about a tornado on a sunny day.”
Evan rolled his eyes. “Your father burned down his house.”
“At least no one was in the house when he did. Your father killed our cat.”
“We had two hamsters and a snake trapped inside.”
“Your father keeps pet snakes? I suppose that explains the strange poison that ended up in our drinking water. Mom would have died if she hadn’t been....” I trailed off. Mom had been pregnant with Juliana, and the unborn baby had healed her mother, but even though Evan now knew there was a healer in the family, I didn’t want him to know which one.
A quick glance at Evan told me that he had worked out the truth for himself. He looked entirely too smug. “Not a smart slip. I can do math. It’s Juliana, then? I guessed as much. Her or Isaac, since your family tries to pretend neither one has an active gift.”
I closed my eyes, silently cursing myself for my stupidity.
“Besides, my father had an antidote. He wouldn’t have done it if your father hadn’t stolen a rare book he needed.”
“My father didn’t steal that book. It was his.”
“You know we could be at this all day, right?”
I hesitated. “Yeah.”
“It’s why we don’t usually talk about it.”
“Is that why?”
“That, and because it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
“Doesn’t it?” It’s what I had told myself and my father for years, and as long as we had simply been friends, I was right. Now, though, Evan was taking me to see his parents.
“It doesn’t.” Evan spoke firmly, and finally.
I didn’t know if I agreed, but I let the conversation lapse into silence until we reached his parents’ house, only about half a mile from Evan’s new house. The home was well-kept, stylish, and elegant, but, I thought, a little on the small side. Then again, Evan was an only child, so perhaps they didn’t need or want much space.
Laura Blackwood, Evan’s mother, opened the door. She motioned us both inside, her eyes giving me a thorough appraisal as she told Evan that his father was in the attic. Evan squeezed my hand and told me he’d be down in a few minutes, then left me alone with his mother.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
“No, thank you.”
“We may as well have a seat in the living room while we wait.” She led me down a short, welcoming entrance hall to a living room that somehow managed to look comfortable and pristine at the same time. Earth tones dominated the room, with a lovely view of the woods through a pair of French doors completing the woodsy atmosphere. Nothing was out of place, nor did it appear overly crowded. Everything seemed to have a place, including me, and my place seemed to be in the recliner by the fireplace.
“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Blackwood.” It was polite, and true, which meant she would probably never know if I was being sincere or not. Although since she was a respected interior designer, perhaps she would.
“You may as well call me Laura,” she said.
My face paled, and I determinedly looked away from the dark-haired beauty, whose face reminded me strongly of her son’s.
“I think I’d feel more comfortable with Mrs. Blackwood right now,” I replied.
“Have it your way.”
I turned back to face her, and noticed her still looking at me. “What?”
“You look just like your mother.”
“I know.” I scowled at the reminder. In fact, since my mother took rejuvenating potions that made her look twenty-something, we were beginning to look like twins.
“I guess you don’t want to talk about her right now. Although if it helps, she was always a self-centered bitch.”
My mouth dropped open slightly at hearing the coarse language coming from such a refined-looking woman. She made no apology for her comments, and irrationally, I felt a moment of resentment at the attack. Who was this woman to say such things about my mother? But of course, Sheila Scot wasn’t my mother any longer, and perhaps Laura Blackwood
Evan rolled his eyes. “Your father burned down his house.”
“At least no one was in the house when he did. Your father killed our cat.”
“We had two hamsters and a snake trapped inside.”
“Your father keeps pet snakes? I suppose that explains the strange poison that ended up in our drinking water. Mom would have died if she hadn’t been....” I trailed off. Mom had been pregnant with Juliana, and the unborn baby had healed her mother, but even though Evan now knew there was a healer in the family, I didn’t want him to know which one.
A quick glance at Evan told me that he had worked out the truth for himself. He looked entirely too smug. “Not a smart slip. I can do math. It’s Juliana, then? I guessed as much. Her or Isaac, since your family tries to pretend neither one has an active gift.”
I closed my eyes, silently cursing myself for my stupidity.
“Besides, my father had an antidote. He wouldn’t have done it if your father hadn’t stolen a rare book he needed.”
“My father didn’t steal that book. It was his.”
“You know we could be at this all day, right?”
I hesitated. “Yeah.”
“It’s why we don’t usually talk about it.”
“Is that why?”
“That, and because it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
“Doesn’t it?” It’s what I had told myself and my father for years, and as long as we had simply been friends, I was right. Now, though, Evan was taking me to see his parents.
“It doesn’t.” Evan spoke firmly, and finally.
I didn’t know if I agreed, but I let the conversation lapse into silence until we reached his parents’ house, only about half a mile from Evan’s new house. The home was well-kept, stylish, and elegant, but, I thought, a little on the small side. Then again, Evan was an only child, so perhaps they didn’t need or want much space.
Laura Blackwood, Evan’s mother, opened the door. She motioned us both inside, her eyes giving me a thorough appraisal as she told Evan that his father was in the attic. Evan squeezed my hand and told me he’d be down in a few minutes, then left me alone with his mother.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
“No, thank you.”
“We may as well have a seat in the living room while we wait.” She led me down a short, welcoming entrance hall to a living room that somehow managed to look comfortable and pristine at the same time. Earth tones dominated the room, with a lovely view of the woods through a pair of French doors completing the woodsy atmosphere. Nothing was out of place, nor did it appear overly crowded. Everything seemed to have a place, including me, and my place seemed to be in the recliner by the fireplace.
“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Blackwood.” It was polite, and true, which meant she would probably never know if I was being sincere or not. Although since she was a respected interior designer, perhaps she would.
“You may as well call me Laura,” she said.
My face paled, and I determinedly looked away from the dark-haired beauty, whose face reminded me strongly of her son’s.
“I think I’d feel more comfortable with Mrs. Blackwood right now,” I replied.
“Have it your way.”
I turned back to face her, and noticed her still looking at me. “What?”
“You look just like your mother.”
“I know.” I scowled at the reminder. In fact, since my mother took rejuvenating potions that made her look twenty-something, we were beginning to look like twins.
“I guess you don’t want to talk about her right now. Although if it helps, she was always a self-centered bitch.”
My mouth dropped open slightly at hearing the coarse language coming from such a refined-looking woman. She made no apology for her comments, and irrationally, I felt a moment of resentment at the attack. Who was this woman to say such things about my mother? But of course, Sheila Scot wasn’t my mother any longer, and perhaps Laura Blackwood
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