A Gift of Grace

by Sarah Wynde

  “Enjoy your breakfast, Mr. Blake.” She slid the strap of her purse back over her shoulder. “And welcome to Tassamara.”

  4

  Noah

  Noah’s hallucinations were talking over one another again.

  “That’s your aunt?” Joe whistled.

  “Slow down, Tom. It’s not safe.”

  “She’s more like a big sister, really,” the new guy said. “She was eight when I was born. I grew up with her.”

  “All through the night…”

  Why was his subconscious inventing complicated relationships with the woman who’d just left? Big sister? That’s wasn’t how Noah had felt about her.

  Noah’s eyes fell on the map she’d drawn for him. Her handwriting was neat but angular, not loopy, and the map was straightforward. It would be easy to find the place, if he wanted to.

  He wasn’t sure he did.

  His hallucinations had latched onto Sylvie Blair’s invitation like an alcoholic with a bottle of Jack. They’d been obsessed, relentless, talking about it constantly, especially the newest one.

  He’d been curious, too, though. What had Sylvie Blair meant by a problem? Why had she told him to go to General Directions? He’d tried to investigate the company, but the name was so vague that it might as well not exist on the internet, with any relevant results buried somewhere in the midst of millions of maps.

  When he’d asked around, all he found were rumors, most of them ridiculous. Noah wasn’t gullible enough to believe in a top-secret government agency of super-powered psychics located in the middle of a national forest. He might be crazy, but he wasn’t that crazy.

  But if General Directions was a holding company — stocks, bonds, options — maybe he had his answer. His twin, Niall, worked on Wall Street. Maybe Sylvie Blair thought she recognized him. Maybe Niall was the one with the problem.

  Noah could call him. Tease his brother about attractive redheads hitting on him. Find out what his problem was. He knew the number, even though he hadn’t used it in awhile.

  Before Noah could decide on his next step, the waitress said, “Here you go,” and set a plate of food on the counter, next to the map and business card.

  “That’s the special?” Noah stared at it. Three waffles, streaked with the deep blue and purple of wild blueberries, were topped with a scoop of melting whipped butter. Next to them sat four slices of crispy, thick-cut bacon. The smells rising from the food — salty and sweet, sizzled fat and baked warmth — set his stomach rumbling, his mouth watering. “Blueberry waffles?”

  How long had it been since he’d last had a blueberry waffle? Not his last visit home, the one he’d cut short after two strained days. Not the visit before that, either. Christmas, though, whenever he’d last been home for the holidays.

  They always had blueberry waffles on Christmas.

  It had been years.

  “Bacon, too,” the waitress said cheerfully, sliding a pitcher of syrup over to him. “Guess you don’t have to worry about your cholesterol.” She didn’t wait for a response but moved off to one of the booths.

  “Man, those look tasty,” Joe said.

  “Ah, they make me wish for kahi. Kahi with geymar and honey.” The Arabic woman’s voice sounded wistful.

  Noah took a bite. The waffles were perfect. Light and crisp, with the tang of blueberries and a hint of vanilla. Abruptly he felt more cheerful. Maybe his long drive hadn’t been a total waste of time.

  “My mom never made waffles. Never. Sometimes my dad got the freezer kind, though.” The crying girl sniffled, then started to weep.

  “Come on, Sophia,” the little boy’s voice said. He sounded like he was coaxing her. Noah could almost imagine a small boy slipping a hand into that of a teenage girl. “Let’s go outside. It’s sunny out. You’ll like it. There are flowers.”

  “It’s not right. It’s not right.” The angry man’s voice faded away with the crying girl and the little boy.

  “We need your help, Rose.”

  “He’s dreamy.” The new girl’s voice sounded thoughtful, and like she was right in front of his face, leaning in, not a foot away. “He looks like he should be in an ad for cologne. Or maybe underwear.”

  Noah was not going to react. He was not. But he could feel color rising in his cheeks. He took another bite of waffle and chewed with determination, his eyes on his plate.

  “Does he hear us?” the new girl’s voice demanded. Rose. That was what the other one had called her. He might as well call her that, too.

  “Not really. He might be a little sensitive, though. We tried really hard to get him to come to Tassamara and he finally did.”

  “Why didn’t you just text him?”

  “That didn’t go so well.”

  Noah scowled, stabbing his fork into the waffle. His hallucinations were getting worse. More frequent — the voices were almost constant now. More intense — the crying and the sad singing would break his heart if he let them. More detailed — instead of words and phrases, brief snatches of conversation, it was like he was listening in on real people.

  And weirder. There had been strange texts and he’d worried about them.

  “He thought he’d sent the text to himself in a black-out,” Joe said. “He was afraid he was going crazy. The last thing we want is to end up trapped in some institution somewhere.”

  “Mysterious texts are apparently upsetting. Who knew?” The new boy’s voice was dry.

  The Rose voice said, “Your mom freaked out, too, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah, people don’t like getting texts from nowhere.”

  “Everything okay?”

  For a moment, Noah thought the words were still part of his hallucination, but the waitress was refilling his coffee. “Yeah, great,” he answered, not looking up.

  Hesitantly, the waitress said, “If you’re not loving those waffles, Maggie’ll make you something else. Maybe an omelette or…”

  Pulled back into reality, Noah raised his head and grinned at her.

  Her words stuttered to a halt.

  “Oh, my,” the Rose voice said. “That smile! He could charm the birds from the trees.”

  “They’re terrific.” Noah set his fork down, determined to pretend his hallucinations didn’t exist. “Best food I’ve eaten in I don’t know how long.”

  “Just like your mom makes, right?” the waitress asked, her answering smile wide with relief.

  “Better, I think. Don’t tell her I said so.”

  The waitress mimed zipping her lips. “Our secret.” She glanced down at the card and guest check Noah had pushed to the side of his plate. “General Directions?” she asked.

  “Yeah. You know the place?”

  “Sure, everyone does.” The waitress lifted one shoulder. “You picked the right seat, though.”

  “Oh? How’s that?” Noah paused with his refreshed coffee halfway to his mouth. The voices were still talking around him, but he focused on the waitress, trying to let the wash of hallucinated conversation flow over him as if the restaurant was still busy and bustling instead of quieting fast, the breakfast rush over.

  The waitress nodded toward the empty stool where Grace had been sitting. “She doesn’t act like a big shot, does she? But she runs the company. My cousin’s working out there now. She says their cafeteria’s not near as good as Maggie’s, but the pay’s good and they got benefits.”

  “The company?” Noah set his coffee down without taking a sip. His mind replayed the waitress’s words. Runs the company? The woman who’d been sitting next to him?

  “General Directions?” The waitress tapped the card. “This place? She’s, like, um, CEO or something. The boss. Used to be her mom but when Mrs. Latimer passed, Grace took over. She’s real nice.” The waitress put the coffee back on the burner and began bustling about behind the counter.

  Shit. What had he said to her exactly?

  “They all are,” the waitress continued. “All the Latimers. My grandma remembers when they mov
ed here and started the business. It was real little back then. They didn’t have the researchers or the government work, none of that stuff. Course I don’t remember that, I wasn’t even born yet.”

  “Government work?” Noah’s fingers jittered against the edge of the counter. She’d said it was a holding company. Stocks. Bonds. Boring stuff. What sort of government work would a holding company do?

  “Oh, yeah.” The waitress pulled out a textbook and a notebook from the shelf under the cash register and set it down on the counter in the space on the other side of him. “Not that anyone knows much about it.” She made an exaggerated wide-eyed face with a shrug and then relaxed into a normal expression as she added, “But once you get used to them, you can kinda tell. They wear suits. In Florida. In the summer.”

  It sounded like evidence to Noah.

  “So the Latimers—?” Noah prompted the waitress.

  “Real nice,” the waitress replied absently as she flipped open her book. “Max comes in most days. Sometimes he tries to tell Maggie what to make for him.” She shook her head. “Never a good idea.”

  Noah paused. Wasn’t that how restaurants worked? Customers ordered the food they wanted? But he was more curious about General Directions and the people who owned it. “Who’s Max?”

  “Oh, he started the company. Him and his wife. She’s gone now, though, so it’s just him and the others.” She leafed through the pages.

  “The others?”

  “The kids.” She shot him a smile. “Not that they’re kids. Grace is the youngest and you saw her, she’s all grown-up.”

  He had. She was. Grown-up and dishonest. Or at least misleading. Why hadn’t she told him she worked for the company he was asking about? Why had she claimed it was a holding company?

  “Lucas, he’s the oldest,” the waitress continued. She seemed to have lost interest in her book, pressing a page flat then ignoring it. “We don’t see him much. He travels a lot. I think he’s the one who mostly does the government work. And then there’s Doctor Nat. She’s in pretty often, more so now. She and the sheriff, they’re getting married and adopting kids. Five of them, can you imagine? They’re buying this big house out on one of the lakes. I hear it’s got a movie theater inside it.”

  “Then there’s Zane. He just got married this past weekend. Real nice wedding.” Her lips pursed into a smothered smile. “The bride… well, I shouldn’t say that. Poor Akira.”

  “Akira?” Noah’s tone sharpened. Grace had claimed not to know anyone named Akira. Another lie?

  “Yeah, she and Zane got married this weekend. She’s a scientist. Some kind of physicist, I think.”

  “Akira’s a scientist? And a woman?” Noah blinked.

  “Uh-huh.” The waitress gave Noah a curious glance, before flipping open her notebook and pulling out a pencil. “It wasn’t like a shotgun wedding or anything, y’know, but they’re gonna have a baby real soon now. And poor Akira’s been real sick.”

  The waitress glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen, then leaned in toward Noah. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but it’s not like everyone in town doesn’t know already anyway. She threw up. On the minister. When they were cutting the cake. I can’t believe nobody caught it on video. It would’ve gone viral, put Tassamara on the map. We could’ve been famous.”

  She tapped her pencil against her mouth and added thoughtfully, “Although I guess that’s kind of a crap reason to be famous. And Akira wouldn’t have liked it much.”

  “Order up, Em,” came a sharp call from the kitchen.

  The waitress glanced over her shoulder. “Oops, forgot about that one.” She gestured at her books in explanation. “Chem test coming up. Maggie swears learning chemistry will make me a better cook. I’m not so sure, but she doesn’t mind if I study when we’re slow.” Leaving her book and notebook where they were, she disappeared into the back.

  Noah picked up a slice of bacon and bit into it with a crunch, ignoring the chatter of his hallucinations, stewing in his own thoughts.

  Grace Latimer had lied to him.

  She’d told him General Directions was a holding company. She didn’t mention the mysterious government work. Or the research.

  She’d said she didn’t know anyone named Akira. According to the waitress, Akira would be, what, her sister-in-law? Not exactly a stranger.

  Why had she lied?

  And what was she hiding?

  Noah wanted to storm into General Directions and demand answers from her. What were they up to?

  Paranoid scenarios were swirling around his mind. The rumors he’d heard about psychics were nonsense, of course. Extrasensory powers were a fantasy concocted by the fertile imaginations of the same Victorians who’d turned Atlantis into a mystical advanced civilization.

  But technology was another story.

  Ten years ago, he’d died. Only for a couple of minutes, but the coma afterward lasted for days and no one had expected him to survive. Ever since then, he’d been hearing voices. Weird voices. Impossible voices.

  Had someone decided that a dying soldier was a good subject for experimental surgery? Maybe they’d implanted something in his brain. A transmitter of some kind. Or maybe the first element of a neural communications network. Was he an early stage in an experiment gone unexpectedly wrong when he survived?

  The idea that the government — his government, the government he’d served, the government for which he’d almost given his life — would treat him like a useful lab rat was… not quite unthinkable. He could grant the idea the faintest sliver of possibility.

  But no. The idea was ludicrous. Delusional, almost.

  Still, why had Grace Latimer lied to him? Who was Akira and why had his hallucinations locked on to her name like a guided missile?

  He paid his bill, leaving a generous tip for the helpful waitress, and left the restaurant. Outside, he paused by the door, blinking from the bright sunlight. The coffee hadn’t done enough. He was awake, but still tired. It felt like his brain was running in circles. If the company had secrets, demanding answers was no way to discover them. He needed a better strategy.

  “Slow down. You’re driving too fast.”

  ”Do you feel the pull, Rose?”

  “Nope, but I’ll come along anyway.”

  “What makes you different?”

  “Good morning.” The unfamiliar male voice sounded cheerful. Noah glanced to the side, at the stranger approaching him, and automatically stepped away from the door.

  “Oh.” The man stopped, his expression startled. “Oh. You.”

  Noah paused. “Do I know you?”

  The man was older, dark hair sprinkled with silver, laugh lines around his bright blue eyes. About Noah’s height, he was dressed casually, in a rumpled button-down shirt with the sleeves half rolled up and lightweight pants.

  “Not yet,” the man said cheerfully. “Soon, though.” He stuck out his hand. When Noah didn’t immediately take it, he grabbed Noah’s hand in both of his own, shook it firmly, then let go.

  “Do you know that guy?” Joe asked.

  “Are you related to him? You have the same eyes,” the Arabic woman’s voice said.

  Noah had no idea what she was talking about. His eyes looked nothing like those of the man in front of him.

  “He’s my grandpa,” the teenage boy’s voice said. Sounding doubtful, he added, “Maybe he could explain to Noah.”

  “Your grandpa?” The Rose voice sounded equally doubtful.

  Silently, Noah wanted to agree with her. No way was the man in front of him the grandfather of a teenager. He was older, but not that old.

  “You know what he’s like,” the Rose voice continued. “He confuses people.”

  The man in front of him said, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. What took you so long?”

  “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” Noah said.

  “I don’t think so,” the man replied.

  Noah forced a smile he didn’t feel.
“I have a twin brother. It happens.”

  “Maybe, but not this time. No, you’re the right one, I’m sure of it.” The man gave an unexpected grin. “Not that I don’t look forward to meeting your brother, too, of course. But it’s you I’ve been expecting.”

  “Who told you I was coming?” Noah asked. Who was this guy? Was he connected to the redhead? To the mysterious Akira?

  The man looked surprised. “No one. Should someone have?”

  “How — why — ” Noah shook his head. He was having that sensation of being in a dream again, this time not just a feeling of surreality, but the frustration of an exam that he wasn’t ready for or an appointment he couldn’t get to on time.

  “It’s too soon. I shouldn’t have said anything.” The man reached for the handle of the restaurant door. “I won’t bother you any more. But —” He paused.

  “But?” Noah asked.

  The man looked undecided.

  “But?” Noah prompted him again. He hated feeling like this. He wanted answers.

  “Too soon,” the man muttered, as if to himself. But then he looked directly into Noah’s eyes. “It really wasn’t your fault, you know. Their deaths. It was a tragedy, but you didn’t cause it.”

  Acid surged in Noah’s throat.

  It had been hot. Insanely hot, the sweat beading down the back of his neck, dripping into his uniform. God, he hated the desert. The place sucked. Sand everywhere, grit getting into everything, sticking to his skin. It felt like he could never get clean there.

  Maybe that was more than just the dirt.

  It wasn’t regret exactly. He’d wanted to serve. Wanted it badly enough to enlist the day after he graduated from high school, despite his family’s dismay. His mom had argued, fought, tried persuasion, but nothing could dissuade Noah. It was only after he’d gotten to the desert, seen some action, that the little niggling idea that maybe he’d screwed up crept into the back of his mind.

  The doubt had distracted him. He’d been thinking about an email he’d gotten from his brother. Niall was loving college, having an amazing time, studying laughable stuff like poetry of the Italian renaissance, and partying hard. Noah could have been with him.