Only a Breath Apart Page 6

  The Chariot is this kingly-warrior-looking guy being pulled around in—surprisingly enough—a chariot. Unlike most of the other cards, it’s faced away from Glory.

  “It’s a card,” Scarlett says.

  “And it’s in reverse,” Glory says, like that proves some sort of point.

  “I’d really like to go home now,” Scarlett says, and if we were friends, I’d offer her a fist bump, but we aren’t so I go back to ignoring her like she’s ignoring me.

  “Soon.” Glory finishes laying out the cards then studies them before speaking again. “You both have very clear and specific goals, and you are both determined to succeed.”

  On cue I slump in my seat. Wow—another earth-shattering statement.

  “You feel as if you’ve lost control of your lives. You feel stuck, like there is no forward momentum. You also both understand pain, more than someone your age should. Scarlett, your pain and secrets are such that I highly advise you to carry obsidian at all times.”

  Scarlett flinches. I glance at her, trying to figure out if that was real or a glitch in my brain. I can’t tell. She sits there, all perfect, as if nothing could or would faze her. This girl is nothing like the Tink I remember.

  Our freshman year, Scarlett became a replica of her mother: perfect posture, manicured nails, and hands folded in her lap like a princess. She even inherited the uncanny ability, with a subtle flick of her eyes, to look down upon me and my friends.

  Glory starts into some nonsense about how this will be a trying year, but a defining year—a year that we will both look back upon and have fond emotions for—and I can’t help the sense of pride that washes through me as Scarlett arches a brow in disbelief. That’s the girl I remember. The one who had no problem calling me or anyone else out on their crap.

  “You both have secrets,” Glory says. “Secrets that unless you figure out how to bring them to the surface and confront, you’ll never find happiness.”

  “Can you be any more vague?” I ask, and Scarlett smirks. The edges of my own mouth move up. It’s been a long time since the two of us were on the same side of anything.

  “Would you like me to be more specific?” Glory asks with a taunt. My smile falls. Anything Glory knows about me isn’t because of magical cards. It’s because my grandmother trusted her when she shouldn’t have.

  “Why don’t we wrap this up,” Scarlett says.

  “Tell me what you want to know,” Glory says to Scarlett, and I find myself curious for her answer. Scarlett has everything. Her father owns the lone manufacturing plant in the county, their family is loaded and whatever she or her mother wants appears out of the air with a snap of their fingers. Scarlett has never had to struggle.

  “Will I do it?” she asks. “Will I reach my goal?”

  Glory scoops up the cards, shuffles them again and says aloud, “Will Scarlett and Jesse reach their goals?”

  Once again, she lays out the cards in an elaborate pattern and her eyes flicker from one card to the next. “There are many obstacles in your paths, and you both will be tested.”

  My fingers tap against my still-crossed arms. Glory is like one of Gran’s records that’s been scratched and plays the same section of music over and over again.

  “I can’t one hundred percent say if either of you will succeed.”

  “Of course you can’t,” I mumble.

  “I can see that if the two of you work together, there will be a clearer path of success.”

  “If we work together?” Scarlett balks. “Please.”

  Glory looks straight at me, and I see more than I want. See a truth that twists my gut. I had been hoping that Glory was wrong. That after Scarlett left, Glory would tell me she had made a mistake, Scarlett wasn’t one of the tribunal and Glory would be offering me excuses as to why her psychic powers had been out of whack.

  But this.… I take my cap off and run a hand over my head in an attempt to recover. Screw me, Scarlett really is the third vote in the tribunal.

  “Are you kidding me?” I say, and the contempt in my tone tastes bitter.

  “No,” Glory says. “The two of you must definitely work together.”

  SCARLETT

  I’m out of my seat, purse in hand and I’m ready to go. Camila’s reading was fun. This one was a joke, at my expense, and I’m not laughing. “Take me home.”

  A cell rings, and I glance at Jesse, waiting for him to answer, but instead it’s Glory who crosses the room and grabs her cell. She accepts the video call and gives a brilliant smile. “Hi! Do you mind giving me a few? I need to wrap up with a client, and I’ll call you right back.”

  My entire body seizes. “You’re supposed to give me a ride home.”

  Glory ends the call and offers me an apologetic expression. “I forgot I had a phone meeting. I’ll take you home, after the call, but this will be a lengthy session.”

  Meaning I won’t be home by curfew. “Reschedule.”

  Glory has a thoughtful look as she approaches me. One that makes me feel like I should run. She leans forward and says in my ear, “You felt something when you saw the Chariot.”

  The moment she placed that card on the table I felt as if I had sprinted headfirst into a wall. It was a stunned feeling, as if I were lost in a fog, but I won’t admit that. Not to her, not to anybody.

  “You’ve been asleep for a very long time,” she whispers. “It’s time to wake up, Scarlett. There’s a whole world of possibility waiting for you.”

  I step back from her because this lady is insane. “I need you to take me home.”

  “I can’t, but I’m sure Jesse can lead the way.”

  Um … no. I spin on my toes, and I’m out the door, down the stairs, and I head east for home. Seconds later, the screen door slams shut again, and there are heavy footfalls on the wooden steps.

  “Wait up!” Jesse calls out.

  Nope. Not going to happen. I enter the tree line and curse the sky above that there’s no moon. This is the country, which means that besides the fading light from Glory’s house, I’m in complete darkness.

  “Scarlett!” Jesse tries again. “Wait!”

  But I don’t. I walked this land hundreds of times with Jesse, sometimes by myself so I could find him when I needed a friend. I can do this on my own.

  “Let me find you so I can walk you home,” Jesse says.

  He’s to my right, and I hurry because I don’t want to be found. My pulse pounds in my ears, and my blood tingles with this need to stay hidden, to stay alone.

  Once upon a time, Jesse was my best friend, and then one day he froze me out. He stopped answering the door when I knocked, he ran away when he saw me coming across the field and then when we were forced into the same space on the first day of our freshman year, he humiliated me in front of the entire school.

  Jesse Lachlin crushed me, and while I feel sorry for him because his grandmother died, I don’t forgive him for leaving a scar on my soul.

  “Dammit, Scarlett, stop being so stubborn.”

  My jaw clenches, and it takes an immeasurable amount of self-control to not explain to Jesse in a very loud tone that he’s the biggest jerk I’ve ever met. Doing so will inform him where I’m located, and I need him to leave me alone.

  I push forward, faster this time, but then my foot snags on a root. My balance is thrown and my arms swing wildly in the air. I attempt to reach for something to break my fall, but my fingers catch air. The sensation is like the first massive hill of a roller coaster as my stomach lifts, and I brace myself for impact with the ground.

  I close my eyes, tense my muscles and I’m caught. Strong, warm arms weave around me from behind and then my back is pressed flush against a solid chest. My heart leaps, and my lungs are robbed of air.

  “You okay?” Jesse’s mouth is incredibly close to my ear, and his hot breath tickles my skin. I tremble, because of the adrenaline or because of this achingly beautiful intimacy, I don’t know.

  “Are you okay?” he asks again, and
this time his arms tenderly squeeze me as if he’s offering comfort, as if he honestly cares. It’s been so long since anyone has hugged me that a part of me melts into the embrace as if I’m dry ground welcoming a warm rain.

  “Scarlett?” Jesse gently urges me to answer. “Are you okay?”

  No, I’m not. I haven’t been okay in years, and he’s partly to blame. A rush of anger fills me, and I shove Jesse away. “I’m fine.”

  He straightens as if I had slapped him. Something I should have done our freshman year when he embarrassed me at lunch, making me the laughingstock of the freshman class. People still whisper about it. “Yeah, you seem fine.”

  We’ve wandered far enough into the woods that the lights from Glory’s cottage are no longer visible. Above us, through the thick foliage, thousands of stars twinkle in the night sky. I blink, and my sight finally adjusts to the darkness. I’m still surrounded by blackness, but I can make out some of the trees and most of Jesse.

  “Are you ready to accept my help?”

  “I know my way home.”

  “You were walking toward the state highway.”

  I cross my arms because I had no idea I had been heading in the exact wrong direction of home. “I was trying to lose you.”

  “Then lose me. But lose me when you cross the street to your home. I don’t need police officers and FBI agents roaming my land for weeks because you can’t figure out east from west.”

  “Scared they’ll find your drug stash?”

  Jesse yanks on the bill of his baseball cap. I have no idea if Jesse does drugs or not. Rumor at school is that he was arrested for possession, but his uncle had the charges dropped.

  “Get your phone and use the flashlight app,” he says. “Last thing I need is your dad suing me because you can’t walk without tripping.”

  Jesse isn’t reaching for his cell, and I know why. Unlike me, Jesse knows this entire land so well that he could walk it blindfolded and with his arms tied behind his back.

  “The light will blind us,” I say, “and I remember how to get home.”

  He releases a long breath like he doesn’t believe me then starts to walk in the opposite direction of where I had been heading. “Then at least stick close.”

  As much as I hate it, I do. Even when I roamed this land daily, I still didn’t know it as well as Jesse. No one could. Jesse and the land aren’t just connected. They are one.

  JESSE

  Through the woods, Scarlett followed me, walking where I walked, but as soon as we step into the hayfield, she catches up to be by my side. She has a slight limp, and I shake my head. She’s wearing sandals. Not even sturdy sandals. Ones that were made for show and not for comfort. And she thought walking was a good idea, and I thought she was smart.

  “Let’s take a break.” I expect her to argue, but instead she plops down on a log.

  Good thing the hayfield was cut last week or we’d be thigh deep in grass. I prop my back against the trunk of an oak and watch as she takes off her sandals then circles her ankles.

  “You used to be able to run from Gran’s to Glory’s without stopping,” I say.

  “But I never did it in sandals.”

  True story. Though, during the summer, she used to run this land barefoot.

  “Know where you’re at now?” I ask.

  She scans the area then nods. This time, I believe her.

  “The creek’s to the south.” Scarlett turns her head in the right direction then her gaze wanders to the north—to the location of the huge sugar maple my great-great-great grandfather planted when he was a boy. She doesn’t mention the maple. I don’t bring it up either. I guess some things are better left in the past.

  I lean my head against the tree and can feel the lingering warmth of the day radiating from the bark. Breathing in deep enough, I can still smell the sun. Scarlett used to tell me I was wrong—she said the scent was that of life. She thought the aroma was created when the leaves absorbed beams of light for food. With all the seriousness that a ten-year-old could have, Scarlett pinned me down with a glare and declared the smell green.

  That was back when she would admit she could smell colors. Now I’d bet she would tell me she smells nothing.

  The leaves surrounding us clap with the breeze and a new scent fills my nose. It’s sweet honeysuckle on the vine with a hint of wild grass, and I frown. There’s no honeysuckle near here, it’s the wind having fun at my expense. That scent belongs to Scarlett. I glance over at her and she’s watching me.

  “I was always envious of you for that,” she says.

  “Of what?”

  “Of how you could touch any part of this land at any time and look as if you truly belong. As if it’s alive and you’re having a conversation no one else can hear. Sometimes it made me think that the Lachlins are spiritually gifted and that Glory might really be psychic.”

  “Glory’s a con,” I say.

  Scarlett studies me. “You have to admit the phone call Camila received was weird.”

  As was Scarlett showing up in the car exactly as Glory and I were talking about the third member of the tribunal, but that boils down to … “Coincidence.”

  “She knew a lot about Camila, and some things she said regarding me were true.”

  “It’s a game. She throws out broad statements, and people are more than happy to latch on to her lies because they’re excited at the idea of believing in something.”

  “So you don’t believe we’re meant to work together?”

  I believe I need her to vote for me in May. “What do you want?”

  She freezes while wrapping her hair into a bun at the base of her neck. “Excuse me?”

  “Glory said you had a goal. What is it?”

  “Why do you care?”

  She has a point. To go from years of ignoring her to attempting to sneak into her private thoughts doesn’t exactly add up. “Just making conversation.”

  Scarlett finishes with her hair then gives me her best princess to pauper look. It’s equal parts tempting and annoying. “What do you want?” she turns the question around.

  I could lie. Give her some lame goal, but she’s watching me, testing me. I have nine months to win her over, and it’s going to take all that time to undo what’s happened between us. The pure truth will drive her away, and odds are she still knows me well enough to ferret out the lie so I give her half of the truth. “I want my land.”

  “This is your land. It’s been your land since the day you were born.”

  Exactly. “Gran didn’t give me it outright. Marshall will decide when I turn eighteen if I’m mature enough to own the farm.”

  “Are you?”

  That was direct. “Yes.”

  She gathers her sandals and stands. “Then I wish you luck.” With a gentle sway of her hips, she pivots on her toes, and this time heads in the right direction.

  I push off the tree and join her. We’re so deep into the heart of my land that there’s no sound of human life, no rumble of a truck from the road, no music from speakers, no stray conversation lingering in the night. Just the occasional sound of a cricket trying to get laid.

  She wishes me luck. As if she doesn’t believe in me. As if she sides with Marshall on her opinion of me. “I’m responsible enough to own the land.”

  “Okay,” she says, but doesn’t sound convinced.

  “I’m responsible enough to own the land,” I say again. Silence on her end and that pisses me off. “What makes you think I’m not responsible enough?”

  “With how you behave at school, I’d say you’re going to sell the farm the moment your name is on the deed. What will you blow the money on? A field party for the ages?”

  I spit out the same words she threw at me earlier, and I’m a bastard because I want them to hurt her as bad as her saying it hurt me. “You don’t know me.”

  She doesn’t respond, just keeps on walking like what I said doesn’t matter.

  “You don’t know me,” I say louder.
>
  “I guess that makes us equal.”

  “What makes you think I’m irresponsible?”

  She makes a soft derisive sound, and my teeth grind.

  “Don’t act insulted,” she bites out. “You’ve been suspended from school, you’ve been arrested at least twice, and your friends are a bunch of losers who sit in the back of class and make fun of anyone who is not the four of you. That is the definition of juvenile delinquency.”

  “You think you have me and my friends figured out, don’t you?”

  “Three years of high school, and each year, you guys act like fools, so, yes, I have a good handle on the situation.”

  Every muscle in my body tenses. “Like you and your friends are any better?”

  “Well, none of my friends have been arrested.”

  “Your friends are mean and talk more crap than my friends ever do. My friends would never hurt people like your so-called friends do.”

  She picks up her pace. “Unlike some people, my friends don’t ridicule people in public.”

  “Guess I should tell my friends that the great Scarlett Copeland told me it’s only proper to throw shade if we do it behind people’s backs.”

  “Do whatever you need to ease your conscience. You’re the jerk here, Jesse. Not me.”

  “You and your friends believe you’re better because your clothes cost more, but you aren’t better. Your life is a show. You guys complain how hard life is because the hotel you want for prom is booked. Not a single one of you know what it’s like to struggle.”

  “Wow.” Her chin lifts and her nose is definitely in the air. “And to think, I spent years wondering why you didn’t want to be my friend anymore. I had no idea you had done me a favor. Thank you for helping me figure out that I like it better when we don’t talk.”

  I become rooted on the spot. Idiot. I’m. An. Idiot. I’m supposed to be repairing my friendship with Scarlett, not rehashing years of pain.

  Scarlett keeps going, and when I catch up, it’s clear she’s going to ignore that I exist. The walk goes by too quickly or not fast enough. Depends upon one’s feelings on heavy, angry silences. The beaming porch lights of Scarlett’s massive house come into view, and I can see the outline of my trailer. Home sweet home.