Ignited (30 page)

He opened up Mrs. McClure’s address book on the corner of her desk, flipping through until he found the name and address of the lab they used to process their tests. They were bound to have received the sample by now, and they might have some news for them. If he was quick about it, no one would ever know he’d made the call at all.

He picked up the phone—there was no dial tone.

Dammit. The phone was down
again
. He hung up and picked up the receiver again. Still nothing. He checked just in case, but the phone was still plugged into the wall. They
needed
their telephone. What if there was an emergency?

The back door opened, and Henry could hear the two women cackling as they moved down the hallway. Henry stood, moving so Mrs. McClure could have her seat.

“Mrs. M,” he said, cautiously. He didn’t want her getting suspicious. “Has the telephone been down all morning?”

She frowned and picked it up. There was no dial tone for her, either, and she hung up with a shrug. “You know the lines haven’t been right since that big fight. Next time it comes up, I’ll call the phone company.” She swatted at him. “Now
shoo
. I have work to do!”

He rolled his eyes, but he was grinning the whole time. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you be.”

Ruth’s blood test results would just have to wait.

The rest of the morning flew by. Just after Mrs. McClure and Patrice had returned from their smoke break, Dr. Pinkerton had asked if Henry would mind taking over the rest of his morning appointments. He’d looked pale, but had ducked away from Henry’s hands before he could check his grandfather’s forehead for fever.

“I think you ought to go see a doctor,” Henry said, frowning when Dr. Pinkerton gave him a very pointed look. “You know what I mean. A doctor in a
hospital
, or at least one who isn’t related to you and therefore very biased about your care.”

Dr. Pinkerton sighed. “I’m not sure I can go right now.”

“Why not?” It was obvious that his grandfather was suffering—from what, Henry wasn’t sure, but it was definitely
not good
. “I don’t mind covering for however long it takes. I would be happy to do that for you, if it means that you have an opportunity to take some time off and talk to someone. You’ve had that cough for weeks, and it’s not any better.”

“It’s not that. I don’t think anyone can leave right now.” 

Henry frowned. “What does
that
mean?”

Dr. Pinkerton shook his head, backing out of the room. “Both you and I are really needed here. Have you not noticed how busy we are? We can’t afford to take much time off, either of us.”

Henry didn’t know how to respond. No one could force his grandfather to do anything once his mind was made up, but they weren’t drowning in work the way his grandfather seemed to believe. Even if he didn’t want Henry to be near the Independents—a word Ruth had taught him just last night
—
he could have simply rescheduled any appointments they had for a few days out. No one would begrudge him some time off.

“Wait, before you go,” Henry said, searching about for something, anything to keep his grandfather in the room. “Have we gotten any calls lately?”

In the doorway, Dr. Pinkerton shifted about on his feet. “Why do you ask?”

“I tried to call out,” Henry said, hoping he wasn’t asked
who
he was calling.

“So, the call wouldn’t connect?”

“I couldn’t even reach the operator.”

His grandfather shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. The phones have been spotty for weeks now, ever since the fight. I’m sure Mrs. M will give the phone company hell when they come back on. Who were you calling, anyway?”

“A friend. In Denver.” Was that too obvious? He scrambled. “From medical school. Because I went to medical school in Denver.”

“I do know that, you know.” His grandfather arched a brow at him, but there was still a smile at the corner of his mouth. “So, you didn’t have that work done on your kitchen, after all?”

Henry blinked. “What?”

“You said you were having a handyman over.”

Dr. Pinkerton looked at him oddly, and Henry tried not to groan. Of course—he’d forgotten about his little lie. It was unnecessary, now. “The problem wasn’t as bad as I thought,” he said, forming the words carefully. “And they were going to overcharge me.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s all it was. Now, would you mind covering the rest of my morning? I’m not feeling well.”

What happened to
being too busy for time off
?

Henry chastised himself inwardly. He would not complain about his grandfather resting, not when he was constantly begging the man to rest.

“All right. Why don’t you go upstairs to your place and lie down for a while? Patrice will come get you if we need you down here. Otherwise, I’ll handle it.”

As if she had heard her name, Patrice suddenly appeared, smiling brightly. “Come on, now. It’s time we got you upstairs so you can rest. I’ll walk with you.”

“I’m perfectly capable,” Dr. Pinkerton grumbled, but took Patrice’s arm nonetheless.

“I know you are,” Patrice replied. She paused and looked over her shoulder, giving Henry a jaunty wink. “But how else am I supposed to tell you all about Henry’s new sweetheart if I don’t go with you?”

Henry’s mouth dropped open. “A
cigarette break
, huh?” He called out. “Traitor!” 

But they were already gone, on their way up the stairs.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Ruth

Ruth walked into the general store, the money weighing down her dress pocket. She was keenly aware of the fire in her veins, thrumming just under her skin. It seemed to have picked up in intensity, and she recognized it as part of her own nerves. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and felt the fire recede.

She was learning. She was getting better. She could handle this. And if she couldn’t, she wasn’t without help—the other Independents and Henry were on her side.

So why did she feel like her bones had rearranged themselves in the night, and why was she looking over her shoulder again and again?

She knew why, but Ruth couldn’t bring herself to even think her father’s name. Being in public felt like it should have comforted her more than it did. It wasn’t so long ago that her father had slapped her across the face and dragged her out of this very store. Things were different now, though. Now she had embraced her powers, had a support system of people to look out for her.

He couldn’t touch her. She wouldn’t let him if he tried.

The thought bolstered her, and she headed straight to the far end of the store, looking for the fresh fruit and vegetables. Everything looked especially good, like it had only just been picked.

“The corn is particularly nice today,” came a voice from behind her. Ruth nearly jumped out of her skin, whirling around with a hand to her chest. She was already on edge, and having Peter Powell sneak up behind her hadn’t helped.

For his part, Mr. Powell raised his hands and gave an apologetic face. “I’m sorry, Ruth. I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Her friend’s father smiled, congenial. June didn’t look much like her dad, but she had the same kind of easy kindness about her. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Not since ….”

Not since your father dragged you out of here.
The unspoken words hung there between them.

“I remember,” she said. The silence drew out between them, longer and longer, and Ruth cleared her throat. “How have you been?”

“Doing well, thank you! We have a new produce supplier, and that’s brought in some business. Especially since we have a new delivery man for our trucks, and he has no idea what he’s doing. Keeps forgetting parts of the order.” Mr. Powell huffed out a laugh. “Still, if that’s the worst thing that’s going on, I’d say things are pretty good.”

Ruth smiled, the expression feeling more natural on her face. Her breath was coming easier, the tension seeping out of her shoulders. “I’m glad you’re well, Mr. Powell.”

“Peter, please. I’ve known you since you were this high.” He held up his hand to just above his waist. “I think it’s all right. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re doing okay, too. I heard some really nasty rumors. You were always a good friend to my Junie, so I’ve been worried about you.”

“Rumors?”

At that, Peter looked down at the floor and shuffled his feet. “I’m not sure it’s my place ….”

The fear was suddenly back, sprouting from the deep roots inside of her. She didn’t want to be the center of a tawdry scandal, or to have her life and actions dissected as pieces of gossip, but … knowing had to be better than not knowing. Was this about her powers, her father, her living with Henry? Everything had changed so much so quickly, she wasn’t sure what would be the thing that made her a target for gossip. 

The words came rushing up out of her before she could stop them. “Please. I need to know. What have people been saying?”

“No one has seen you in days, and your father has been … less pleasant than usual. He was in here just yesterday, kicking up a fuss, yelling at my June. Calling her the
worst
names ….” He frowned deeply as his voice trailed off. “We all thought something very bad might have happened to you.”

“Oh,” Ruth said faintly. She tried to wrap her mind around it. Everyone had assumed the worst—had assumed her father was
capable
of the worst. How had she been so willfully blind her entire life? How had she never seen what was obvious to the entire town?

Ruth could feel herself heating up, and she took a deep breath and an awkward half-step toward the refrigerators that lined the wall. A little artificial cool would go a long way. She glanced around, past Peter, to see that everyone else in the store was either watching her out of the corner of their eyes or openly staring. Ms. Applebaum was frowning at her from over at the fabrics, and Mrs. Goodman was inspecting some apples, glancing between her and Peter every few seconds.

The room suddenly felt a little too close. She reached out and grabbed a few pieces of fruit, not even checking what she was setting in the crook of her arm. She looked at Peter, whose face was screwed up in sympathy. 

“Why don’t I help you check out?” he asked, leading her toward the front. Ruth followed gratefully.

She hadn’t expected this trip to be quite as overwhelming as it was turning out to be.

Peter rang up her purchases, and the total seemed cheaper than it probably should have been. He even threw everything in a heavy sack for her, free of charge. As he passed it over the counter, he said, “You come back soon, all right? We won’t have none of your father’s bullying in here.”

The words were so comforting. She did have some allies, it seemed, and she needed to remember that.

Head held high, Ruth walked out of the store and headed down the street toward the butcher. People stopped to gape at her as she passed by. A voice to her left said something about how they “saw her walk into town with the doctor—no, no, the young one! And they came from
his
house!”

Cora’s bakery was next to the butcher, and Ruth ducked inside, needing a moment away from the scrutiny. The inside was brightly lit from the large windows, the paint a cheery yellow. Everything was spotlessly clean, the tile floor shining, the tables pushed up against the wall immaculately kept, just waiting for someone to sit down. Behind the counter, Cora waved. She had a dash of flour across the tip of her nose and over her cheek.

“Hi there! What can I do for you?”

Ruth shrugged, bashful. “I just need a moment away from everyone outside, mostly.”

“I understand that,” Cora said. Ruth blinked. If anyone could comprehend the strangeness that was happening in her life, it was probably Cora. No one else among the Independents had grown up on the west side of town, as they had. No one else was now forced to trust a group of people who had shunned them most of their lives.

It was working for Cora. Ruth hoped it might work for her, as well.

“If you need to hide a few minutes, be my guest.” Cora wiped at her face with the back of her wrist, but it only added a smear of blue frosting to her cheek. “I’m just finishing up this batch of cookies.”

Ruth nodded and then backed away from the front window so she was hidden from passersby.

The silence stretched out long between them. Nearly three years separated them, so Ruth had never had a chance to know Cora well, even if they were from the same neighborhood. Ruth had always been closer to Butch in age and had shared some classes with him while he’d still attended high school, but she had gone out of her way to make sure they never interacted.

“Do you need any help?” Ruth asked. It didn’t feel natural to stand by and watch Cora work without offering to do her part.

Cora grinned at her from over the counter. “You wrangling for a job?”

Ruth blushed and looked down. “I just meant—”

“You’re a guest, Ruth. You don’t have to do anything except maybe eat this.” She lifted up a cookie and passed it to Ruth over the countertop. It was still warm. “I played with an old recipe, so be honest about it.”

Taking a cautious bite, Ruth’s eyes fell closed as the sweetness burst over her tongue. It tasted like a variation of the snickerdoodle, although she was not positive she’d identified it correctly. Her life had never afforded her many opportunities to eat sweets.

“This is delicious, Cora,” Ruth said, taking another big bite. It was so good she nearly forgot her manners and spoke with her mouth full. “You are so talented.”

Cora grew still, and a soft smile settled on her face. “You think?”

Ruth nodded. “I’ll take a dozen, if you can spare them.”

“Of course! They’ll need a few minutes to cool, though,” Cora laughed. “I think the crowd has probably moved on, if you want to finish your shopping. I’ll box these and you can come get them when you’re done.”