffirms.

  Luke shrugs and turns back to me. “I’d better go, Jule. I don’t want to intrude on your first evening with your mom back home.” God, he’s good! Polite society etiquette, which Patricia Ashe follows to the letter, dictates that she pack her creepy son up and go home, too, after that reminder.

  “Yes,” she says and sighs, reaching for Mom’s hand. “We’d better leave you three alone, too. We’ll get together soon, though. And I’ll bring the pictures I found.”

  Mom waves her other hand. “Oh, I can wait until the album is finished, Patricia.”

  “I’ll be right back, Mom,” I say, and follow Luke out of the kitchen. Eric stands aside, but the look that passes between him and Luke is downright vicious, like two alpha dogs ready to battle. The stare is so sharp it slices off my breath as I walk between them.

  “Bye again,” Luke calls back to my parents. “My parents would love to meet you soon.”

  “That would be great,” Dad nods back.

  Luke leads me out the front door onto the porch. I sit on the porch swing. Luke sits with his body between me and the door. He throws his arm across my shoulders on the back of the swing. It looks very casual, but I can feel the muscles in his arm and shoulder tensing.

  “Something’s not right,” he whispers.

  “Besides Eric wanting to rip you apart?”

  Patricia and Eric walk out the door. My mom hugs her across the threshold. She leans out. “Dinner in fifteen minutes, okay?”

  “Okay, Mom.” I wave to Carly’s mom and ignore Eric. We watch them turn around and roll out of the driveway.

  “So…” I say. “That was…interesting.”

  “Don’t eat the cake,” Luke says. “There’s something in it or on it. I’m not sure, but I smelled something similar to one of Taylin’s concoctions.”

  “What?! Should I stop Mom and Dad from—?”

  “They already had some before we got here. I’m guessing it’s something that relaxes defenses.”

  “How? Why?” I shake my head. “Do you think Eric is still trying to do something? Patricia seemed strange, too. Do you think she suspects Eric?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s definitely keeping track of you.” Luke turns to me. “And he makes you nervous, really nervous.” I stare at Luke’s hard face and blink. “Your heartrate skyrocketed when you bumped into him.” Luke glances around the porch at the lilac tree. “And his smell is still around the house.”

  “Psycho stalker,” I mumble.

  “You think he’s stalking you?” Even though Luke’s voice is low, the fury building like an invisible tornado is evident. “I’ll break him into pieces.”

  “Luke?” I hear the snapping of wood and see Luke’s hand around a three-inch thick limb of the lilac tree. “Luke! Stop!”

  “The pictures of your family,” he continues, though the cracking sound stops, “Were they mostly of you?”

  “I didn’t see them. My mom did. She said that there were pictures of her, too, and my grandmother, and others, real old pictures. I think they’re just part of that heritage album Eric’s mom is making for us.”

  Luke’s face is a mask of suspicion and barely contained anger. He nods slowly. “Then why the cake?”

  “Are you sure there’s something wrong with it?” I whisper and glance toward the door. Could Patricia have baked something into it?

  “Was your mom acting normal?”

  “I…guess. She seemed happy, like she used to.” But she’d been so sure that she’d stumbled upon something horrific before. Could one conversation with her friend clear up everything? “There wasn’t any suspicion in her eyes.”

  “If you get me a piece, I’ll have Taylin analyze it.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I just might have a word with psycho-stalker boy.”

  “Don’t do anything,” I plead. “He’s Carly’s brother. We kind of grew up together. I think he just has a crush on me or something. If he’s not taking pictures of me—”

  “But he’s been hanging around your house, and he’s been watching us, if he saw you on my bike.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I exhale. “But I should say something to Carly first.”

  “Lock your doors at night. I’ll keep watch, too.”

  “You need to sleep.”

  “Actually…not that much. My system’s a bit revved these days. I think it has to do with the curse.”

  “Great, now I’m also causing insomnia.”

  Luke gives me the lopsided grin that makes heat flush up into my neck and cheeks. “I’ll get you a piece of cake to take home for dessert,” I say and leap up before I give in to the electricity that jumps between us spontaneously.

  I return with the cake. Luke’s standing, looking out toward his house. He doesn’t look at me. “How is your arm?”

  “Oh, um, I totally forgot about that. It’s fine.” And it really is. “It doesn’t hurt or anything.”

  “Good.” He turns to me. Some dark emotion lurks there. Guilt? “I’m really sorry—”

  I cut him off. “I know.” I smile and hand him the cake. “Let me know if Taylin says it’s okay. I don’t know how much longer I can resist it under my roof.”

  He takes the cake, but hovers over me for a moment without touching me. I look up and he brushes his lips against mine. “I’ve never met someone like you, Julietta Welsh.”

  “Someone who can sing and make you go berserk?” I laugh a little. “I guess not.”

  “No,” he says still serious. “Someone brave, strong, together.”

  “You so can’t read minds, can you?” I shake my head and raise my eyebrows in a look of serenity. “Inside, I’m screaming.”

  He chuckles and brushes my lips with another kiss. “The bravest warriors scream inside while they fight for what is right.” He cups my face with one palm, so gently I really only feel the warmth without the pressure. “Courageous spirit. So beautiful.”

  Instead of leaning into me like I’m expecting, he steps back stiffly at the same time I hear the cake plate crack. He holds the cake and bits of broken ceramic in his other hand.

  “Oh my God, Luke, are you…?”

  “I’m fine.” He shakes himself a bit. His mouth clenches shut as if he’s trying to control himself. Guilt throbs in me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I murmur and notice the blood mixing with the cake in his hand. I reach out to touch it but he turns.

  “No reason to be sorry, Jule. I’d better go, though. Taylin can still use this. Sorry about the plate.”

  He jumps off the end of the porch and walks briskly across the street into his subdivision.

  I hear the door open behind me. “Julietta,” Mom calls.

  “Yeah, I’m coming.” I tear my eyes away from Luke’s back and jog over to her and into her open arms. “God, I’m so glad you’re home,” I whisper against her. She hugs me fiercely. I breathe into her hair, inhaling her Mom-smell I’ve known forever.

  “Me, too,” she says, hugging back. She looks over my shoulder. “He’s quite a hunk.”

  I turn. Mom waves as Luke stares back at us. He raises his uncut hand and jogs on to his house.

  “But I don’t like the idea of a motorcycle,” she continues. She sounds just like the
mom I remember.

  “He’s taken all sorts of safety lessons. His mom told me.”

  “Oh, really. Hmmmm…we’ll talk about it later. I think I need to meet his mom.”

  I squeeze her harder and she laughs. She kisses the top of my head. “And…you’re sure everything is okay now? With the Ashes?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I can’t believe that I jumped to such paranoid ideas.” She pulls back and shakes her head. “Patricia’s been my best friend since before you were born.”

  “So, it’s okay for me to sing then, in public?”

  I feel Mom’s arms tighten around me, but it’s more of a hold-on-for-dear-life type of grip instead of a comforting hug. I look up at her face. She blinks several times, a frown over her forehead. “We didn’t talk about the singing,” she murmurs. “I don’t know.” She looks worried. Oh God, is she freaking out again?

  “Mom, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. You were upset because a lot of the pictures were of us singing. So if you’re okay with the pictures, you’re okay with the singing.” I force a normal-ish smile. “Everything’s solved.”

  Mom’s forehead smoothes. “That’s right.” She shakes her head as if trying to clear it. “I don’t know why my body keeps leaping into panic.” She sighs heavily. “Don’t mention it to Dad. He’s…well, I’ve put him through a lot these last few months. Both of you.”

  “It’s okay, Mom.”

  “Julietta,” Dad calls, his head poking around the door. “Carly wants you to call her back.” He holds up my cell that I left in the house. His face pinches into humorous confusion. “She sounded real strange. Didn’t want to hold on. Actually, I think she hung up on me.” He chuckles and shakes his head.

  I step out of Mom’s arms toward the phone. “Is she at home? What did she say?”

  He hands me the phone and shrugs. “Couldn’t get much out of her except that she wanted you to bring her some lip gloss.”

  14

  “The highest compact we can make with our fellow is– ‘Let there be truth between us two forevermore.’”

  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Lip gloss? Oh God!

  “Dad,” I try to speak casually but realize I’m failing as my voice hits two pitches higher than normal, “did she happen to mention what flavor or type of lip gloss?” What had we decided on for the “go for help” phrase? Was it raspberry iced or ice berry or strawberry? It was definitely strawberry. “Did she say iced-strawberry?” I punch in Carly’s cell number, but it rolls into her voice mail. Is she trying to call me?