still didn’t know what that really meant. Except stark, raving terror when she touched her sister.
The memory of Charlie’s fear in that boiler room twisted her stomach, and she swallowed the bile at the back of her throat. Don’t think about that, she told herself. That didn’t even happen to you.
But it felt like it did. God, it felt like it did, and she didn’t know how she would ever live with her sister’s memories. Was that what she faced now? A lifetime of coping with other people’s pain and terror?
“Oh, dear.” AnnaCoreen rolled from the chair to her feet in one smooth motion an instant before Alex’s glass exploded in her hand.
“Crap!” Charlie jumped up.
Alex sat there, stunned as pink-tinged lemonade dripped onto the wooden floor of the porch. Luckily, she’d no longer been holding the glass over her lap or she’d be drenched.
“It’s okay, dear,” AnnaCoreen said to Alex. “I’ll get some towels.”
As she disappeared into the house, Charlie knelt beside Alex’s chair. “Are you okay?”
Alex flinched back before Charlie could put a hand on her knee, the jerky movement tilting the chair back on its rockers. “Don’t.”
Charlie drew back, and the surprised color in her cheeks faded. “God, Alex, I’m sorry. I know this is a lot to take in. I didn’t realize you were so . . .”
As her sister trailed off, Alex tried to crack a smile. “Strong?”
“Yeah,” Charlie said, her lips tight. She began gathering the bigger chunks of glass and stacking them gingerly in one hand, careful to avoid contact with Alex in any way.
Alex glanced down at the palm of her hand, where blood welled from a cut that she didn’t yet feel, despite the lemonade that should sting. “She knew that was going to happen,” she said, her voice dull to her own ears. “AnnaCoreen. She was already on her feet.”
“She’s kind of spooky that way.”
“Is she really psychic?”
Charlie shrugged. “She may just be an ace at reading people. She probably saw your hand tighten on the glass.”
“She’s helped you a lot?”
Charlie raised her head and met Alex’s eyes, a conviction there that made Alex shiver. “I don’t know if I could have handled any of it without her.”
“How does it work? Why us?”
“AnnaCoreen can explain. It helps when you know the . . . I don’t know what you’d call them . . . the logistics, I guess.”
“There are logistics?”
Charlie smiled. “In the sense that there’s logic? No.”
AnnaCoreen returned with a roll of paper towels and a bright yellow hand towel. “This is for your hand,” she said, holding out the towel. “I’ll get some antiseptic and bandages in a moment.”
Alex hesitated to use the towel. It was thick and luxurious, like new. The blood pooling in her hand would surely ruin it.
“Don’t worry, dear. I have others just like it.” AnnaCoreen knelt to sop up lemonade. “Luckily, the cut’s not that deep.”
Alex pressed the clean, obviously expensive cotton to her palm and winced at the answering twinge. “How do you know it’s not that deep?”
“If it were, you’d be dripping blood all over my porch,” AnnaCoreen said simply, then rose to her feet, a wad of used paper towels clutched in one hand. “That’s the worst of it. I’ll ask Richie to hose off the porch later. Otherwise, the ants will throw a party.”
Charlie perked up. “Richie?”
AnnaCoreen either didn’t hear or chose not to answer, because she strode back into the house without a word.
Charlie grinned at Alex. “I think she has a boyfriend.”
Alex had to laugh at Charlie’s enthusiasm. She obviously cared deeply for the older woman.
AnnaCoreen returned with a first aid kit and a fresh glass, which she handed to Charlie. “Get your mind out of the gutter and pour your sister a refill.”
“You still trust her with a glass?” Charlie asked as she dutifully poured lemonade.
AnnaCoreen, kneeling at Alex’s feet, set the first aid kit on
The memory of Charlie’s fear in that boiler room twisted her stomach, and she swallowed the bile at the back of her throat. Don’t think about that, she told herself. That didn’t even happen to you.
But it felt like it did. God, it felt like it did, and she didn’t know how she would ever live with her sister’s memories. Was that what she faced now? A lifetime of coping with other people’s pain and terror?
“Oh, dear.” AnnaCoreen rolled from the chair to her feet in one smooth motion an instant before Alex’s glass exploded in her hand.
“Crap!” Charlie jumped up.
Alex sat there, stunned as pink-tinged lemonade dripped onto the wooden floor of the porch. Luckily, she’d no longer been holding the glass over her lap or she’d be drenched.
“It’s okay, dear,” AnnaCoreen said to Alex. “I’ll get some towels.”
As she disappeared into the house, Charlie knelt beside Alex’s chair. “Are you okay?”
Alex flinched back before Charlie could put a hand on her knee, the jerky movement tilting the chair back on its rockers. “Don’t.”
Charlie drew back, and the surprised color in her cheeks faded. “God, Alex, I’m sorry. I know this is a lot to take in. I didn’t realize you were so . . .”
As her sister trailed off, Alex tried to crack a smile. “Strong?”
“Yeah,” Charlie said, her lips tight. She began gathering the bigger chunks of glass and stacking them gingerly in one hand, careful to avoid contact with Alex in any way.
Alex glanced down at the palm of her hand, where blood welled from a cut that she didn’t yet feel, despite the lemonade that should sting. “She knew that was going to happen,” she said, her voice dull to her own ears. “AnnaCoreen. She was already on her feet.”
“She’s kind of spooky that way.”
“Is she really psychic?”
Charlie shrugged. “She may just be an ace at reading people. She probably saw your hand tighten on the glass.”
“She’s helped you a lot?”
Charlie raised her head and met Alex’s eyes, a conviction there that made Alex shiver. “I don’t know if I could have handled any of it without her.”
“How does it work? Why us?”
“AnnaCoreen can explain. It helps when you know the . . . I don’t know what you’d call them . . . the logistics, I guess.”
“There are logistics?”
Charlie smiled. “In the sense that there’s logic? No.”
AnnaCoreen returned with a roll of paper towels and a bright yellow hand towel. “This is for your hand,” she said, holding out the towel. “I’ll get some antiseptic and bandages in a moment.”
Alex hesitated to use the towel. It was thick and luxurious, like new. The blood pooling in her hand would surely ruin it.
“Don’t worry, dear. I have others just like it.” AnnaCoreen knelt to sop up lemonade. “Luckily, the cut’s not that deep.”
Alex pressed the clean, obviously expensive cotton to her palm and winced at the answering twinge. “How do you know it’s not that deep?”
“If it were, you’d be dripping blood all over my porch,” AnnaCoreen said simply, then rose to her feet, a wad of used paper towels clutched in one hand. “That’s the worst of it. I’ll ask Richie to hose off the porch later. Otherwise, the ants will throw a party.”
Charlie perked up. “Richie?”
AnnaCoreen either didn’t hear or chose not to answer, because she strode back into the house without a word.
Charlie grinned at Alex. “I think she has a boyfriend.”
Alex had to laugh at Charlie’s enthusiasm. She obviously cared deeply for the older woman.
AnnaCoreen returned with a first aid kit and a fresh glass, which she handed to Charlie. “Get your mind out of the gutter and pour your sister a refill.”
“You still trust her with a glass?” Charlie asked as she dutifully poured lemonade.
AnnaCoreen, kneeling at Alex’s feet, set the first aid kit on
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