For This Life Only (20 page)

Uh, okay.
Frowning, I turned to follow. “Why would I—”

“People see her as an easy target.”

“Because of what she does?” I asked.

She rubbed her forehead, as if a headache was forming.
“Sometimes. But sometimes it's because people are jerks.”

Well, I couldn't really argue with that logic.

I moved out of the way, feeling my nerves kick in for the first time. I had no idea what to expect, meeting Psychic Mary. She was practically a mythical figure in my house and this town, often mentioned but never seen.

I would just keep my mouth shut. That couldn't hurt anything.

Thera pushed the wooden doors into the pockets in the walls on either side and led the way in. Her face as she walked in was one of someone anticipating a punch, which I didn't understand at all.

I followed cautiously. The room, like the rest of the house, was clean but old. Faded wallpaper and rugs, the furniture and built-in bookshelves made of dark, heavy wood that looked like something my grandparents would have had before they moved to Florida. A familiar-looking carved cross, polished to a dull gleam, hung in a central position on the opposite wall between the windows.

A modern, oversized sofa dominated one side of the room, with a wooden table and chairs pushed up in front of it. Mary, Thera's mother, sat in the center of the couch.

Her similarity to Thera was immediately apparent. She had the same dark, wild curls, though Mary had hers braided neatly and hanging over her shoulder.

The rest, though . . .

I looked away quickly so my shock wouldn't register with her. The temptation to stare was almost overwhelming, but I could also sense the strain in Thera, standing a few feet away, waiting for my reaction.

Mary was . . . I didn't know the right word for it. “Large” didn't seem close to adequate. Her eyes, cheekbones, and chin were nearly lost in bubbles of excess flesh. Her dress was a voluminous swath of fabric, more like a sheet, white with tiny delicate purple flowers. I wasn't sure if she'd be able to walk. A wheelchair folded up discreetly in the far corner of the room suggested that I might be right about that.

People are jerks.
Thera's words echoed suddenly in my head. This was what she'd meant. Not the psychic thing, or not only that, anyway.

“Oh, my God! Thera, what happened?” Mary stared at my face, aghast.

“There was an incident—” Thera began.

“Here, Jacob, come and sit here.” Mary pushed a wooden chair out toward me with a puffy bare foot. The ease with which she did it suggested lots of practice. Her toenails were painted a shiny purple color.

But I didn't move. Thera was slightly in front of me, blocking my path, and she didn't seem inclined to step out of the way. And going around her felt wrong, given the sudden tension throbbing in the room.

“Thera, go and get the first-aid kit,” Mary said. “It's upstairs.”

Thera stared at her mother, her jaw tight. “I know where it is.”

“We might have some of those butterfly bandages left,” Mary added, her eyes focused on my face.

“Do you think so?” Thera asked sharply.

And finally Mary glanced from me to her daughter. They engaged in a long second of silent conversation, before Thera made a frustrated noise.

“Fine. I'll be right back.” But instead of retreating, Thera charged forward and pulled a worn spiral notebook off the couch next to her mother. I hadn't noticed it before.

Mary sighed. “Thera . . .”

But Thera ignored her and pushed past me back out into the hall. A moment later, her footsteps pounded up the stairs like she was in a race.

“Come on.” Mary waved me forward. “You look like you're about ready to fall over.”

I edged toward the chair and sat down cautiously. Even still, a groan escaped. All my muscles were tightening up.

“What happened?” Mary asked, leaning forward slightly.

I wasn't sure where to look. I didn't want to stare at her, but completely avoiding looking in her direction
seemed wrong too. “I fell.” Might as well try the story I hoped to sell to my parents.

Mary snorted, a noise very similar to the one her daughter made at times, and the movement made her whole body shake. “Onto someone's fists?”

I laughed reluctantly, and my ribs protested. “Ow.” I pressed my palm against my side and realized for the first time I'd split the skin over my knuckles as well.

Mary sucked in a breath in a sympathetic hiss. “What happened?” she asked again.

Caleb. Dude had a hard head. Or, more specifically, a hard face. “It was stupid. Somebody was running his mouth, and I—”

“Here.” Thera reentered the room, breathless, with a box of bandages and a first-aid kit that was a twin to the one in her car.

She set both on the table and started to pull out another chair.

But Mary stopped her. “Ice pack?” she asked, looking toward Thera, as if she expected Thera to produce it from behind her back.

“Mom—” Thera protested.

“Without it, the boy's nose is going to blow up to twice its size,” Mary said pointedly.

I didn't understand what was going on here, but I was definitely missing something.

Thera exhaled loudly and turned to go through the swinging door into the kitchen. The slam of the freezer door sounded a moment later.

“You should take that gauze out now,” Mary said, pulling tissues from the box on the table and laying them out on the wooden surface. “If you wait, the blood will coagulate around the gauze and your nose will bleed all over again when the gauze comes out.”

I stared at her.

She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “I started nursing school. A long time ago.”

Wincing, I pulled the gauze from my nose and crumpled it up into the tissues she'd laid out.

Mary handed me another tissue for the small trickle of blood that ran out of my nose. It was nothing like the gushing of before.

The noisy crash of ice cubes hitting the counter came from the kitchen.

“And grab some of the bath salts Cecilia left the last time she was over here,” Mary called, before turning to me. “She and I trade services. She owns the spa a couple of blocks over. If you soak in the salts tonight, that should help with some of the soreness.”

“Oh. Okay.” I hadn't taken a bath since I was, like, seven, but I might be willing to try it if it would help.

Thera returned with a baggie of ice cubes wrapped in
a small towel, and a clear plastic box with what appeared to be tiny crystals, handing both to me. “Anything else?” she asked her mother, almost daring her.

“No, that should be everything,” Mary said, seemingly unconcerned. “Let's see your face, Jacob.”

I put the ice pack and crystals down on the table and peeled back the stuck napkin with a grimace.

Mary shifted forward, as if she might try to stand to help, but then she sank back into the sofa weakly. “Thera,” she said, out of breath.

“Yeah, I got it.” Thera dragged a chair around and positioned herself to the side of me.

“Did you—” Mary started.

“Yes, I washed my hands,” Thera said without glancing in her direction. “So what I'm going to do,” she said to me, “is kind of pinch together the sides of the cut and use the bandage to hold them in place. It's probably going to pull a little.”

That did not sound like fun, but it was better than stitches at the ER. “Okay.”

She pulled the backing off the first bandage and leaned in, both hands coming straight at my eye.

I automatically moved back.

She shook her head with a smile. “You're going to flinch on me, aren't you?”

“Nope. I'm totally okay with you putting your fingers in my eye.”

“I thought sports guys were supposed to be tough,” she said with a laugh.

“Not a sports guy anymore,” I pointed out.

She touched my cheek gently with her thumb, away from all my injuries. It was soothing rather than clinical, for a different kind of hurt.

Out of the corner of my eye—the one Thera was not currently endangering—I saw Mary watching us, her head cocked to the side with curiosity.

I shut my eyes then, and with quick, almost professional efficiency, Thera applied three butterfly bandages. She had done this before.

“There. That should help,” she said.

I opened my eyes and she handed me the ice bag in the towel for my nose. “But be careful not to get the bandages wet. Cover them with a bigger bandage when you get home.”

Home. I looked down at myself. I wasn't actively bleeding anymore, but I was kind of a mess. Part two of the problem.

Thera looked me up and down speculatively. “If we clean the worst spots on your jeans and coat and if you zip your coat up over your shirt—”

“—I might be able to get to my room to change without sending Sarah into a panic,” I said with a nod. “As long as she doesn't see my face first.”

“I can loan you one of my hoodies.” Thera shrugged. “Might be a little short on you, but it'll work for that purpose. They're men's anyway.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

She smiled back. “You're welcome.”

“Thera, why don't you take his coat to the laundry room? You might need to soak some of those spots.”

I straightened up, slightly alarmed. I was keeping my pants, no matter how professional and clinical they were about this.

Thera snorted, guessing the direction of my thoughts. “We have more than one stain stick.”

But she made no immediate move to leave the room. Instead, she and her mother had one of those quick, silent conversations, before Thera shook her head and disappeared through the swinging door into the kitchen.

She returned in a few seconds with a bright orange plastic tube and handed it to me, after I shrugged painfully out of my coat.

Thera took it, and with one last warning look at her mother that I didn't understand, she left the room again.

“Was the fight about Thera?” Mary asked quietly as I tugged at the cap on the tube.

I hesitated, not sure of the dynamic here and whether I should answer.

“I know she has a hard time still sometimes,” Mary
continued. “But she won't talk about it, not with me.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it away. “Last year was horrible for her. I really thought I might lose her.”

“The fight wasn't about Thera,” I said quickly, not sure what to do with that information or Mary's emotional reaction. Thera seemed like the last person who would consider hurting herself. “Not like that. It was more about me and my friends. My former friends, I guess.” I focused on applying the stain stick to the largest of the bloodstains on the legs of my jeans. “Some of them don't like how things have changed with me. After the accident. After—”

“After Eli,” Mary supplied.

“Yeah,” I said. “They were blaming Thera for the changes, and I made sure they knew that it wasn't her fault.”

“If the other guy looks anything like you do, I suspect you made your point,” Mary said wryly.

“Good,” I said with grim satisfaction.

“Thank you for being kind to her.”

I glanced up, surprised. “It's not about that. I mean, I'm not . . . being kind. She's . . .” My face went hot. “I like her,” I mumbled. This was not the type of thing you talk about with parents. Particularly not the parent of the girl whose tongue was in your mouth not that long ago.

“I've always found her rather likable myself,” Mary said, her eyes sparkling with humor now instead of tears.

“Yeah,” I said, uncomfortable. I scrubbed harder at the splotch, starting to see some difference beyond making a wet patch on my jeans.

“Give me your hand,” Mary said.

I froze. “What?”

She held up the tube of antibacterial cream from the first-aid kit. “You should get those knuckles cleaned up.”

“Oh.” Relief washed over me.

“Did you think I was going to read your palm?” she asked, amused.

“No, I . . .”

“I'm not a palmist. Contrary to the sign in the window,” she said. It seemed like years ago, instead of a couple of days, that I'd felt it beckoning me across the street.

“I got a good deal on it. eBay,” she said with a grin that made her look a lot younger. I could see even more of Thera in her at that moment.

I put the stain stick down on the table and scooted to the edge of my seat, holding my hand out to her, a bit wary.

Mary took it, her fingers soft and light on the edges of my hand, and rested my palm on the table in front of her. “I'm glad you came with Thera today,” she said, pulling out a couple of Band-Aids from the kit. “I wanted a chance to convey my sympathies in person.” She smiled tentatively. “I don't think I've spoken to you since you and
Eli were little boys chasing each other in the churchyard with sticks and making laser sounds.”

I had no memory of ever speaking to her, but she was right about the sticks. “We weren't allowed to have toy guns or swords. Lightsabers even,” I said, more to myself than to her.

She opened the antibacterial cream and began dabbing it gently over the worst of my split skin.

“Elijah was a good friend to Thera,” Mary said. “I know she misses him terribly.”

I blinked back unshed tears. Both for the loss of my brother and for the idea that he'd felt he had to hide his friendship with Thera from me.

“Yeah,” I said. “I miss him too.”

Mary unwrapped one of the bandages and peeled the backing off. “You know, your grandfather used to come over here.”

“He did?”

She nodded at the wooden cross on the wall. “Gave me that.”

No wonder it looked so familiar. He used to carve in his spare time. We had one of his crosses in the dining room at my house.

“He was trying to save us, I think. But I never had the heart to tell him that I'm Catholic, born and raised.” She winked at me.