The Firefly Effect (25 page)

Dropping down beside her, I lean forward to wipe my own wet feet before straightening to ask, “Does this happen a lot?”

“Not that often.” She seems to be going out of her way to avoid looking directly at me. “Actually it hasn’t happened in a long time. I thought I was over it.”

“Have you ever talked to a doctor about this?”

“No.” Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, as if she’s insulted that I would suggest such a thing. “What for? There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that there was. But anxiety disorders are something that can be treated if you know the–”

“I told you, it doesn’t happen all that often. Just…sometimes.” Pulling the blanket around herself more snugly, she finally looks at me with a sigh. “Every once in a while, in certain situations, I just kinda...I don’t know, freak out a little. I guess. I’m sorry, I don't really know how to explain it.”

“In certain situations.” Well, one apt scenario comes to mind. “Have you ever suffered from claustrophobia? Even as a child?”

“No. That’s not it. I mean, enclosed spaces don’t bother me as long as I know there’s a way out. For instance, you could shut me up in a closet and I’d be fine as long as I knew I could open the door at any point. But if it was locked and I couldn’t get out – well, that would be a different story.”

“So it’s the feeling of being trapped that brings this on?”

“Yes, that’s it! That's it exactly. Feeling trapped.”

“I see. Can you tell me…do you remember when these panic attacks first started?”

“I don’t know. Um…a while back. Years ago. Look, it’s not a big deal. Like I said, it hardly ever happens anymore.”

“You were talking in your sleep,” I suddenly recall.

“I was? What did I say?”

“I couldn’t tell. Have you ever experienced night terrors?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Were you having a bad dream?”

“Not…not that I remember.” Looking away, she squirms uncomfortably. “Could we please just drop this? I feel stupid enough already.”

“There’s no reason to feel stupid, Melanie. Lots of people have this problem at some point in their lives. It’s a lot more common than you think. My own mother used to have panic attacks.”

“She did?”

“Yes. For a while, after she divorced my sorry excuse for a father. The whole situation kind of overwhelmed her at first. The thought of being on your own can be a little scary for someone who’s been married since the age of seventeen.”

“But then she got over it?”

“She sure did. It didn’t take her long to find out that she was a lot stronger than she realized.” My mom has come a long way since the dark days of that miserable marriage. Whether she knows it or not, she was always the strong one. Louise Becker-Whitfield has always been the one person I could look up to and be proud of.

For trying so hard to make up for years of my father’s neglect.

For working overtime waiting tables and washing dishes, not only to make each month’s mortgage, but to pay for the eye exam and glasses that Parnell would never allow. Since according to him, there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with me – I was just lazy and stupid. Therefore, the money was better spent on booze and cigarettes.

For going to night school to learn medical billing and coding so she could make a better life for us both.

For making damn sure I would be able to go to college.

How could she have ever doubted her own strength? She’s the strongest person I know.

Patting Melanie on the knee, I tell her, “I’m gonna go get the radio. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t you need the light?”

“No, I can see well enough.” As dark and nasty as it is outside, there are still faint beams of light sneaking their way in through the cracks where the shutters meet.

I dress in a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt before returning with the radio, and we both snuggle under the blanket to listen to the local station. The news is encouraging. Elliott is in the process of making landfall as a slightly weakened category one, and the damage is not forecast to be extensive. Some downed power lines and trees, naturally, but only minimal beach erosion is expected and most homes won’t suffer any major structural damage.

“They’re acting like this storm is no big deal,” Melanie comments. “But it sounds like the end of the world out there.”

“It could have been a lot worse.”

“I can’t imagine worse. Listen to that wind, it just won’t let up! I’ve never been in the direct path of a hurricane before. I mean, I knew it would be rough and all, but I had no idea it would be
this
bad.”

“It is a little nerve-racking to listen to, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. As long as you stay indoors, that is.”

“That’s good, because it sounds like the roof’s about to be ripped off any minute now.”

“The roof’s not going anywhere,” I assure her with a grin.

Who’d have thought? Today I appear to be getting a full dose of something I never expected to see – a vulnerable and subdued Melanie Lane. God, but seeing her like this brings out the craziest possessiveness in me. I have to remind myself that she doesn’t need me to protect her. She got by just fine before I came along and she’ll continue to be just fine after I leave.

What does it say about me that I secretly don’t want her to be
just fine
without me?

“Shane?” Linking her arm in mine, she laces our fingers together. “I’m glad you stayed. I wouldn’t want to be here alone for this. I’d be scared out of my mind.”

“I wouldn’t have left you here by yourself, kiddo.”

“And…thank you for not making fun of me. Or treating me like I’m crazy.”

“Well now, I never said you weren’t crazy, Felony.” Nudging her playfully, I pretend not to notice the face she makes at me. “We both know you’re crazy as a loon. But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

~ Chapter Twenty-One ~

I still feel like a complete idiot.

Seriously, why did I have to have an all-out panic attack right in front of Shane? Must I constantly humiliate myself at every turn? Going all bonkers and telling him I had to go outside in the middle of a freaking hurricane – Jesus, if he didn’t think I was a fruitcake before, he sure as hell does now. How the devil did I expect that it was going to be better out there than in here?

I can picture the whole ridiculous scenario in my head.
Shall we go outdoors for a breath of fresh air? My, but isn’t it blustery this morning! What did you say, dear? Why yes, there does appear to be a fencepost stuck through my middle. Oh, this dreadful wind! It’s quite ruined a perfectly good physique. Fancy having such a thing happen on a day like today. But don’t fret, the rain will wash that nasty old blood away.

Not sure why I’m envisioning it with a British accent. Somehow it just seems to fit with the absurdity of the situation.

Stupid nightmare. I know that’s what brought it on. I started panicking in my dream, and by the time I woke up it was too late to stop the progression. Dammit, I haven’t dreamed about
him
in over a year. Haven’t had a panic attack in at least six months. Why now? After all this time, I thought I was over it. Will there ever come a day when the memory isn’t hanging over my head like a dark, ugly cloud?

Will I ever stop feeling guilty for something that everyone swears wasn’t my fault?

Yeah, maybe.

If I can ever fully convince myself that it wasn’t.

“Don’t forget to roll for exposure first,” Shane is saying.

“What?”

“You're supposed to roll before you change locations. Remember?”

“Oh. That's right, I forgot.” I’ve never even heard of Dead of Winter before, much less played it. I’m guessing the game isn’t one of Leah’s. Somehow I can’t picture her getting into a board game that revolves around a zombie apocalypse.

Dropping the die, I lean over to peer at it. “It came up blank. That's good, right?”

“Yep. Blank means no effect. Go ahead and make your move.”

“All right. I’m going to use my special ability for one additional card.” Selecting two cards, I decide, “I think I’ll rummage.”

“Good deal. I’m using my soldier to insta-kill two zombies, and I’m setting up a barricade over by the–”

“What was that?” Distracted by a noise, I scan the room in search of the source.

“What was what?”

“You didn't hear that?” I tilt my head, still trying to listen. “It sounded like music or something. Coming from – oh, wait a second. I'm so stupid, that's my phone. Be right back.” Hopping up from the floor, I scurry into the kitchen to find it on the counter next to the fridge, right where I left it.

Oh, great. It's Leah.

For a second I'm tempted not to answer, but then I figure she might get worried if I don't.

“Hello?” Leaving the dark kitchen, I point to the phone and mouth the word
Leah
to Shane. I don't know if he'll want her to know he's here, so I figure I should give him a heads up.

He merely grins at me. Sprawled out on the floor in front of the board game, he looks like the most adorable overgrown kid in the world.

“Hey, hoochie mama!” Her voice trills with its usual exuberance. “What's up? Where are you?”

I roll my eyes with a snort. “Surfing. The waves are totally gnarly, dude. Where the heck do you think I am?”

“Oh, no way! You mean you stayed? Seriously? I figured you would’ve gotten the heck outta dodge. Holy crap – so what’s it like there?”

“Let's put it this way. You know that big sign in front of the Zippy Mart that says ‘Eat Here and Get Gas’? I'm not a hundred percent sure, but I think I just saw it go flying by.”

“Really?” She sounds both dubious and impressed.

“No. Not really.” And she called me gullible!

“Oh. Good. ’Cause that sign is
awesome
. But for real, what’s it like there right now? Is it bad? Did you close the window cover thingies like I told you?”

“Yep. The window cover thingies have officially been secured.”

“Where are
you?
” Shane calls out in a loud voice. “Did you go to Mom and Hank's?”

Shaking my head, I press my lips together to keep from laughing at the ensuing pause.

After a good ten seconds of awkward silence, I hear an incredulous, “Who was that? Is that
Butthead?
”

“Um, that depends. Butthead who?”

“Oh my God, are you kidding me? What’s he doing there? Is he – no, wait, lemme talk to him. Hand that idiot the phone.”

Shrugging, I tell her to hang on before passing it to him.

“What do you want, Pita?” With a mischievous wink, he presses the speaker button so I can hear Leah's shrill voice.

“What the hell, Shane! I
told
you someone was staying there! Did I not tell you I’d rented it out? Are you stupid or what? Why would you drive all the freaking way down when you already knew that?”

I arch my eyebrows. I wouldn’t mind hearing the answer to that one myself.

“Hey, someone has to try and take care of this place, don’t they? I don’t see you worrying about it.”

“Duh! It was covered, you noxious fart cloud. I already told Melanie about the doohickeys on the windows.”

“The
what?
”

“You know what I mean! Those stupid screens or whatever they are.”

“Storm shutters, Einstein. And you’ll thank me when the windows survive this storm intact.”

“Whatever. I still say you paid way too much for them. See, if you’d listened to
me
, we could've gone to my friend Soapy and got them for half the price. He would have even installed them, I bet. But no, you had to go and pay full price like a total sucker!”

“I’m supposed to trust a guy named Soapy? Excuse the fuck out of me if I don’t want some recycled junk from Slick Soapy’s Salvage Yard!”