Timepiece

“Is that why you grabbed me at the masquerade? To feel my ‘emotions’?”

“No.” I grinned. “Not at all.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “How did you find out that’s what your ability is?”

“My mom is an actress.” I turned back to the stove to pour in beaten eggs. To give the pain a chance to leave my eyes before I faced her again. “She quit the business to stay home with me, but she still does the occasional gig.”

“No way! Your mom is Grace Walker,” Lily said. “You look exactly like her.”

That’s what everyone always said.

“Lucky for me.”

That’s what I always said back.

“I’m not following. What does your mom being an actress have to do with empathy?”

“Mom started work on a remake of Cleopatra, lots of emotional scenes. I was about three.” I wiggled the pan to make sure the eggs weren’t sticking. “A couple of days after she left home to go on location, I started having irrational reactions to things. Dad called her to talk about it. They tracked it. I was reacting to her scenes as she filmed them.”

“That’s not so strange, right? I mean, she’s your mom.”

“She was filming in Egypt.”

“Oh.” Lily chewed on her thumbnail. “How does empathy relate to time?”

“Everyone has an emotional time line.” I sprinkled a handful of cheese over the omelet, eyed it, and then added more. “I can travel yours, in the right situation.”

“Backward or forward?”

“I don’t mess with the future.” Anymore.

“How do you use it?”

“Something smells good.” Dad popped his head into the kitchen and I jumped. “Thanks for waiting, Lily.”

Saved.

“No worries.” She smiled at him before looking back at me, straight-faced. “Thanks for fighting off your inner bad boy for so long. Looks like breakfast is all yours.”

Dad extended his hand to show her out of the kitchen. Before he followed, he took in my chest and apron. “Son?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe you should locate a shirt.”

Chapter 12

After Lily and her questions, I couldn’t stop thinking about my mom.

I drove to the gym for some peace in the indoor pool.

I discovered the difference water makes when I was little. My mom had taken me swimming every day, rain or shine, hot or cold. When we’d moved to the house in Ivy Springs, she’d insisted we put a pool on the property.

Since Jack had put her in a coma, I couldn’t bear to swim there anymore.

Because of my ribs, I walked into the water instead of diving. Sinking to the bottom of the pool, bubbles rising as I slowly released my breath, I allowed myself to think about her. Nobody else’s emotions nudged in to confuse me, convolute the sorrow.

She gave up everything for me. A lucrative career, a place in the spotlight, any chance at normalcy. She didn’t even know she was a traveler until she was pregnant with me. When she started seeing ripples, my dad was there to guide her through it.

Then I was born, and she became the mother of a little boy who was constantly bombarded by every emotion around him.

Once she and dad figured me out, what my needs were, she walked away from her life to keep me safe. Protected. She did her job so well that, until it was time for me to start school, the only emotion I ever felt was love.

She surrounded me with it.

I let myself float to the surface. The cool air was a sharp contrast to the warmth of the water. I took another deep breath.

This time, I pushed off the side of the pool and swam freestyle. My arms and legs pumped, churning up water but smoothing out my emotions.

We still didn’t know exactly what Jack Landers had done to my mother. He told Emerson that he’d taken enough of her memories to render her suicidal. I didn’t know if he’d taken her memories of me.

My mom wouldn’t have lived her life for me the way she had only to throw it all away. I never once felt her desire to be anywhere but with us.

The fact that she was still breathing confirmed it, even though she’d been unconscious for almost eight months.

I’d been serious about taking Jack out with that sword when I’d rushed him.

How could killing him be a mistake?

Now my emotions and purpose were as linear as the blue line on the bottom of the pool. I pushed off to swim the length of it one last time, and then came up to the surface for air.

Sunday night football.

The converted pool house was all latte-colored paint, dark brown leather, and huge windows. Tonight, it smelled like nachos and chili. I didn’t want to think about what it would smell like later.

“Boom!” Nate cackled and threw the television remote down so hard it bounced off the couch pillows. “I told you he’d score three touchdowns. You’ve got to take my garbage duty for a week.”

“Oh yeah?” Dune looked down at least half a foot at Nate’s triumphant face and flexed. “Make me.”

Nate groaned.

Neither one of them noticed me.

I went straight back to Michael’s room, but stopped with my hand on the doorknob when the TV went dead and the lights flickered off and on in the hall.

My parents had the same abilities as Michael and Em, and the same electrical connection. For as long as I could remember, the electricity was settled, and the love between them was so constant that it became emotional background noise. I barely noticed it until they were both gone.

Michael and Em’s love created the kind of electricity people noticed.

I’d let go of the knob and was backing away when Em abruptly opened Michael’s door. “Kaleb! Hey. Were you looking for us?”

Michael was stretched out on his bed in jeans and a T-shirt, and he was smiling. The covers were wrinkled, and a small hooded sweat jacket lay on the ground, along with Em’s black Converse. My stomach twisted into a tiny ball of regret.

At least I hadn’t interrupted anything too serious. Michael still had on his socks.

“I can come back.”

“Stay.” Em’s feet were bare, her cheeks pink, her hair a rumpled mess. “I was going to grab some water, anyway.” She nudged past me, and I heard the television in the living room switch back on.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled to Michael when I stepped into his room. “Maybe next time hang a sock over the doorknob?”

“I’ll remember that.” The smile disappeared, and he sat up. “Just taking advantage of our time together.”

His words were casual, but the ache coming from Michael echoed the one my dad lived with every day. I took it in, let it roll around in my chest, spread out, and settle.

“We’ll find Jack. He won’t hurt her, or anyone else, again,” I promised. I meant it.

“Em told me what happened, how you tried to take her pain.”

My heart skipped a sudden, painful beat. “I thought she might.”

Michael stared at the floor, feeling as unsure about how to proceed with the conversation as I did, but determined to have it. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“It’s not something I talk about.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Mom does. Dad? He has an idea. I don’t do it for just anyone.” But Em had been so small in my arms. Tried so hard not to cry. I’d rocked her back and forth when she broke, wishing she’d let me take it all away.