High Impact

by Kim Baldwin

  “I’ll need a while to understand.”

  “I think we’ve got a good bit. You’re scheduled for the big rafting trip right after this one, as I recall.”

  “Yes. You, too?”

  Pasha nodded. “And Chaz again as well. All women, and ten days in the wilderness.”

  “Excellent.”

  Pasha reluctantly removed her hands from Emery’s. “We’d better get going on your haircut, if you still want one before the others get back.”

  “I do.”

  “I can do a better job if we wet your head.” She got to her feet and hefted the pot she heated coffee water in. Quite a bit was left, and when she poured some over her hand she found it still warm. “This’ll do.” She set it behind Emery’s chair and almost automatically reached for Emery’s turtleneck collar to fold it down and tuck it into the towel. She wanted to gain access to the nape of her neck and keep the cut hairs from getting all over her clothes.

  But as soon as Emery felt her hands there, she brought her own up abruptly. “Stop. I don’t like my neck exposed.”

  “All right.” The sudden chill in Emery’s tone and especially the faint flickering of her aura surprised Pasha. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “No, Pasha. I’m the one who should apologize. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just…just a personal thing.” Emery pulled her hair away from her neck and fastened the towel over her turtleneck, then leaned back to let Pasha wet her hair.

  Pasha poured the water slowly, careful to keep Emery’s clothes dry, and ran her hands through the dark strands to make sure it all got wet. Another small spark of electricity arched from her fingertips at the first touch, and the now-familiar euphoria blossomed and coursed through her. “Okay, that’s good.” She pressed the ends of Emery’s hair in the towel to keep it from dripping. “You can sit up now.”

  “I really am sorry.”

  “We all have things we find difficult to talk about.” Pasha ran her large-toothed comb through Emery’s hair. “I always worry about how people will react when I tell them about my sixth sense. Some think psychic abilities belong in the same category as unicorns and leprechauns. Or that those who claim to have them are delusional.”

  “I have no problem believing mysterious things are at work in the universe. Miracles happen every day.”

  “Yup. They certainly do.” Pasha picked up her scissors. “Okay. Here we go. Want just a light trim or do you trust me to do what’s best for your hair?”

  Emery turned and looked into her eyes. “I trust you.”

  She started cutting, taking more care and time than needed just to make sure she did a job Emery would be happy with. Pasha had worked at the salon as an assistant, washing hair, sweeping up, and doing blow-dries. But several of the stylists had showed her how to cut hair, and she’d since been servicing a lot of her friends. Dita wanted her short-cropped cut trimmed every couple of weeks. “So, Emery, you know my story. The most important parts, anyway.” Snip. Snip. “Are you ready to tell me what precipitated such a big change in your lifestyle?”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “You know, I wondered why you seemed to sense more about me than anyone I’ve ever met,” Emery said. “Your questions take me to places I try to avoid.”

  “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Emery, or have you volunteer anything you’re not ready to,” Pasha replied gently. “Though it often helps to talk about painful things.”

  Emery rarely allowed herself to think about that day in Sofia, and other events that still gave her nightmares. Doing so left her depressed and anxious. With Pasha, however, she could revisit the past. Since her recuperation, Emery had rarely wanted to get close to anyone beyond the occasional sexual liaison. But her inexplicable connection with Pasha reached beyond a mere craving for physical intimacy. She felt compelled to see where it might lead, and that could only happen if she helped Pasha understand what had made her the person she’d become. “I told you my parents were killed by a drunk driver when I was ten. I didn’t tell you I was in the car, too.”

  “Oh, Emery.” Pasha stopped and put a hand on Emery’s shoulder.

  The simple gesture strengthened and calmed her, as though she’d received a fast-acting drug. “We hit a big delivery truck broadside when he ran a red light. My dad couldn’t see him because of a building on that corner.” Emery’s hands curled into fists. “The impact crushed the front of our car and killed them instantly. I was in the backseat. Both my legs were broken in several places, along with my hip and my left arm. The first police on the scene told reporters they couldn’t believe anyone lived through it, but I never lost consciousness. I remember it all.”

  Pasha exhaled loudly. “Jesus.”

  “Ten years later, in college, a group of us went to a football game one afternoon,” Emery said. “The wind came up during the fourth quarter and the sky grew dark, but it didn’t rain, just misted.” She forced herself to picture the players on the field and not the faces of her friends. “We stood on the sidelines watching the last minutes because we wanted to reach the parking lot before the big rush. Out of nowhere, a massive bolt of lightning struck the edge of the field near us.” Her voice shook, so she took a few deep breaths. “Initially everything inside me seemed to boil, building pressure, like my insides were melting. I couldn’t see or hear anything, or move, or talk. But, almost hyperaware, I knew what was happening with my body. My heart pounded, then stopped. Paramedics managed to start it again and I ended up in the hospital for a couple of weeks, but fully recovered. I didn’t learn until several days after the accident that two friends standing next to me had died instantly.”

  Pasha’s arms wrapped around Emery’s neck from behind in a comforting embrace. Another wave of calm infused her, allowing her to push past her grief.

  “About two years ago, I got on an elevator in a hotel in Sofia, Bulgaria. I’d just made a delivery to a client when that big earthquake hit. Remember? I was alone. Trapped. The cable snapped, and the elevator fell eight stories.”

  Pasha gasped. “Dear God.”

  “The impact shattered my legs and pelvis, and broke a couple of bones in my back, a few ribs, my jaw. I almost drowned in my own blood.”

  Pasha caressed her back.

  “The doctors couldn’t believe I survived. After two weeks in a coma, I woke to the news that I’d probably never walk again. It took a lot of metal pins and more than a year of healing, surgeries, and physical therapy to prove them wrong.” Reliving her trio of near-death experiences taxed her more than she anticipated and suddenly left her emotionally drained and physically exhausted.

  “I don’t know what to say, Emery. I wish I could take away some of what you’ve suffered. You’re a hell of a strong woman to have survived and come out whole.”

  Whole? She didn’t feel whole. Not yet. She’d hoped by now to face the end of each day without needing a painkiller to help her sleep. To run like she used to. And her emotional deficiency was worse. No matter how amazing her latest adrenaline-rush escapade—whether from an extreme sport or passion-filled woman—she remained hollow inside. “In a situation like that, you either have to give up or believe the unbelievable. Maybe that’s why I don’t find it hard to accept your unusual abilities. None of us really knows our hidden strengths or talents until something happens to test us.”

  “I don’t understand something.” Pasha resumed cutting Emery’s hair. “After enduring all that, how can you so cavalierly put yourself in danger?”

  “Don’t you get it? In all my accidents I merely followed my everyday, same-old-thing routine. I didn’t do anything risky, but I nearly died anyway. Three times, Pasha. How long before my luck runs out? How often can anyone cheat death? I’d rather die living life to the absolute fullest—and look back with absolutely no regrets—than have another freak mishap cut me down before I pursue my dreams.”

  “You sound like you’re expecting another accident any minute.” Pasha came around in front of Em
ery and started to trim her bangs. “Surely you don’t think you’re doomed to die young, do you?”

  “I’m just more aware than most that we have only limited time. One shot, and it flies by or is taken from you before you know it. I spent months in that hospital bed examining my life. I worked like a fiend to guarantee a nice retirement, wasting my healthy years. Do you know what dying people regret the most? The majority wish they’d had the courage to live a life true to themselves, not the one others expected of them.”

  “Is that what you did? Lived up to someone else’s expectations?”

  “To a certain extent. My fear of giving up a good job and comfortable home for the unknown held me back, but I also made a lot of decisions to keep my girlfriend happy.”

  “Is she still your girlfriend?”

  “No. Not any more.” Emery didn’t want to elaborate and hoped Pasha wouldn’t ask. She still carried a lot of guilt about Lisa and didn’t want to have to deal with it along with the other difficult memories this conversation had stirred up.

  “I absolutely believe you have to live a life true to yourself.” Pasha stooped to assess her results so far, then stood to Emery’s left to resume cutting. “But don’t you think you can share your life with someone?”

  “I’m just not wired to fall in love. And a one-sided relationship always hurts the other person.”

  Pasha put a calming hand on her shoulder again and somewhat eased the resurfacing tug of guilt. “You shouldn’t kick yourself because things didn’t work out, not if you told her the truth.”

  “What about you? Ever serious about anyone?”

  “No.” Snip. Snip. Snip. “I had a few relationships that lasted some months, or a couple of years at most. But never really serious. More great friends with side benefits.”

  “That sounds pretty good to me, but I’ve never been able to achieve it. The few women I’ve dated any real length of time, and the one I lived with, became more emotionally attached than they meant to, I guess.”

  “No one can control who they fall in love with, Emery.”

  “So they say. I wouldn’t know.”

  Pasha ruffled her hair and surveyed her handiwork. “Done. Hope you like it.” She rummaged through the cookware and produced a stainless-steel fry pan with a mirror-like interior. “Probably not the best, but…” She held it in front of Emery.

  From what she could tell, the haircut looked like one of her better ones lately. How wonderful to have her bangs out of her eyes. “Thanks, Pasha. Looks great.”

  “Want some decaf, or some tea?” A jangling sound startled them. “That’s the satellite phone.” Pasha dug through her daypack and pulled out the device. “It’s Pasha.” She cupped her hand over her other ear to hear better and stepped away from the noisy river. “Dita? I can barely hear you.” She listened for several seconds. “Repeat that?” More listening. She frowned. “Okay. Got it. I’ll pass the word. We’ll be ready.” She stuck the phone back into her bag. “That storm forecast for the day after tomorrow looks like a real bitch, so our three-day has become a two-day. We leave tomorrow night.”

  “Well, I’m not surprised. Dita warns everyone that weather can shorten or lengthen any trip. Not that big a deal to me since I’ve got a lot more to look forward to, but I bet the others will be disappointed.”

  “Hey!” Chaz shouted to them from upriver, the smiling clients trailing her.

  “Welcome back!” Pasha yelled, and Emery waved.

  Judging from the photos everyone eagerly shared around the campfire a bit later, Emery had missed seeing an impressive bull moose and female with her leggy calf, as well as a bald eagle, peregrine falcon, and other birdlife. But she didn’t regret her choice.

  She’d learned a great deal about Pasha in a very short time, things that only increased her interest. And sharing the most painful details of her life had indeed helped, as Pasha said it might. Emery felt lighter, somehow, her burden lifted. And when she crawled into her sleeping bag, she didn’t take her usual pain pill. Despite the plane flight and long walk that morning, she felt better than she had in a long time.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Next day, June 6

  Pasha gazed over the river valley, watching a solitary eagle catch the thermals looking for breakfast. She hadn’t slept well, engrossed in replaying her conversation with Emery, and the restlessness finally pushed her from her cot at four a.m.

  Emery’s readiness to accept her sixth sense had encouraged her, as had her willingness to explore and understand their connection. She had displayed a lot of trust by candidly sharing the details of her hellish accidents.

  Obviously Emery had considered her daredevil lifestyle carefully and seemed determined not to allow anything to interfere with her plans.

  Words kept ringing in Pasha’s head, how the dying say they “wish they’d had the courage to live a life true to themselves, not the one others expected of them.” Was she right to try to change Emery’s mind?

  Restricting their relationship to friendship would probably help both of them, she decided. Emery already felt guilty about the girlfriend she’d hurt, and Pasha didn’t want to give her reason for any more regrets. And if they became intimate, Pasha would have an even more difficult time telling Emery good-bye when she moved on.

  She hadn’t reached that decision easily, even during rational solitude. Could she uphold it when she saw Emery and the power insisted she follow her heart, not her head? All her life, she’d blindly followed whatever course the power directed, and she hesitated to defy it now when it so powerfully guided her to embrace all possibilities with Emery.

  A subtle shift in the current of their connection alerted her. Emery was awake and getting ready to join her. Pasha had a fresh cup of coffee ready by the time Emery emerged from her tent.

  “Good morning.” Pasha held out the mug.

  “Morning.” When Emery reached for the coffee, their fingertips overlapped and the resulting shock made them jump. A little of the coffee spilled.

  They laughed.

  “Well, that sure woke me up.” Emery hefted the mug. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “I remembered it’s your can’t-do-without drink. Figured you’re like me—have to have that first cup right away to feel human.”

  “Exactly right.” Emery took a long sip and sighed. “And I gotta say, for being out here so far in the boonies, you make a damn good brew.” She glanced around the campsite. “No one else up and around yet?”

  “Nope. Only us.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s just six. Chaz set her watch alarm for seven.”

  Emery looked curiously at Pasha. “How’d you manage to have a cup ready and waiting for me, then?”

  “I…I felt you get up and knew you’d be out soon.”

  Emery shook her head. “I won’t pretend to understand what’s happening, and sometimes I feel unnerved that a near-total stranger can feel where I am and what I’m doing.” She smiled. “But it’s rather wonderful as well.”

  “I’m happy you feel that way. Not like I have much control over it, that’s for sure.” Pasha picked up her own cup and topped it off with what remained in the French press. “Sit?”

  “Sure.”

  They sat in adjacent camp chairs placed beside the riverbank, sipping their coffee and admiring the landscape. The sky, clear and cloudless, didn’t hint about the approaching storm.

  “Sleep well? Emery asked.

  “I kept replaying last night in my mind.”

  “Me, too. I just wanted to say thanks. Talking about it did help.”

  “I’m glad. It had to be very painful to dig all that up again. But I’m honored you shared it with me.”

  “What’s on tap for today?”

  “Chaz and I decided last night to pack in as much as possible to try to make up for leaving early. She knows a route that’ll take most of the day to cover, but you’ll have a good chance to see a lot. I’ve already packed some bag lunches.”

  “And you? Will
you be coming?”

  Pasha shook her head. “I get to pack all the gear while you’re gone and prep a fabulous final dinner.”

  “Damn. I forgot.” Emery frowned. “I promised Geneva I’d let her fix me dinner when we get back. I almost said, since you and I’ll be back unexpectedly, maybe we could do something together tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure Dita will keep me busy. It’s okay.” Pasha fought to calm the sick feeling in her stomach at the thought of Emery and Geneva together. Perhaps Emery should fulfill her sexual needs elsewhere, but frustration and loss overwhelmed her.

  “At least we have another trip in a few days to look forward to.”

  “Yup. And more beyond that.”

  They turned at the sound of boots on gravel approaching from behind. Joe and Mandy apparently rose early, too. Joe hailed them. “Morning, ladies.”

  “Any more of that coffee?” Mandy asked when she got close enough to spot their mugs.

  “Ready in just a minute.” Pasha rose from her chair and looked at Emery. “I’ll miss getting this kind of precious time with you until we go rafting,” she said in a low voice the Fillmores wouldn’t hear.

  “No more than I will.” The intensity in Emery’s eyes ignited the embers of bliss into a bonfire of longing, so painfully sweet Pasha’s breath caught in her throat.

  No way on earth could she deny any possible opportunity to be close to Emery.

  *

  Bettles

  Next day, June 7

  “The clients all raved about the trip,” Dita commented as they sorted through the unused supplies, tents, cookware, and other gear, organizing everything into piles on the long tables in the office lounge. “Didn’t seem to mind too much having to come back early.”

  “Chaz had the magic touch for finding wildlife, and giving them some of their money back helped, I’m sure.” Pasha glanced out the window. Sheets of driving rain obliterated the view, the sky as dark as dusk. The drumming on the roof and jarring cracks of thunder had commenced at five a.m., driving them out of bed. “You definitely made the right call.” Pasha wondered whether Emery was entirely comfortable with thunderstorms, though it had been many years since lightning had struck her. If not, certainly she could endure the storm more easily from the safety of the Den than her tent.