Besides, today was my birthday. Today I was eighteen. No way in heck I was working any longer then I had to. Funny how a year could make such a difference in a person’s life. Gazing out at the water, I pulled my dark hair into a ponytail. Only a short time ago my need to please would have had me walking over to the woman and asking her if she was okay. Not now. Nope, when you faced death things changed.
“It’s so quiet here,” the woman drawled in her southern accent.
I nodded noncommittally, not daring to look her in the eyes. Of course it was quiet. It was paradise. A paradise I’d needed after being in a hospital for over a month. And don’t bother asking what was wrong with me, they never did figure it out, the doctor saying some nonsense about how sometimes people slip into comas for no reason.
I didn’t want to waste any more time trying to please others. Those months of illness had been a blessing. The moment I’d regained consciousness, Grandma had packed our bags, sold the house in Maine and we’d ended up here. I sure as heck wasn’t going to complain.
I paused, listening to the sad cry of a Gull. Still…there were times when I felt like I’d missed something important while unconscious all those weeks. Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled with Grandma’s sudden change from dour to hopeful. But there were times when I’d catch her watching me with this odd combination of sadness and worry in her hazel gaze, as if she knew something I didn’t.
“Guess I should head home,” Mrs. Miller said in that sugary drawl.
She stood, slapped a huge straw hat on her bleached blonde hair and sauntered toward her small red convertible. She wasn’t our typical customer, but she’d stopped by once and liked the place because we seemed to know exactly what she wanted even before she said a word. Yep, to her, we were the perfect little servants.
I gave her a wave as she drove away, then swiped down the small benches and tables that seated our customers. Our restaurant, if you could call it that, boasted three tables and a small bar, all outside seating. Still, it was ours, Grandma and me, and we had plans to expand eventually…when we weren’t busy sunbathing, snorkeling and collecting shells.
“All done?” Grandma asked, strolling out of the small abode where she’d been cooking. She hung her white apron on the hook outside the door. It was hot work, but we could always take a break and dip into the ocean for a quick swim. Really, my job couldn’t get any better. I was even second guessing college. Why leave this paradise?
“Yep.” I picked up the few pieces of trash that littered the white sand, stuffing them into the trash bag Grandma had grabbed.
I’d been living with her since I was five and my mind-reading ability had surfaced. Mom pretty much thought I was a freak and shoved me into Grandma’s capable arms, the one person who understood. Another freak. Yep, Grandma, too, could read minds which made it hard for me to sneak out after curfew. Even though we had that ability in common, it didn’t mean we got along. Until my illness, we’d rarely gotten along.
“I’m heading home now,” she said.
Home was a small, two bedroom cottage across the street that hung heavy with white Jasmine, a fragrant flower I could smell through my bedroom window at night.
“Okay, I’m almost done.”
She paused at the road, her short dark hair wavering on the cool breeze. “Whose pink moped?”
I shrugged and made my way toward her. It was a cute Vespa, a soft pink in color with a white helmet dangling from the handlebar. I’d been admiring it earlier and even now couldn’t resist running my fingers over the white seat.
“Not sure. It’s been here awhile though. Was here when I got in this morning.” I frowned, glancing at the beach where palm trees swayed on the breeze. The ocean might look peaceful, but underneath there was a world of danger. “Should we be concerned?”
It had been known to happen that tourists would go snorkeling and be taken out by the current, never to be seen again.
Grandma grinned, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. She wasn’t like most Grandmas and looked younger than she was. We spent many mornings hiking the island, exploring waterfalls and bays. “Nah. I think I know who the owner is.”
Confused, I watched her warily. I couldn’t read her thoughts, I’d never been able to no matter how hard I tried. When thoughts from others flowed freely into the universe, Grandma’s remained firmly encased in her brain. Until a few months ago, Grandma had been able to read mine, much to my ever growing annoyance. But since my illness Grandma had taught me things I’d always wanted to know, like how to block my thoughts from being read by others like us. Not that I knew anyone else like us. Still, it was a handy trick to have and made me feel as if I had more freedom.
“Who is the owner?” I asked.
She tossed something toward me. Instinctively I caught the small, shiny object. A key. I glanced up at her, shocked. She couldn’t mean…
She grinned. “Happy birthday. The moped is all yours.”
My mouth dropped open. “Are you serious? But we can’t afford it!”
She waved her hand through the air, dismissing my comment. “Don’t you worry about that.”
I threw my arms around her neck. Before my illness, we’d barely touched. I hugged her often now and much to my delight, she hugged me back.
After a few seconds, she pulled away, looking like her gruff self once more, but she couldn’t fool me. “Finish cleaning, then go for a ride, I know you want to. But don’t be out too late.” She strolled across the road to our small cottage.
I tossed the trash in the brown dumpster that sat alongside the road, eager to test out my Vespa. On the island a scooter was pretty much like having a car. I’d be able to see the entire place on my own. Meet up with friends, go on dates. And I wanted to date, so badly it hurt. I was eighteen years old, it was time to fall in love…to be really kissed. Even now my gaze strayed to tourists who strolled the beach hand in hand. Sure, I’d had boyfriends, but no on had made my hormones flare to life.
My heart gave a painful squeeze. For one brief moment I forgot my Vespa, forgot my illness as I sat suspended in some odd reality where something important lay just out of reach and if only I could touch it, I’d know….
The couple shifted and there, further down the beach, I noticed a man walking my way. An odd tingle of awareness pulled me back to earth. Alone, but he didn’t seem lonely. No, he was too tall, too gorgeous, and his stroll too confident to be lonely. I tilted my head, leaning against the bar, feeling oddly confused.
There was something about the way he walked…the way his dark hair glimmered under the light of the setting sun…the way, I swore even though I couldn’t see his eyes through his sunglasses, he stared at me.
There was nothing unusual in the cargo shorts and a t-shirt that he wore. Not even in the way his body moved fluidly, all muscle. He was gorgeous, simply put. And I’d seen a lot of hot guys on the island, natives and tourists. But something about his man gave me pause; something made my heart beat a little faster. Something I couldn’t explain.
“Sorry,” I said, as he started toward the café. “We’re closed. I can get you a drink to go if you want.” My voice came out a little breathless and heat shot directly to my cheeks.
He settled on a bar stool near me. “Hello, Cameron.”
For a moment, I merely looked at him, too shocked to respond. He knew my name. But I didn’t know him…at least, I didn’t think I knew him. Yet, I couldn’t deny that there was something familiar in the way he smiled at me. My heart dashed for my throat, making it hard to breathe. The many times Grandma had warned me to keep quiet about my ability came rushing back. Had I slipped, is that why he was here? I rested my hand at my thigh, feeling the weight of my Swiss Army Knife. It might be a pathetic weapon, but it made me feel better.
“How do you know my name?” I demanded, stepping back.
He held out his hand, a strong, tanned hand with long fingers. “We’ve met before, Sweetheart. Although you won’t remember.”
&nbs
p; I didn’t dare touch him, afraid if I did, something would change, although what, I wasn’t sure. A shiver of awareness caressed my skin, a warning that something wasn’t quite right. I glanced around the beach, taking comfort in the fact that the couple was still nearby, cuddling close enough that if I screamed they’d hear me.
“Sorry, but we’ve never met. And I’m headed home.” I spun around and started toward our cottage.
“I have something to tell you.”
I froze near my Vespa. My heart hammered madly in my chest as indecision held me captive. I needed to run, to dart across that road to safety. Except, something held me back. Something inexplicable. Something that said I needed to know what he was going to tell me.
Slowly, I turned.
“Get on with it,” I snapped, in no mood for guessing games.
He lifted his hand to his face and slowly removed his sunglasses. Piercing gray eyes met mine. “My name is Maddox. Your father sent me, Cameron.”
I laughed, a harsh sound of disbelief. “That’s impossible, because if you really knew me, Maddox, you’d know that my father is dead.”
“He’s not.” Maddox stood, towering over me. “Your father is alive and well, and he’s sent me here to protect you.” He slipped his sunglasses back into place, hiding those steel eyes behind mirrored lenses. “Whether you believe me or not, Sweetheart, I’m pretty much the only thing standing between you and death.”
Lori Brighton, The Mind Readers
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