“Huh. That’s a thinner field than I expected. The temporis seems to cling to you like spandex.”
“So does that mean I’m not the nasty threat Zack thinks I am?”
“Well, I wouldn’t suggest hugging anyone in your accelerated state, but I don’t think you’re in danger of accidental rifting.”
“Wow. That’s great. Thank you, David. This was really clever.”
“We’re not done yet. I’m curious to see if you can expand the size of your field.”
Hannah crunched her brow at him. “Even if I could, why would I?”
“Because in case you haven’t noticed, we make a lot of hurried exits. With enough practice, who knows? Maybe you could shift us all.”
After five more baths, Hannah found the switch in her thoughts. Soon she was able to double the thickness of her temporic sheath, then quadruple it. By the end of September, she was able to shift all the water in the tub. Though the act of expanding her field was as easy as puffing her cheeks, she couldn’t maintain it for more than forty seconds without getting a blinding headache.
There was of course another downside to her new skill.
“I keep thinking about those photos you showed me,” she told Zack, as they rocked on the porch swing. “As much as I love the thought of us all zipping away like Road Runner, my new biggest fear is rifting one of you. Or all of you.”
Zack could relate. The image of Rebel’s withered hand still haunted him at night. Rather than explore new aspects of his talent, he worked to improve his aim. He spent hours each day attacking a family of bananas, ripening and unripening them from various distances.
On September 29, he staged a backyard demonstration of his new prowess. The sisters and David sat in folding chairs, eyeing the three banana bunches that dangled from the porch awning.
“Nice decorations,” Hannah teased. “Is it Monkey Day or something?”
“It’s Shut Up and Watch Day. Shall I tell you how to observe it?”
“No. I think I get it.”
Zack aimed his finger like a pistol and rotted the X-marked banana in each bunch. As a crowd-pleasing finisher, he repeated the trick while the targets spun and swung on their strings.
Hannah led the others in applause. “Wow! Very impressive, Zack!”
“Thanks. Maybe the next time someone points a gun at me, I can rust it without rifting them.”
David cynically pursed his lips. “And while you’re taking the extra time to preserve the gunman’s precious fingers, he could end your life.”
“Even rifting a finger can be fatal,” Zack countered. “If an air bubble—”
“I’m just saying you shouldn’t put your enemy’s well-being ahead of your own.”
“Well, I consider ‘not being a murderer’ to be a part of my overall well-being.”
Amanda held his arm. “I think what you’re doing is admirable, Zack. You’re a good man.”
He gave her a lazy shrug and told her the bananas would disagree.
The quiet time in Nemeth had done wonders for the cartoonist. As the pain in his chest diminished to a sporadic moan, he slowly began to resemble the man the Silvers knew and missed. And yet despite all progress, Amanda could still feel a maddening wall of space between them, as if Zack had demoted her to the status of neighbor or colleague. She stewed about it so deeply one night that she unwittingly shredded her socks with short spikes of tempis. She had no idea it could sprout from her feet.
On the last day of September, she joined Zack in the kitchen, drying the lunch plates he washed.
“I think Theo’s coming down with something,” she said, for lack of a better topic. “He’s looking a little peaked.”
“I noticed.”
“I wish he and Hannah would work out their issues already. It’s been frustrating to watch.”
“Yup.”
Scowling, Amanda rubbed a plate into a state of squealing dryness.
“Not like us,” she said, through seething black humor. “You and I are doing great.”
“Amanda—”
The back door flew open. Hannah rushed into the kitchen and seized Zack’s wrist.
“We need you! Come with me!”
She’d been exploring the woods with David, a brisk morning hike to fight their growing cabin fever. Soon they heard a soft animal whimper and traced it to a clearing. A spotted fawn had splayed itself out on the leaves, taking pained and shallow breaths. One of her legs was bent at an unnatural angle. Blood trickled from her nose and a deep gash in her chest.
Hannah returned to the scene with Zack and Amanda. David lay a calming hand on the deer’s neck.
“Poor thing staggered here from the road,” he told them. “Must have been clipped by a car.”
Hannah tugged Zack’s wrist. “You have to heal her!”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You might as well try,” David said. “She’s not getting up from this.”
Zack looked to Amanda, who remained dryly pragmatic. She’d seen children die of leukemia. Her threshold for weepiness hovered high above Bambi.
“Don’t push yourself if you’re hurting.”