Home to Eden

by Dallas Schulze

  "For a while, it looked like we might lose Nick, too," Gareth said finally. He kept his eyes on the darkness outside the car. "He actually died on the operating table and was gone for a couple of minutes before they managed to get his heart going again. Who knows, maybe that was what gave him this... this ability." He lifted one shoulder. "I've heard all kinds of weird claims from people who died and then were revived."

  "But this...whatever it is... this isn't a claim," Kate said. "I saw it happen. I saw Nick lay his hands on Matt's leg and...and heal him. It's real."

  "It's real," Gareth agreed. The words sounded as if they were dragged from him. "It's not predictable, though. It works sometimes but not others, and he doesn't know which it will be at any given moment."

  "It worked today." Her voice was husky with remembered awe. "Matt probably would have died without him. It was like...like watching a miracle. I don't understand why you've never mentioned this," she said, shaking her head in bewilderment. "It's so incredible."

  "That's why I didn't mention it." He shifted restlessly in his seat, muttering a curse when he banged his elbow against the steering wheel. "When we— my parents and I—realized that Nick had this... this gift, we decided that we should do everything we could to keep it in the family. We didn't want the media getting hold of this and treating him like some kind of freak. You know what they would do with something like this."

  The thought made her shudder. ''I can imagine. But I still don't understand why you didn't tell me. You can't think I'd call a press conference about it."

  "No, of course not!" He reached out and caught her hand. "It wasn't a matter of trust. I guess it was partly habit. It's not something we talk about much, not even amongst ourselves. I did start to tell you once or twice but it's... Well, it's kind of hard to explain. This is my younger brother, Nick, and by the way, he works miracles?"

  His effort to lighten the moment drew only a halfhearted smile, and he sighed and squeezed her hand before releasing it. "I guess it didn't seem all that relevant," he admitted. "Nick wasn't even home. No one knew if he'd ever come home again. And it isn't like he goes around healing people left and right. It's never been a regular part of our lives. It's just something that happens now and again."

  ''I understand," Kate said, but she didn't, really. Oh, she understood why Gareth hadn't told her about

  Nick's abilities. She could hardly blame him for keeping secrets. God knew, she had more than a few of her own, some of them involving his brother. What she didn't understand was what she'd seen today. She couldn't quite shake the feeling that she'd witnessed an honest-to-God miracle, and the idea of that left her feeling restless and unsettled.

  The feeling lingered long after she'd given Gareth a chaste kiss good-night and gone into her apartment. He didn't suggest spending the night, and she didn't ask him to come in. She needed to be alone, needed to sort through the day's events and try to make sense of them.

  But long after he was gone, she was still pacing her small apartment, moving restlessly from room to room, unable to settle in one place for more than a moment. She kept thinking about Nick. What was he feeling now? Was he exultant that he'd saved Matt's life?

  Thinking of that instant when their eyes had met and she'd felt almost as if she was seeing into his soul increased Kate's restlessness. He'd looked so alone when he walked away. So lonely. Had he sought out Harry's company when he got home to Spider's Walk? Or was he all alone in that big house? Or had he gone somewhere else entirely?

  "It's none of your business," she muttered, but she couldn't shake the memory of those few seconds when it had seemed as if they'd communicated, not as one human to another or even as man to woman but as soul to soul.

  "Forget it," she told herself. "Just forget it."

  It was crazy to come here, Kate thought. Crazy to be standing on Nick's doorstep at almost midnight. He was probably asleep. She could see a light behind the living room curtains, but that didn't mean anything.

  And even if he was still awake, she had no business being here. So what if she thought she'd seen pain in his eyes in that last moment before he'd turned away? It wasn't her place to soothe that pain. She wasn't his mother, his wife or even his lover.

  Kate stared at the cracked paint on the door. She didn't know why she'd come here, didn't even really remember making the decision. One minute she'd been staring at the pages of a book, the next she'd been getting in her truck. She hadn't really thought about what she was doing until now. If she was honest, she'd have to admit that she'd been careful not to think. It wasn't until she was standing on the sagging front porch, face-to-face with the fanciful carvings on the door Nick had yet to refinish, that a small voice of reason made itself heard.

  Hadn't she decided that Nick was a threat to everything she'd worked to build these last few years, to everything she wanted in her life? She should turn around and go straight home, forget she'd ever come here. She'd forget everything she knew about the losses Nick had suffered, forget the power that had radiated from him when he'd set his hands on Matthew's leg this afternoon. And most of all, she'd forget the aching emptiness she'd seen in his eyes just before he'd turned and walked away.

  But as if from somewhere outside herself, Kate saw her hand come up and watched her finger press the doorbell. She heard the two-tone chime of the bell inside the house. There was still time to turn and walk away, she thought, feeling her heart suddenly beating much too quickly. Time to go home, where she should have stayed in the first place.

  But then the door was opening, and there was no time after all.

  Nick stood in the open doorway, looking at her. He was wearing the same clothes he'd had on at the cabin—faded blue jeans and an old gray T-shirt. Kate remembered how guilty she'd felt for noticing the way the fabric clung to the solid muscles of his shoulders and chest. Now, looking at the rusty smears of blood streaked across the worn denim, she felt her throat tighten with emotion.

  "Kate." He said only her name, his voice flat and empty, offering no clue to his thoughts.

  She forced her eyes upward, looking at him. His hair tumbled onto his forehead in thick, dark waves, as if he'd run his fingers through it again and again.

  His expression was as unreadable as his voice, drained of emotion, closed and unwelcoming.

  "How are you?" The banal words seemed to hang on the warm night air and she felt herself flushing even before she saw Nick's brows go up.

  "I'm fine. And you?" The studied politeness mocked her concern.

  Obviously, he wasn't anxious for visitors. She shouldn't have come but, now that she was here, she couldn't go without trying to tell him how she felt.

  "I wanted to tell you that what happened today was—"

  "Came to see if I knew any other parlor tricks, did you?" he interrupted, his voice sharp and mocking. "Are you wondering if I read tea leaves or hoping to see me bend a spoon with the force of my mind? Sorry, Kate. I don't particularly like tea, and the only interesting trick I can do with a spoon is balance it on the end of my nose. I'm afraid you'll have to take my word on that, though, because I'm not really in the mood to demonstrate."

  He started to shut the door, started to close her out and close himself in alone. Kate was shocked to feel the flat of her hand braced against the solid panel, preventing him from closing it. Her eyes were on Nick's face, and for an instant she saw emotion flicker in his eyes, as if he was as surprised as she was by her action.

  "I'd like to come in," she said quietly.

  "I'm not good company right now."

  "Please."

  His fingers tightened over the edge of the door, the knuckles showing white. She thought he might shut the door in her face but then he seemed to change his mind, not as if he welcomed her company but as if it wasn't worth the effort to fight her.

  "Have it your way," he said with a shrug and then turned and walked away, leaving her to follow him or not.

  Kate hesitated, aware of a small voice that warned her to t
urn and walk away before it was too late. Too late for what? she wondered, but there was no answer and she stepped across the threshold and pushed the door shut behind her.

  The tiled entryway was empty. Nick hadn't bothered to see if she followed him. He'd gone into the front parlor. The room must have been elegant once. Faded flowers peaked out from the wallpaper and were still faintly visible on the long drapes. The finish on the floor was worn, but the beauty of the red oak boards showed through that wear. Nick had apparently designated this room as a storage area while he worked on the rest of the house. Cans of paint were stacked neatly along one wall. A pile of lumber stood next to the paint. Plastic drop cloths were tossed carelessly beside a battered tool chest.

  Kate ignored the organized clutter, her attention focused on the man standing next to the empty fireplace. He was watching her, his expression unreadable in the light from the single floor lamp next to an aged sofa upholstered in faded blue linen. A bottle of Chivas Regsd and an old-fashioned glass sat on an upended packing crate. The base of a red clay flowerpot sat beside them, overflowing with half-smoked cigarettes. The room reeked of smoke.

  "I didn't know you smoked." It was the first thing that popped into her head.

  "Only when I'm celebrating."

  "It's bad for you," she said and felt color creep up her neck at the astounding obviousness of her words.

  "No kidding!" Nick raised his brows in amazement. "I hadn't heard that." He lifted a cigarette to his mouth and took a deep, deliberate drag on it. He exhaled slowly, the mockery fading, his eyes suddenly watchful through the curtain of smoke. "What are you doing here, Kate?"

  The question of the hour. Too bad she didn't have a good answer. She tried to smile, but her face felt stiff and uncooperative. She slid her hands into the pockets of her soft cotton slacks and looked away from him.

  "I don't know exactly why I came," she admitted slowly. "I keep thinking about what happened today, about what you did."

  "Don't think about it," Nick said, his tone so sharp her eyes were drawn to him. He stubbed the cigarette out. He half turned away from her, reaching for the bottle of Chivas. He splashed some into the glass, his hands not quite steady 'I've already forgotten it."

  "I don't believe that." She shook her head, groping for the words to explain what she was feeling, why she'd felt compelled to come here. "What I saw was extraordinary. I've never seen...never imagined anything like it."

  A harsh laugh cut across her words, startling her. Nick turned and lifted his drink in a mocking toast. "Ladies and gentlemen, come see the amazing Blackthorne. He walks, he talks, he crawls on his belly like a reptile."

  "Nick—"

  He ignored her, continuing in the same mocking, singsong tone. "Bring him your lame, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be cured. But the management makes no promises, ladies and gentlemen. No promises whatsoever. The amazing Blackthorne can never tell whether his astounding powers will be in the mood to work at any given moment. But why worry? It's only life or death. Step right up, put a quarter in the hat and take your chances."

  The derisive sound of his laughter cut straight through to Kate's heart. He tilted his head and tossed off the shot glass of Scotch. He turned and reached for the bottle again but she was suddenly beside him, her hand closing over his.

  "Don't. It's not going to help."

  "How the hell do you know?" he snarled, but he didn't pull away.

  "Because if it helped, you'd be drunk by now," she said quietly. She lifted the bottle from the end table and screwed the lid in place. Nick watched her in silence, his eyes shadowed, his expression shuttered and unreadable. Kate set the bottle down and looked at him. ''You saved a child's life today. That's a wonderful thing. You should be happy."

  "What makes you think I'm not?" he asked, lifting one dark brow in mocking inquiry. "Maybe this is how I like to celebrate—a good smoke, a few drinks, some time to contemplate just how wonderful everything is. Time alone."

  Kate ignored his deliberate emphasis of the last word. "Gareth says this...ability showed up after your accident."

  "My accident." Nick repeated the words as if tasting them, weighing them. "Is that how the family refers to it? Funny, I don't remember applying for ownership." He caught Kate's worried look and sighed sharply before half turning away from her.

  "I was dead, you know," he said suddenly, his tone almost conversational. "When they got...us to the emergency room, we were both dead. It was just the way they describe it in those new-age books about near-death experiences, the ones where the authors wear flowing robes and beads and look terribly serene. There was the white light, the feeling of peace, every cliche in the book."

  Lost in memory, he looked past her at things she couldn't see. "I wasn't afraid. I felt safe. I could feel Brian there, as if he was standing beside me. When I felt him moving toward the light, it seemed good. Right." He looked at his glass, at the thin film of Scotch. "And then I woke up in the hospital. Alone. Brian was gone."

  Kate's heart ached for the pain she heard in his voice. She knew what it was to be alone, knew what it was to lose people you loved, knew the emptiness he'd felt inside, the emptiness he still felt. Her hand came up, lifting toward him, but Nick spun away abruptly, as if her touch might bum. He brushed past her and picked up the bottle of Scotch. He flashed her a quick smile, a shadow of the wickedly attractive grin that had haunted her guilty dreams these past weeks.

  "Sorry, Kate. Telling my life story always makes me thirsty."

  He splashed Scotch into the glass and set the bottle down without bothering to screw the lid on. But when he picked up the glass, he didn't drink from it. Instead, he cradled it between his palms and stared into it, apparently fascinated by the play of light dancing in the amber liquid.

  The silence stretched. Kate told herself that she should go. She'd said what she'd come to say. It was time to go home, time to walk away before her life became even more inextricably intertwined with his. But she couldn't quite bring herself to leave him alone.

  "Do you know what it's like to have a gift like mine?" Nick asked abruptly, startling her. He continued without waiting for an answer. "It's like nothing you've ever imagined. To know that you have this ability to touch someone and heal them, to take away their pain with just your hands—it's heady stuff."

  "The dog—Laura said he was bleeding and you put your hands on him and made him better."

  Nick lifted his glass in acknowledgement. "An equal opportunity healer, that's me."

  "A couple of weeks ago, at the nursery, when I cut my finger—I really did cut my finger, didn't I?" It had been in the back of her mind since she'd seen what he did for Matthew.

  His mouth twisted in a rueful half smile. "I overreacted on that one."

  "I was so sure I'd cut myself, but then, when it was gone, I thought I'd imagined it."

  "People usually do." He took a swallow of Scotch and then lowered the glass and glanced at her. "Matthew probably won't remember much of what happened. Rosie will have a few nightmares, and then the memory will fade away. Even Susan will eventually start to half-believe she imagined the whole thing, that the cut wasn't as bad as it seemed. Jack knows, though. He knew today, and that's why he asked me to help Matthew."

  ''You don't regret helping him, do you?"

  "No." He shook his head impatiently. "No, of course not. I'm just grateful I could help." In his eyes was a reflection of the fear he had felt when Jack turned to him. "I'm never quite sure. And even when it does work... It's scary as hell, if you want to know the truth. Each time, it's like feeling the breath of God"

  "A miracle," Kate said softly.

  "Yeah." Nick's agreement was flat and emotionless. "It's a certifiable miracle, all right. But it came too late to save my brother." He set his glass down and thrust his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders a little, as if he felt cold. "It wasn't enough to let me help my wife. It wasn't enough to keep her or my son alive."

  The cool facade was
gone, revealing such stark pain that Kate's chest ached with the impact of it. She had no answers to give him. There was nothing anyone could say that could take away his pain. Acting on instinct, she did the only thing she could think of—she put her arms around him, offering the primal comfort of touch.

  She felt him stiffen and knew she'd made a mistake. Despite all that had happened between them, they were still little more than intimately acquainted strangers. She wanted him to know that he wasn't alone, that she could share it with him. Feeling suddenly awkward and self-conscious, as if she'd intruded on his pain rather than eased it, Kate started to ease back.

  Feeling her withdrawal, Nick moved abruptly, his arms coming around her and pulling her against him, his hold almost painfully tight.

  "Don't," he muttered, his voice thick and guttural.

  Kate froze in surprise, but only for a moment. Her heart aching, she relaxed in his hold. Her slender arms tightened around his waist and she held him as tightly as he was holding her, offering the only comfort she could.

  She had no idea how long they stood there. Time had no meaning. She didn't question her need to comfort him. It felt too right to allow questioning. When Nick's fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head so his mouth could find hers, that felt right, too. The kiss was part of the moment—more comfort than hunger—and Kate accepted it as such. Comfort, that's all it was.

  Nick's mouth left hers slowly. Kate forced her eyes open and looked at him. His eyes had darkened to almost black, until pupil and iris blended together. She could fall into his eyes, she thought. Sink into them and never surface again, swallowed completely by the hunger in them.

  His hand shifted on her back, sliding along the sensitive ridge of her spine. His other hand still cupped her skull, and she felt his fingers move against her scalp. Around them, the big old house was quiet, adding to the sense of isolation. Nick's hand settled at the base of her spine, his fingers splayed across the gentle inward curve.