Immortal Mine (18 page)

Bob blocks my view as he once again comes in
for his spit bath. “No, Bob,” I gasp, reaching up to push him away.
He’s immediately shoved aside by a masculine hand.

“Niahm?” Sam’s face fills my vision, and I
smile in relief, until I notice the worry lines creasing his
forehead. I reach up to sooth them out, and he catches my hand
instead, pulling it to his lips, sudden heat between our hands.

“I’m so sorry.” His green eyes beg for
forgiveness. “You have to know I would
never
hurt you. I
would protect you with my life.”

I grin at him, taking a breath that, though
still uncomfortable, is nowhere near as painful as it had been only
minutes ago. “Well, that’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Instead of my teasing bringing a smile to
his face, he drops his head to my shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry,” he
reiterates.

I pull my hand from his, feel the warmth
fade as I do, and bury my fingers in his glorious hair. I tighten
my fingers and give a light tug.

“Sam, look at me.” He hesitates, but then
lifts his head, his face crestfallen. “Obviously you didn’t hurt
me, right?” Sam’s ginger brows crash together in a strange mixture
of defiant anger and deep sorrow, and I smile again.

“I hit you,” he says, self-recrimination in
every line of his body.

“On purpose?” I ask.

“Of course not! I just told you I’d—” His
vehemence strikes me as funny and I laugh.

“Then help me up and explain to me why you
were trying to hit anyone at all.”

He looks at me for long moments, confusion
written across his features. I laugh again and push him aside as I
struggle to sit. He immediately hurries to help me.

“Get away from my granddaughter.” The cold
fury in the woman’s voice draws my attention. I look at her, this
woman who claims to be my grandmother, but who is as complete a
stranger to me as anyone in a crowd. How dare she come in and act
like she has the right to make decisions for me? I reach out and
wrap my arm around Sam’s waist, pull him near me. It’s a pretty
bold move for me, and I choose to ignore Sam’s lifted brows.

“Sam’s my friend. I want him to stay,” I say
firmly. “I don’t know
you
, and you don’t know me, so maybe
you should let me make my own choices. I don’t even know your name.
How do I even know you’re my grandmother, as you claim? Where have
you been all my life?”

Her anger drains, and she shuffles
nervously—which would have been strange enough, except that Shane
and Sam both have similar body language. Finally, she takes a
tentative step toward me, hand outstretched. I make an unthinking
move backward, but stop when I feel Sam’s arm slide around my
shoulders. I don’t know how, but I have a firm knowledge that he
will protect me from harm.

She stops in front of me, and turns her hand
palm side up, opening it.

“My name is Jean,” she says quietly.

I look down at her hand, and my heart stops
as I gasp. I roughly swipe the ring from her palm, the same ring
she’d handed me before, remembrance and disbelief throttling
through me as I stare at the unusual ring. A green stone cut in the
shape of a sideways teardrop centers the silver ring, surrounded by
smaller blue stones which look teal in the cast of the emerald. Two
copper colored vines twine down the band. I lift it, closing my
eyes as I turn it over. I don’t want to look, but I have to know. I
slowly open my eyes—and there it is. Engraved inside are the words
mo chuisle.

“Where did you get
this?” I demand angrily, tightening my hand around
it.

“It belonged to my
daughter.” Her response is calm, though she does seem to be a
little wary of standing so near Sam.

“No… how could you
be…” I trail off, unable to speak over the tears that clog my
throat.

Jean looks at Sam,
“Could you give us a few minutes alone?” After several heartbeats,
she grits out reluctantly, “
Please
.”

“No!” The word is
out before I even have time to consciously decide to protest. “They
stay.”

She takes a
calming breath, but gives a terse nod.
As if she had the
decision
, I think
irritably.

“My mom told me
this disappeared the night…” I look at her, and see her eyes have
filled with tears.

“I know,” she
says. “I was taking it to get repaired. There was a stone missing,
right above one of the leaves.”

I open my hand and
look at the ring again—now whole.

“I had it
fixed.”

“Why?” My question
is not why she fixed it, but a much bigger why, which she
comprehends well enough.

“I had to go
away.” When I open my mouth to protest, she holds up a hand. “I
can’t tell you why. I can tell you it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever
done.”

I remember the
story my mother told me, about how they’d found the ring when she
was only ten. They had never been able to find its owner, and so
she’d kept it. She told me the words inside meant
my
love
, and became Jean’s
nickname for her. Then one of the stones had fallen out when she
was seventeen, and she’d still worn it for nearly another year.
Finally, her mother told her she’d take it to be fixed. She’d never
returned.

Two years after
her mother’s death, my mom had met my dad in college, and
eventually moved with him to Goshen to escape the memories, the
constant need to search for her mother, even though she’d believed
her dead.

My gaze flies to
hers. “The car… there was a body. Whose was
it?”

Is this woman, who
claims to be my dead grandmother, some kind of psychotic
killer?

“I don’t know,”
she says. “I parked at the bluff, intending to walk away. I left
that night with the intention of never returning home.” Her voice
catches, and I shove down the flicker of sympathy that ignites. “I
couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave them even if it meant…” She looks
at Sam, then Shane, a plea in her eyes, and I wonder why she’s so
worried about what they think when clearly she has animosity toward
them. She takes a deep breath, and turns her attention back to
me.

“When I came back,
the car was gone.” She’s calmer now. “I suppose I shouldn’t have
been surprised. I left the keys in it. Within moments I heard the
crash. By the time I arrived, the car was down the hill and
burning. There was nothing I could do. I could feel the intense
heat from where I stood. It seemed like an answer, confirming that
it was time for me to go. I knew they would think it was me, would
assume…”

When she doesn’t
finish, I shake my head.

“No, this isn’t
right. I mean, anyone could know about the crash, could come back
and claim to have been mistaken for being in the car. I mean, what,
you’ve had amnesia all these years? Just now remembered who you
are?”

“No, Niahm. I’ve
known full well all along who I am.” Again, she speaks to Sam and
Shane, in spite of having said my name, heavy meaning in her words.
“More than anything I wanted to come home, but it was
impossible.”

“Why? Why was it
impossible? Do you know how much my mom mourned you?” I spit
out.

She flinches at my
words. “Yes, I can imagine. We were very close.” She gazes at me.
“You still don’t believe I am who I say.”

Instinctively, I
pull Sam closer. Deep inside I can feel the truthfulness of what
she says, of who she is.

“I found that ring
when your mother was ten. We were at the park. I told her it was
calling to me.” I jerk. She couldn’t have discovered that
particular detail. No one had ever known besides my dad and I. “The
words inside,
mo
chuisle
,” I feel Sam
tense next to me as she says the foreign words, “became my pet name
for her. Because she always was that: my heart, my
love.”

“Yeah,” I snarl at
her, “because that’s what you do to people you love—you walk away
and never return.”

She glances at Sam
again, and I can’t help but follow her look. Sam is surprisingly
pale, jaw clenched, mouth tight.

“It’s...
complicated,” is her only response.

“No, it isn’t,” I
argue. “You love someone, you stay with them—no matter
what.”

She grimaces in
pain, and nods. “You’re right, Niahm. I should have stayed. I
should have dealt with the consequences. I should have been
stronger.”

“No.” I glance up
in surprise at Sam. The word seems forced from him, and he now
looks regretful at having spoken.

“What do you
mean?” I ask.

He shakes his
head. “Nothing. I just... I mean, there might be circumstances
beyond ones control...”

A trickle of fear
beads in the back of my mind, and I wonder if he’s saying he’ll
leave, should
circumstances
force
him to. Somehow, in this short time, he has become vital to me.
Part of me recognizes that I’m clinging to him in grief, but
another part of me realizes it’s also something
more.

“Niahm,” Jean
speaks, reclaiming my attention. “I know you’re angry that I’ve
never been part of your life, but I’m here now. I know that Beth
would have wanted you cared for, not taken from your home and
placed in a new town with strangers.” I can’t deny that I agree
with her, but I also decide I don’t need to open my mouth and
confirm it either. “I’ll just stay through the end of your school
year. You’ll be eighteen by then, and I’ll go.” I’m stunned by her
pronouncement. It’s almost as if she’s only here to provide me the
means to stay on the farm, and in the end, that’s what’s important
to me. If I have to tolerate her for a while, I decide I can—as
long as she stays out of my way, that is.

“However,” she
says, interrupting my musing. “I intend to take care of
you,
protect
you,” this
said with a firm look at Sam and, weirdly, Shane. “I’m your only
choice besides leaving Goshen. That means you’ll have to accept me
as your
guardian
.” I feel
like I’m missing some important part of the play, here, that there
is some kind of subtext that everyone but me
understands.

“I guess I don’t
have much choice, do I?” I grumble. “Still, I’ve been on my own for
a long time, and I don’t need to be babysat.” I glare at her. “And
Sam stays.”

Her eyes widen.
“He
lives
here?”

I roll my eyes.
“Of course not, id—” I stop myself from completing the automatic
insult. “He lives with his uncle. But he’s here quite a bit.” A
pause as inspirations strikes. “He helps out on the farm.” Sam
swallows a grunt next to me. Sounds kind of
painful.

Her eyes drop to
where our arms are entwined.

“
And
he’s my
friend,” I respond to her unspoken question.

“Hum,” she
responds noncommittally.

“You guys wanna
stay for dinner?” I ask with faux brightness, taking Sam by the
hand, catching Shane’s as I pass, and pulling them both from the
room behind me, leaving her standing there watching after
us.

“Got any pie?” Sam
asks, grunting as I elbow him in the ribs.

The guilt I feel over having harmed Niahm is
almost more than I can bear. Centuries of training and perfecting
my reflexes are the only reason she doesn’t have a fatal knife
wound—or even realize it was a knife I held in my hand. At the last
second, I recognized her intention, and was able to turn my hand,
burying my fist in her ribs, rather than the knife. Still, it was a
violent blow. I’m surprised she doesn’t have a broken rib, seems to
have recovered quickly, with no lingering effects. I looked into
her mind, saw that she has no malice or anger toward me for what I
did. She doesn’t need to. I have more than enough for both of
us.