The second time, I made out with Simon—a guy from my choir group. I don’t regret it but Kenneth got a picture of us and sent it around like I was the world’s biggest slut. He also posted a bunch of crap from both times on that stupid online Gossip Wall—where everyone got to read and spread lies and more lies.
That’s when he got his title of King Asshole.
The third time, Mom got worried because one of the phone calls to a psychic told her danger was lurking. She came in her PJs to pick me up. Everyone stopped talking. Nobody laughed at me—at least in front of me, but the pity in their eyes followed my every move.
Luke’s deep voice shakes me away from my bad memories. “People are coming in.” And he nudges me forward.
Time to stretch my lips into my forced happy smile.
The morning passes quickly. The rest of the waitstaff trickles in as we get busier and busier. Luke follows me, helps me and manages to make me laugh several times. He seems more relaxed, telling me stories about the orders. If someone orders a full-loaded breakfast burrito, they’re hungover and need all the grease they can ingest. If someone orders a cappuccino without looking us in the eyes or without saying thank you, it’s because they think we’re not worthy of their time.
“Can I have some more sweet ice tea?” Mrs. Sampson—one of Gavert City’s oldest residents and biggest gossips—pushes her glass forward. Before I can grab it, Luke does and leans forward. “I’ll get that for you.”
Mrs. Sampson’s cheeks turn red and she fans herself with her right hand. “Aren’t you sweet? You’re John’s nephew, right?”
Luke tenses. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies with the Texan drawl one cannot fake.
“Can’t be easy every day…” she mutters, but then she leans back in her seat and watches us with the shadow of a smile tugging at her lips. “To be young again,” she whispers and turns to her sister. “Do you remember how Frank proposed to me right in this restaurant? We weren’t older than those two. Different times. Not better, not worse. Just different.”
Luke clears his throat, the glass still in his hand, and a twinkle in his eyes—the same one I see when he’s flirting at school. “Frank was a very lucky man.”
Mrs. Sampson giggles. “And you know how to flatter an old lady.” She pauses. “Can I also get another biscuit?” she asks and we both turn back to the kitchen.
Luke’s walk is not as smooth and his strong jaw is set. The mention of his uncle clearly dampened his mood. If I was less awkward, maybe I could change topics.
But instead, I turn to the new table in our section. “I’ll get their drink order. Do you mind bringing the ice tea and biscuit to Mrs. Sampson? I think she has a little crush on you.”
His eyes find mine and the same twinkle reappears, except when it’s directed at me, my heart flutters in a very nonrhythmic way.
“Can you blame her?” The way he says it, though, is more rehearsed. Without thinking my hand finds his forearm. It’s a simple touch and yet oh so not simple.
“Definitely can’t blame her,” I reply and my voice is soft, reassuring. Like I’m telling him it’s all going to be okay. We all have our baggage and we simply need to move forward.
I hurry to the corner booth.
“Good morning,” I tell the woman sitting by herself. I’ve never seen her before. In a small town like ours, we always notice the visitors. For better or for worse. The woman’s flowery dress floats around her skinny frame. Her hair seems greasy and she’s missing a tooth. Maybe a hippie living in one of the communes not too far from here. I smile as widely as I can. “Welcome to The Flying Pig. We have a few specials today…”
“Tessa, you know why I’m here.” The woman narrows her dark eyes at me and my chest tightens. She scratches her arm. I shift from one foot to another, tempted to turn away and hide in the kitchen. An uneasy feeling washes over me.
Even though I made progress about not freaking out when I’m alone and meeting strangers, my heart speeds and my hands clam up.
I glance down to my shirt, but no name tag magically appeared and I haven’t told her my name yet.
“You know why I’m here,” she repeats slowly.
A shiver runs down my spine. “Because you want to enjoy the best breakfast in a twenty-mile radius?” I force out a laugh that comes out all high-pitched. “What can I get you to drink? We’re in a dry county so no bloody Mary, but we make the most delicious cappuccino with a hint of caramel and you can have a Secret Mary. We’re not sure what’s in that special smoothie, but you’ll leave with a smile.”
“I know where to find Melanie.” The woman grabs my hand. Her palm is sweaty or maybe it’s mine. I jerk back. My heart beats too fast. My mouth is dry. The part of me that still hopes Melanie is alive wants to believe her, but the more rational part of me holds me back. How many times did Mom wake me up to tell me she found people who knew where Melanie was? It was never true.
“You’re lying.” My voice is loud, way too loud, but I can’t help myself. I have to spew something out to drown the noises my heart’s making.
The woman shakes her head and her voice rises. “Melanie’s alive and she’s waiting for you.”
Chapter Eleven – Luke
“I don’t understand.” Tessa’s voice carries to the other table. She rubs her neck the same way she does when she’s stressed out about school or singing or her mom. In three strides, I’m by her side. It’s my turn to offer a reassuring touch. My hand finds the small of her back and she leans into me. I’m not sure if it’s conscious or not but her implicit trust is almost too much. She shouldn’t be trusting me. I fuck up everything. But I can’t leave her alone with her eyes so wide, with her skin so pale and her mouth slightly open, looking like she’s about to flee or scream or cry.
“Everything okay?” I can’t help the somewhat threatening tone in my voice.
“Hmmm.” The sound she makes isn’t convincing.
The woman sitting at the table smiles at her but it’s not a friendly smile, it seems almost forced and calculating. “Melanie’s alive.”
She sounds like she’s lost it.
I raise an eyebrow. The woman keeps on licking her lips like she’s nervous. I’m not sure of her age. Maybe she’s in her mid-thirties. “You should probably go.”
Tessa steps away from my arms. “How would you know? Why are you here?” Her voice isn’t as loud but is still shaking.
With her free hand, the woman shuffles in her large purse sitting next to her on her bench. “Here’s my card.”
I glance at it before Tessa tucks it into her apron like a robot: Faye—Freedom Psychic.
“She’s alive but we need to help her soon. Her time is counted.” Faye, the wannabee psychic, lowers her voice.
“If you’re a psychic, why didn’t you come see us before? Mellie has been missing for years.” Tessa tightens her fist.
“She wasn’t in danger then…she is now though.” Her tone is very matter-of-fact, like Tessa should know that and not question her. “You could be in danger too…and you.” She points her frail finger at me. “You are trouble. You bring pain to those you love.”
I guess she’s a psychic after all.
I pull Tessa away from her. “Do you want me to kick her out?”
Tessa’s upper lip quivers and she inhales deeply before looking at me. “No. I only hope Mom doesn’t hear about it before I get to tell her.” Her gaze glances down to her hand, which rests on my arm. She takes it away as if it burned her and steps back. “I’m sorry. Your first day here and I’m already providing the drama.”
“Why are you apologizing? Not your fault. Plus, she’s right about one thing. I am trouble.”
Tessa forces her lips into a fake smile. I can tell the differences between her real and fake smiles. The real one shows one tiny dimple and brightens the room. The fake one makes me want to wrap my arms around her. She exhales loudly. “Whatever. Words from a stranger shouldn’t define you.” She turns back to the table, muttering
something I don’t understand. The woman is watching us. The rest of the restaurant seems to be holding their breath, but pretending to not pay attention. “Do you mind taking care of my other tables? I’m going to talk to her quickly again and call my mother.”
I nod. “If you need me…”
“Thanks.”
This time, her smile reaches her eyes and the tiny dimple on her cheek shows up. That smile could be trouble.
Chapter Twelve - Tessa
Luke’s watching my every move—and I know he meant it, when he told me he’d be there if I needed help. He has this knight attitude I used to read about in romance novels, but with a dose of unpredictability. He calls himself trouble, but the only trouble he used to have was getting in the middle of fights. Which he hasn’t done in a long time. Yesterday was an exception—and Kenneth started it by being his asshole self.
I clear my throat and force myself to stand up straight. Faye tilts her head as if to assess if I’m coming back for more information or to argue. Diane almost collides into me before I open my mouth. “Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know but I hope to figure it out.” I slide past her. “I’m okay.”
She stands close by but gives me some space.
Faye pulls a chair next to her but I shake my head. I’m not sitting down with her. “Why didn’t you go to the police?” I ask and the bitterness in my voice is stronger than I expected. “You could have taken your information, whatever you have, and taken it to the police. You don’t need to come here, spew whatever you want and then expect what? Money? Lots of money?”
“It’s more complicated than that.” Faye’s tone is soothing and her hand flutters in the air as if she wants to offer me a reassuring touch. Maybe in an alternate universe but in mine, I don’t need her fakeness.
“Tessa, I’m sorry to jump on you like this.” She’s not looking at me as she speaks but her fingers fumble with the menu. “I need to talk to your parents. Melanie is alive. She spoke to me. I wanted to wait for your mom to finish her shift but then I saw you in this restaurant and I couldn’t wait.”
“So you didn’t plan on seeing me? That sounds like a coincidence. Isn’t it bad for psychics to rely on coincidence?” I raise one eyebrow. Melanie was the best at the one eyebrow raising. She always used it on me, and one time on Mom, who didn’t appreciate the art of the eyebrow raising. Melanie was grounded from TV on that day.
I practiced that look for a long time, and now it comes naturally. She’d be proud.
Faye clears her throat. “My gift is not being all-knowing, it’s choosing what to know. I focus on what’s important, and what’s important is Melanie.” She coughs a hacking cough. “I understand it’s difficult for your family.”
“If you really knew how difficult it was, you wouldn’t be here. How are you planning on helping us? By hypnotizing yourself and pretending to be her? By asking for money so that your mind can stay open long enough to tell us where she is? Been there, done that. Get out.” I keep my voice as low as possible, not wanting to create a scene.
She doesn’t move. This time, she looks at me. Her eyes are puffy and it almost seems like she’s staring right through me. Like she’s lost. The flower in her hair is limp and her skin’s grayish. She doesn’t seem well.
And that’s when I hear her. Mom rushing through the door. Calling my name. Not caring that every single person is staring at her. At us. Not caring that she probably left her shift without telling her boss. Not caring that she might get fired and Dad or I will have to get yet another job.
I shake my head, hoping she’s only part of some screwed-up illusion in my mind. Because if she’s really here, it can only mean one thing: someone must have overheard Faye claiming she could help find Mellie and called her. I bet it’s Mrs. Dalton. She’s sitting at the table behind us and staring at her loaded oatmeal. She always tells Mom that God and his angels will talk to her. I wish I had this certitude.
“You know where my little girl is?” She almost stumbles onto the table. “She’s alive?”
Faye squares her shoulder and this time her smile is warmer. Mom plops herself next to Faye, takes her hand in hers. “I knew I needed to be hopeful. I knew she wasn’t dead. Where is she?” And right here and there, despite all my protests and my anger, the little flicker of hope Mom keeps inside her spreads to me: what if she could help, what if Mellie is still alive? And I hate that flicker, I work hard to make sure its light never shines too bright, because it’s too painful. Hope does not necessarily keep you alive. Hope can kill you, when it comes crashing, when the disappointments pile on, when you feel helpless.
Luke is waiting on Mrs. Dalton, even though she clearly doesn’t need anything: her food is there, her coffee is still steaming, and she’s leaning back to listen to our conversation, only beaming at Luke every few seconds.
Luke takes a deep breath and turns to our table. “Would you like some iced tea? Some coffee?” he asks and his fingers touch the palm of my hand. It’s a quick touch, a reassuring touch and for a second, I’m tempted to ask him to stay with us. But this isn’t his fight.
Mom answers without taking her eyes away from Faye. “I’d love some coffee, please.”
“Me too,” Faye replies and Luke nods. He bends down and his mouth is only a couple of inches away from my neck.
“Do you need anything?” he whispers and his warm breath tickles my neck. For one second, I forget the scene unfolding in front of me and only concentrate on the electricity between us. I turn around and our eyes collide. We stare at each other.
Staring without the protection of words.
Feeling like my heart is about to walk out of my chest, knock on his and ask to come in.
Stealing a moment in the chaos that is my life.
Chapter Thirteen – Mellie
“Robert Cairns, the first official leader of the Circle, helped us survive.
In 1857, he gave the members of the Circle a home and a purpose: to thrive and love, to save others and to wait for the end of this era in the teachings of our creator.”
(The Circle’s Book of Truth – Chapter One)
Jeremiah came home late last night. We ate in silence and this morning, he asked me to wait for him again. Something is happening. It’s worrying him. The door opens and I wait for him to open the latch. I need to get out. I need him to let me breathe the outside air for only a minute. My entire body itches and I can’t inhale deeply.
The steps above me are too heavy to be Jeremiah’s. I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to calm down. “You’re downstairs, Mellie. You’re keeping the place safe.” Master Abram’s voice chills me to my bones. He used to visit often at the beginning, telling Jeremiah he needed to control me better. Jeremiah never talked back to him, but one day, when Master Abram said I needed to learn and his hand reached for my shoulder, Jeremiah told him he couldn’t touch me.
“You’re no longer afraid of the dark.” Master Abram sings songs. “Tell Jeremiah I was here.” And he slams the door behind him. He didn’t open the latch. I breathe a sigh of relief. Jeremiah scared me at first, but nothing compares to Master Abram.
My eyes open and through the dim light, I trace my finger along messages I carved in the crawlway years ago. When I didn’t know any better.
I used to cry in the darkness. I used to have problems breathing. I used to scream for help, for mercy, for anything. But not anymore. I grit my teeth and my hands clench. Isabel’s message is still there too.
This is where she took her last breath. Because of me. I’m sharing this space with her ghost and my guilt.
She didn’t understand how much he was doing for us. She said she escaped a place worse than this and that he didn’t scare her. She said she’d escape and save me. That my parents were probably looking for me.
That’s what I thought too.
But he told me the truth. He let me call them but they were away on a cruise. A week after he saved me. They were gone on holidays. Not car
ing about me. Years later, he showed me pictures of Dad kissing another woman, and pictures of Mom putting a “for sale” sign on our home.
I strain to listen to any and all noises. What if someone else enters the cabin? What if Jeremiah never comes back? My heart beats faster and faster. I bite the inside of my cheek.
My eyes are wide open. The smell in the crawlway is a mix of earth and mold. But the smell doesn’t suffocate me. What makes it hard to breathe deeply are the images playing in my mind: Isabel taking her last breath, her lips blue, her hands stretched out in front of her.
I killed her.
Chapter Fourteen -Luke
The crowd gets bigger and bigger. Sweat trickles down my back from nervousness or hard work, I’m not sure. Every single time I’m in a big crowd, my eyes dart from one face to another. Hoping against all hope to see Lacey. The compound used to stand only an hour away from Gavert City but the year we joined, we moved to New Mexico. They said we needed to follow the Divine’s direction, but I think the authorities were starting to become suspicious.
Is Lacey still with them? Would she have found me or tried to create a new identity for herself? I shake my head but those questions are anchored in my brain.
“Luke, can I please get some more ice water?” Mrs. Dalton asks me in a tone that indicates it’s not the first time she’s nudged me.
“On my way.” I run to the kitchen from the dining area.
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