A Touch of Honor (The Honor Trilogy)

by J. P. Grider

  We ascend the wooden…plank, I think to myself, though it is really a wooden ramp. But “walkin’ the plank” seems so much more appropriate at this time. Since, unfortunately, I intuit a death sentence on the horizon.

  “Honor,” Ethan starts, sitting down on one of the built-in benches. Of course, I follow. “I’ve been having this conversation with myself all afternoon,” he drops his head back against the seat’s wall and shuts his eyes. “Yet I still don’t know where to begin.” He opens his eyes and raises his head. Looking straight at me, right into my own violet eyes, he blurts out, “You’re adopted. You do know that, right?”

  Now if I had not been aware of this fact already, I’d be quite traumatized right now. In fact, I’d have become just a bit unhinged at the moment. Come to think of it, I am anyway. “How do you know this?” I ask, astounded that he is aware of something so personal.

  “Oh my God, Honor,” he puts his hand on my knee, “you didn’t know?” he asks, shocked.

  Pulling my knee out from under his hand, I slide as far over as possible. But when I turn to face him, I swear…there’s a tear falling down his cheek. This tempers my anger…a little. “Yes,” I answer, hearing the sardonic tone in my voice. “I knew. I know…”

  Ethan moves toward me.

  “But…how do you know? We’ve kept this a secret. No one knows.” Tingly chills run up my spine. I am suddenly afraid.

  “Your mother’s name was Hanna. Your father…Daniel. Your last name was Robinson.” Ethan ceases to talk, probably surmising, correctly, my need to absorb this new piece of intelligence about my own life.

  Too dumb-stricken for words, I remain silently in awe.

  “They gave you up for adoption…because they were dying,” Ethan resumes. “They were only in their early twenties.”

  Hearing this makes me sadder than I’ve ever been. My body goes slack, and my eyes begin to burn. My mom, the one who raised me, had told me that my mother, the biological one, was dying when she gave me up. But I’d no idea she was so young. And no one had ever mentioned a father. There is a hollowness in my chest that I’d never known. A vacant home that had been hidden away, not knowing my true identity, now manifests into a cavernous canyon, because now I do know.

  “You are from a special breed of people, Honor.” Unaware of the current turmoil taking place in my mind…and my heart, Ethan keeps on talking. “The violet eyes?” He pauses for a reaction from me, which he gets in the form of a blank stare. “They’re characteristic of your true nature.”

  There is just no voice in me. All my thoughts are actually knotted into one mess of a ball in the pit of my stomach, where I can feel it trying to find its way up my esophagus. I want to vomit.

  “Honor?” Ethan probes, as if I’m not listening. “All that pain you feel…day in and day out,” he pauses and is intent on looking me directly in the eyes, “and healing your mother. You know…you did do that. You know that, don’t you?”

  I just shake my head slowly, hand over my mouth.

  “Honor Nicole Robinson Stevens.”

  My head moves back and forth quickly now, unable to grasp this. My hand is still covering my mouth.

  Ethan will not stop.

  “You feel people’s pain…Honor.” Ethan shakes his head now. “It is…a horrible existence, Honor, I’m not going to lie.” Tears roll down his face again. “But you are special.” He smiles through his tears.

  “You…” His head drops in a slight bow. “You can heal people…you are an empath, Honor. You take on the hurt and the pain of others…and you can take them away.”

  It’s out. Whatever was tangled up in my stomach is now spewed…in a muted mass of colors, all over the wooden ground…of a children’s playground.

  “Oh, Honor.” Ethan puts his hand on my back and rubs. “Oh, I am so sorry. I…I should have, I guess, been more sensitive about it.”

  “No.” I’ve found my voice. The huge knot falling out of my stomach may have affected that. “I don’t…understand this. At all!” I scream. I stand, taking care not to step in my mess. “Why? Why are you here, Ethan? I mean, really? You obviously didn’t move here for no particular reason. So…why?”

  “Fair enough.” Ethan nods and pats the bench next to where he sits. I sit back down. “Yes, Honor, I came here for you.”

  “But…how did you know where to find me? Or how do you even know all this stuff about me? If it’s even…true.” I cover my mouth with my hand, wishing I had a mint to put in it.

  “I saw you on the news. When you saved Tamlin.” Ethan waits. He wants it to sink in.

  It does.

  “Tamlin. Was that…because…”

  He nods. “Yes. You most likely found her because you felt her pain. You felt what she was going through. It happens a lot with empaths.”

  Still not believing all this, I shake my head. “But…how do you know me?”

  “Well until recently,” he smiles, “I only knew of you. You were,” he looks up to the left, trying to remember something, “a legend, I guess you can say. Or at least your parents were. Hanna and Daniel.”

  He takes a deep breath. Sweat falls from his brow. He pats my thigh. “Listen, Honor, this is so much to take in in one night. It’s getting dark; your dad will be home from the hospital soon. You should be getting home.”

  Fatigue has taken over, but curiosity is killing me. “There’s so much I want to know though.”

  He squeezes my hand. “In time, Honor. In time. In the meantime, touching people when you’re in a lot of pain should be kept to a minimum. If at all.” He stands, still holding my hand, and leads us out of the playground. Back to our cars.

  “Why can’t I touch people?” This sounds too silly.

  “Well for one…it drains you.” And I think, yeah, today I nearly crashed. Come to think of it, the afternoon I had found Tamlin, I couldn’t even go to school the next day. “And two…I really didn’t want to say this yet.” We stop at my mother’s car and Ethan takes my other hand. We are now facing each other. “Honor.” He breathes in deeply and lets it out slowly. “For every life you potentially save by healing them, you shorten your life by several years.”

  While continuing to hold my hands, Ethan draws me closer to him. We are now almost nose to nose. “Your parents died before they were twenty-five years old, because they couldn’t resist taking the suffering away from other people.”

  “And that’s bad?” I wonder. Out loud. Clearly not getting it.

  Ethan chuckles. “Nooo. It’s not bad for the one they’re healing…but…unlike you, most of us…grow up…on our own. Because our parents are dead.” His tone turns flat. And then I think, yeah, now I get it. I couldn’t be raised by my birth parents, because they didn’t live long enough to do it.

  Then I catch something he just said. “Wait a minute. Us? You?”

  “Yes, Honor. Me. I’m an empath too.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sitting at my kitchen table with me, Ethan is trying now to be more sensitive with feeding me information about myself. Like how I can control the pain and emotions that are not mine. It’s possible to choose to ignore them, as long as a conscious effort on my part is made. But that’s easier said than done. Plus now that I know I can help someone, how do I choose to ignore them? Doesn’t that go against my very grain?

  Ethan agrees that, yes, it does go against the very nature of who we are. And because of our deep ability to feel, the guilt of not helping is most often worse.

  “So what am I supposed to do, Ethan? If my mom has another heart attack or my Dad…I don’t know…gets hurt in a car crash or something, am I not supposed to try and save them? Now that I know I can?” Which I still can’t fathom, because it’s like I have superpowers, and supernatural things don’t exist. Not in my world anyway.

  “No, Honor,” Ethan says quietly. “Your mother and father are different. Of course you’ll want to save them when you can.” His hand runs through his hair as he sips the water I got him wh
en we first got home. “But…you need to be careful who you touch. You can very easily, inadvertently, heal someone, without even realizing it.” He snickers a little. “Though, now that you know how draining it can be, I’m sure you’ll know when you are absorbing someone else’s pain.” He takes my two hands, which are cupped around my tea mug (I didn’t want water, I had gotten myself a cup of tea instead) and holds them, almost lovingly, in his own. “Then…you’ll be taking away your own precious years.” He sighs. “That’s why I tried to keep you from making contact with Miss James.”

  Snapping back my hands from his, I push back my chair, jolting out of my seat. “Oh my goodness. Miss James. I knew it. I knew I felt something from her,” I cry out, pacing the kitchen floor, while Ethan quietly taps his thumbs on the kitchen table. My hand automatically goes to my head, which is now throbbing just thinking about her. I stop pacing and sit back down, bracing myself, palms flat, on the kitchen table. “Ethan. You knew.” This fact just sinking in.

  “Yes, I knew.”

  “So…you felt it too?” I ask, amazed.

  He nods, obviously waiting for more revelations from me.

  “But…you…you…never looked like you were in pain.”

  “I ignored it. Remember I told you we can train ourselves to do that,” he said, almost mockingly. Almost. Not quite. His voice held a little empathy as well. Which, now that I think of it, I guess is natural for him.

  “Yeah.” Then I realize. “Ethan. She might die. We can save her.”

  He covers my hands with his. “Yes, Honor, we can.” His voice is soft, as is his touch on my hands. I close my eyes for a second to absorb the joy in his running his thumb across mine. “But at what cost to us?” he asks.

  “But isn’t that selfish? And doesn’t that go against our nature?” I hear the whine in my voice.

  Tilting his head to the side, indicating the compassion he possesses, he says, “It is selfish, I guess.” Then his tone changes slightly. “But I always thought it was selfish of my parents to keep on saving others with no regard for their sons’ futures. Futures spent alone…without parental supervision or love…because they couldn’t keep from saving the world.” And that’s the first time I hear vinegar in his voice, the stimulus that makes it easier for him to push aside the suffering of others.

  Sighing out loud, I realize that the pain I feel in my chest, right this minute, is his – his hurt…caused by the betrayal of his parents love and empathy for mankind.

  Is it possible for one empath to take away the pain of another? I lay my hand flat against his heart.

  He smiles. “It won’t work, Honor.” he says, aware of my intent to take away the pain in his heart. “We would just keep absorbing each other’s emotions. A painful, endless cycle.”

  “Oh.” Ethan stands and pulls me from my chair. Wrapping his arms around me, I fear he’ll feel my heart racing. It’s then that I realize my feelings are much more intense when I’m with him. Is it because I’m feeling double the pain and emotions? Both of us empathizing with a beaten human race? Or could I be feeling emotions I’ve never felt before? Could I be falling for Ethan?

  A soft flutter taps the top of my head. Ethan’s lips. “It’s not going to be easy. You know that, right?” His chin rests on my head, and I like the feeling it produces – little tingles beneath my scalp. “But if you can control your emotions…you’ll at least make it to see your kid grow up.” The sharp pang of resentment strikes both our chests.

  Kid? Kids! I’ve always dreamed of having lots of children. The loneliness of being an only child was a miserable existence, especially being home-schooled. I want children. And I want to see them grow up. If what Ethan says is true, then…I will make it my business to handle my inner emotions…and ignore everyone else’s. Learning to decipher between the two will also be top on my priority list.

  “Ethan?” Pulling away, just far enough to see his face (I don’t want our embrace to break just yet) I ask, “How do I tell the difference? What’s my pain and what’s not?”

  He strokes my hair while still holding me, and I want so badly to kiss him. “It’s not easy,” he laments, “but you need to feel the connection…between the pain, your brain…and your heart.”

  Nodding my head, I lean my head against his chest – embracing the thundering heart beneath his chest…wondering, is it his passion?

  Or a reflection of mine?

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning, I don’t get ready for school, instead, I ready myself to go to the hospital and see my mom. While I am there, I will test my new, or at least new in knowledge, superpowers. Healing is not my intention. No. My intent is to be cognizant of any new aches or pains, anything I don’t have now but suddenly inherit as I walk the hospital halls.

  While I am still home and alone (Dad is already at the hospital), I do a mental body check. I am in absolutely no pain. This is good. It will make it easier to distinguish any new pain that comes my way. I grab Mom’s car keys off the table. Her little green Passat is fun to drive. Of course, I wish I had my own, but this will do for now.

  The time it takes for me to get to Saint Clare’s is quite a bit longer than it took Ethan yesterday, but I’m there in about forty-minutes. I am a slow driver. Plus, getting lost along the way doesn’t help.

  Entering the hospital is uneventful, but as I precede further inside, I feel less energetic. Lethargy kicks in…as does smarting pain in several areas of my body. I get to mom’s room and I feel somewhat better. The pain feels…distant. There is nothing emanating from my mother. Good. Sitting up in her bed, Dad seated beside her, Mom shows all thirty-two of her teeth in her smile.

  “Mom. How are you?” I ask as I lean forward to kiss her on the cheek.

  “Oh, Honor.” She cups her palm on my cheek, her eyes tearing while she’s looking at me longingly and lovingly. “I feel wonderful. I am so sorry to have scared you.”

  “Oh, Mom, stop…” Then, timidly, I tell her, “I’m just so happy that you’re here.”

  With her top teeth biting her bottom lip, Mom removes her hand from my face and leans back on her pillow. “Honor…it’s…” Mom puts her smile back on. “It’s like a miracle,” she whispers. “They said I was having a heart attack. I’d even died for four minutes.” She makes a soft tsking sound to herself. “Now…not one sign of ever having the attack. Nothing.” She tsks a bit louder. So does Dad. It’s true, there aren’t words for this kind of thing.

  Mom begins to cry, and I feel myself tear up. Funny, but they’re not my tears. They’re hers. I am actually crying someone else’s tears. It occurs to me then that all those times in my life when I thought I was sad for no reason, I must have been sad for someone else. Now I can decipher the difference. Ethan was right. There’s a remoteness to the sensation. Something faraway about it. Yet, I feel the bittersweet joy my mother is feeling nonetheless.

  My little family relishes in the moment a few more minutes before Dad breaks it up. “Honor, I’m going for coffee, would you like me to get you something?”

  “Oh, sure. A Chai latte would be nice. If they have it. Otherwise, tea with milk and honey is good.”

  Dad leaves and I sit on the edge of Mom’s bed. She takes my hand.

  “Mom,” I begin slowly, “do you remember anything about…my birth mom?”

  The look on Mom’s face nearly breaks my heart. Suddenly I feel…threatened. And I realize…my goodness…Mom must feel threatened by my birth mother. Immediately I am sad for my mother.

  She is silent for a few seconds before her lips seem to move without any sound coming out of her mouth. “Your birth mom?” Her head shakes a little. “But…why? Why now?”

  I kiss Mommy on the cheek. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”

  She caresses my face. “No. Honor. Don’t be silly. You have a right to ask…I was just wondering why now…while I’m…here?”

  “Oh, Mom, it has nothing to do with your being here. Really. I just, well…” I am at a loss as to what
to say first. My breathing picks up the pace. I mentally try to calm myself down. “Well, Ethan knew her…or rather, knew of her.”

  My mother’s eyes jump wide, while her mouth drops open. “Ethan? The boy who was here?”

  I nod. “Yes. His mother was…best friends with her…my birth mom.”

  “With Hanna?” Mom is clearly astonished.

  “Yes. With Hanna…he said she was in her early twenties…when she…” This is very hard for me to say out loud. “When she…um…gave me…” After a long pause, I muster it. “Away.”

  “Hanna? No. Couldn’t be. She was close to forty or fifty, I think. So sick…so fragile.” Mom closes her eyes. “I remember feeling sorry for her. I mean, I knew I should have gone through proper channels to adopt you, but…” Mom shakes her head. “She was so…desperate. Begged me to take you…no questions asked.”

  I’m speechless. It never occurred to me whether I was adopted legally or not.

  “You know,” Mom adds, “that’s why I home-schooled you.”

  “I thought it was because I was sick all the time.”

  She half-smiles. “Yes. Home-schooling was a convenient choice due to all of your illnesses, but…I was afraid. I was afraid I’d be questioned. I mean, I still had to register you and all. And, after Hanna gave you to me, a few weeks later, she’d sent me an envelope with a birth certificate and some other stuff, so I had legitimate papers. I was just scared that in a public school, more people would ask questions.”

  “Did she say why, Mom? Why she gave me up?” I know my mother had already told me this, but I need to hear it now – now that I know what I know.

  Another audible sigh escapes her. “All she said was that she and her husband were terminally ill. They had no family members they could trust and well,” Mom hesitates, clearly uneasy. “They said you’d be in danger if they kept you with friends.”