Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN
Skye donned her ceremonial garb, then looked at the clock on the wall. 2:45. Almost time.
Kenneth Jamison would never wake from his coma. He had the peace he’d prayed for. Her assignment was finished and she needed to get out of Flat Springs in the fastest bandaid-ripping mode available.
She’d made her choice. She’d stick to The Agreement. After all, if she couldn’t have a life with Jamison, no other life could tempt her to reach for the golden ring Lanny insisted was waiting for her. And she couldn’t very well face him again; not because she might be tempted to change her mind, but because she’d just proven to him that he’d never been the coward he’d believed himself to be. How could she possibly look him in the eye when, of her own free will, she was choosing the cowardly way out?
Coming home from the hospital she’d been happy to see the weight of so many guilty years lift from his shoulders as he forgave the thirteen-year-old he’d once been. He would also forgive his mother because he’d promised his granddad, and Jamison Shaw kept promises. He and Lori could help each other now.
Kenneth would be gone soon and young Jamison would need a real shoulder to cry on, not hers.
“Are you ready, Skye?” Jonathan poked his dark messy head around her bedroom door then walked in and closed it behind him. “It’s nearly three, but I wanted to speak to you just a moment.”
Skye smiled. She’d miss Jonathan, miss his quick readings of her thoughts. They could work side by side for hours and never need to speak. He was a comfortable soul to have about, unless you were trying to hide something. But she was done with all that.
Or was she? The look on her friend’s face told her otherwise.
“What is it, Skye? What happened that makes you hurry to leave here?” Jonathan took her shoulders in hand and made her face him.
“It’s been a difficult assignment, that’s all.”
“Wasn’t difficult until the boy moved in.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to talk to me about it.”
“It’s over, isn’t it? You can’t interfere with the past, correct?” He let her go.
“Correct. To answer your question, I don’t know what happened. I suppose I fell in love with him. And I suppose you already knew it.”
“I did. Surprising, isn’t it? That you were able to do so?”
“Yes. Surprising.”
“And it pains you now to leave him.”
“Yes. But loving someone makes it easy to do what is best for them.” She folded her white scarf and laid it aside.
“You hope so. You are not so sure.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“What other alternative is there?”
Her smile faltered for only a second.
“Have you ever heard of a Somerled called Lanny?”
“I have. She is not far. We deal with a man named Buchanan from her ranch. One day I’d like to see it. He told us it is magnificent.”
“It is.”
Jonathan looked genuinely surprised.
“And yet you returned. I’ve been warned that many do not, though I’ve not been told why.”
“She is a Primary. She knows things I’d never been told.”
“A Primary. Interesting.”
“You should go there, Jonathan. When your duty is finished, of course. Go. Before you have your farewell. Everyone should. Her Place of Perfection is a sight to see.”
She hugged him before he could ask her any more, then she left her room for the final time.
One foot in front of the other. Heel, toe. Heel, toe.
She stepped out onto the back porch and looked up toward Kenneth’s windbreak. Jamison was in the tree house. Asleep. It was a lovely gift to have him so close, and just as nice to have him unaware.
Heel, toe. Heel, toe.
The air caressed her face and played with her hair, catching it on the cornstalks, tugging, teasing, reminded her of the sensations she’d recently wished for.
Moments away. Only moments now. Home.
Surely there would be someone there who would comfort her before she was expected to go on. Surely she would be allowed to rest, to remember, to understand.
Only steps away from Home.
The circle was none so wide as it had been for Marcus. The community was large of course, but Somerleds had come from great distances for their former leader. Seven or eight years at one leadership post was standard and in that time he’d worked among many.
The circle was only half so big, but it was full of smiling souls who had been her friends—none so close as Jonathan and Lucas, who had lived with her in the big house more than three years—but they squeezed her hands and wished her Godspeed.
Jonathan was last. He hugged her and lifted her easily into the air where he swung her in circle after circle.
She laughed. Of course he would miss her and watch for her—if he still remembered—hoping their paths would cross again, but he needn’t say so. It was all in his laughing eyes, lit by unworldly lights.
He put her down and opened his arms wide toward the center.
Step. Step. Step.
“Be happy, Jamison,” she whispered. Facing the tree house, instead of Jonathan, she took her place and held out her arms.
She winced when the voices started.
***
Jamison’s happy dream was invaded by the sound of Skye’s laughter. That first day, in the school parking lot, that button he’d wished for, to make her laugh again—someone was pushing it! He sat up, suddenly alert, and wondered at the time he’d wasted harassing her instead of making her laugh.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again. With every bit of time he had left with her, he’d make her laugh; hopefully those moments would make the less pleasant ones fade. They’d go to the hospital and make Granddad laugh as much as he could stand.
With every bit of time left.
When Granddad dies, she’ll be leaving!
No matter how hard he tried to look at both tragedies as separate, they smeared together into one giant ball of dread. And after being crammed into his strongbox, over and over again, those thoughts had wiggled out of their cramped quarters and now danced in his head like mimes, warning him to wake up and pay attention.
He was awake, fully awake, and his attention was drawn to the smelly wood covering the window. It couldn’t be morning, but there were lights winking between the slats. And someone was singing, badly!
They were having one of their Exploding-Man Ceremonies he’d talked about on the recording, about the night that had been wiped from his memory! And if they were sending someone off—
“Skye!”
He stood and banged against the wood. He’d done too good a job nailing it down. No use.
What had he said on the tape? It was all over, right after the singing?!
Too dark to see anything inside, he lunged for the drop door and fumbled with the latch. Thank goodness he hadn’t felt the need to use the bolt.
No time!
He dropped onto the fork in the trunk and nearly lost his balance, but caught himself.
There, in the field, a crop circle like he’d expected. A figure stood in the center, but with his eyes still blurred with sleep, he couldn’t tell who it was.
The singing improved. What did that mean?
The figure in the center began to move. No, it was rising. In the air!
“Noooo!” His voice broke. “Noooo!” he screamed again. “Stop! I’m coming down!” He didn’t dare wait to see if they’d heard him. He had to get to the field, had to get the hell out of that tree.
He had to be in time. He had to!
Please, God, don’t let them blow her up! Don’t take her! Please!
He remembered what she’d thought the other night when he’d brought out the ropes. She thought they were going to swing over the fence.
He’d use the rope and pulley to get up in the tree hours ago, with the weighted pallet as a counter-balance. Now, with the pallet on the ground and the end of the rope in his hand, he jumped back off the branch. The pallet’s weight jarred the rope, but it lifted off the ground.
Jamison swung like Bloody-freaking-Tarzan over the fence, and as if it were a tire swing over a familiar swimming hole, he let go of the rope at just the right moment and went sailing out over the corn. Too bad his legs didn’t stay under him.
He landed on his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. His spine might have been broken but he didn’t stop to check. He just rolled to his side and kept moving while he waited for his lungs to inflate.
Where were the lights?
He looked back to the tree house to guess the direction and veered to the right. Air came back with a vengeance and he felt like he was swallowing a giant, painful bubble of it. Still, there was no time to recover.
“Skye!” Shouting helped a bit. In. Out. In, again. “Skye! Please, God, help me!” In, again. Stop and breathe. No! Don’t stop!
“Young Jamison, you surprise me. Again.” Lucas stood next to him in a gap between rows, his displeasure visible from the light emanating from the ground beneath him. “Seems you and I have stood in this field together once before. Do you remember?”
Was that a threat in his voice, or just curiosity?
He didn’t care.
“What have you done with Skye?”