Immortal Mine (6 page)

“I guess it was an old movie, from the
seventies, I think.”

“You’re into old stuff?”

I look at her, trying to push the anger back
into a manageable place.

“Maybe I am.”

“Okay,
grandpa
,” she jokes, and I
feel the anger boiling up again—mainly because she has no idea how
close to the truth she is.

“You are either like her, with about twelve
different personalities,” I spit, “or you’re just plain
schizophrenic. Either way, certifiably insane.”

With that, I stride to my truck, annoyance
radiating from me in waves. I glance back while driving away, and
if I didn’t know better, I would almost swear Niahm looks as if she
feels the smallest bit of regret for baiting me.

She has no idea how close she came to
forbidden territory.

“You are my sunshine…” The booming, off-key
song comes from the front porch. I light up at the sound, pushing
away the slight irritation at their lateness. They were supposed to
be here early this morning. It’s now nearly noon.

“My only sunshine,” I holler back, jumping
up from the gray-carpeted floor where I’d been lying, watching
TV.

“You make me happy,” the male voice cracks
on the high note.

“When skies are gray.” I pull the front door
open.

“You’ll never know, dear—” he sings,
extremely off-key, with a wide grin.

“—how much I love you,” I join in with him,
“Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

I launch myself into my father’s arms, which
close around me in a bear hug.

“You two are beyond ridiculous,” my mother
says, grinning at us both. I release him and throw my arms around
her. She’s right, and I would never in a million years admit to my
friends this strange little coming-home ritual we have. I would
miss it if we were to stop—almost as much as I miss them when
they’re gone.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” I say with
absolute sincerity.

“You know, honey, I’ll sing with you anytime
you want. It doesn’t just have to be on our homecoming.”

“And have them run us out of town?” I tease.
My father is well known for his completely off-key, tone-deaf
voice, which he happily shares at the drop of a hat. “How was the
sphinx?”

“Beautiful, as always,” they intone
together.

“You guys spend way too much time together,”
I grimace, watching as my father drops to vigorously rub the sides
of Bob’s neck, letting Bob lick his face unheeded. “And that’s
really gross, dad. I wish you wouldn’t let him do that. Then he
thinks he can do it to anyone.”

“How did everything go while we were gone?”
Mom asks, giving my father’s shoulder a little push to move him
into the house, as he completely ignores me, not pushing Bob
away.

“Great. No problems. Got two new horses in
the stable.”

“Oh yeah? Who bought new horses?” Dad
asks.

“The people who just moved into the Stanton
place.”

That stops them both in their tracks. I have
their complete attention now; my father even pushes Bob down off
him, Mom stops trying to get him to move. Bob gives a snort of
disgust then tromps happily off, probably to chase butterflies.

“Someone bought that old, rundown place?” my
mother asks at the same moment my father says, “Someone moved into
town?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Okay, spill,” Mom exhorts, practically
pushing me back into the house, followed closely by my father.

“Guy named Shane Coleman, and his nephew
Sam.”

“Uh-oh,” my father says. “What have they
done to offend you already?”

I hate that my father can read me so
well.

“Nothing. Shane is really nice, from what
little dealing I’ve had with him.”

“The nephew, then,” my mother says to
him.

“Do I need to pull out the shotgun?” my dad
asks. I laugh aloud at the thought of my father with a gun in his
hands. I myself can shoot a pop can dead-center from a hundred
yards, but he would not even know how to load the bullets.

“No, he’s not
that
bad.”

“Let me guess,” my mother says, opening the
fridge to pull out a bottle of water. “He’s your age, or close to
it, good-looking, and all the girls are falling all over him.”

I grimace, then admit, “All but the
good-looking
part.”

“Must be gorgeous,” my father mutters to
her.

“Dazzling,” my mother confirms with a
wink.

“I’m in the room,” I complain. “I can hear
you.”

“What did he do, darling?” Mom says. I think
about telling them about the pie, but realize how ridiculous it
will sound. And knowing they will laugh at me. And that they will
have every right to—it was a stupid reaction to such a trivial
thing. I’m still unsure of why I react the way I do to Sam
Coleman.

“Nothing. He’s just really annoying.”

“Hum,” they both murmur meaningfully at the
same time. I choose to ignore them.

“You should come out and see the horses.
They’re amazing.”

I knew that would distract them.



Church in Goshen is as much about worshiping
as it is about socializing. I’m not sure exactly when it
started—long before I existed, anyway—but church always ends at
noon, to be followed by a picnic, when the weather holds, or by a
potluck in the gym if the weather is bad. No matter your degree of
belief, everyone shows up at least for the food. Unless you’re new
in town and don’t understand the rules, that it.

I guess Mrs. Bradley forgot to inform the
Coleman’s about this particular ritual as they aren’t at church, or
the picnic following. In a town like Goshen, this isn’t just worthy
of being noted, it’s cause for gossip and speculation. Of course,
because they aren’t here to hear, the gossip runs rampant.

“Did anyone tell them what time services
begin?” Mrs. Wittmer whispers—loudly enough to be not really a
whisper.

“I’m sure they were informed, I believe I
told them myself…”

“Do you think they are
anti
-social?”

“Maybe they’re hiding something… what do you
think it could be?”

Stacy and I wander around, listening to the
ridiculous gossip, mimicking some of the more meaningless chatter.
I have to admit, Stacy is good at imitating voices, almost to
perfection, definitely to my amusement.

After the picnic, I meet up with Stacy and
the double-H on my ATV—and them on theirs—to go for a ride. It’s
one of the beauties of having my parent’s home—a little freedom.
It’s Stacy’s turn to lead the way, and we dig in. When Stacy leads,
you can count on a fast, wild ride. We’re speeding down dirt roads,
me eating the dust of the other three, when suddenly she stops. As
the person in the rear, this requires me to do a little panicked
turn off to the side to avoid a collision, into the soft dirt which
gives me a final spray from forehead to chest to knees.

I pull my sunglasses off, which are now
almost impossible to see through, wiping them on the underneath of
my t-shirt before replacing them, glad for the reprieve as I
backhand the dirt off my mouth and loudly cough up what feels like
dirt clods.

“Well, hey there, Coleman’s, fancy meeting
you here,” Stacy’s voice, full of saccharine, oozes.

I look up in horror, stopped short by
Stacy’s words in the act of about to let loose the stream of muddy
spit that I’ve worked into my mouth, my horrified eyes snapping up
to see Sam, and his uncle, working on a fence—their own fence—right
in front of her.

Shane chuckles. “Not exactly a surprise to
find us on our own property, though, is it?”

Stacy looks around in mock surprise. “Gee, I
didn’t realize we’d come so far.”

I roll my eyes. Stacy doesn’t ever end up
anywhere that she didn’t explicitly intend to. I risk a glance at
Sam, to see him watching me, a slightly amused look on his face. I
get the distinct feeling that he is more than cognizant of the
sludge currently residing behind my teeth. I straighten a little,
throwing him a look intended to make him feel inferior. It only
makes his grin a little wider. I slowly slide my sunglasses back
on, turning Sam into a slightly smudged version of himself.

“Well,” Shane sweeps us all with a glance,
“Samuel and I were just about done.” The look Sam shoots him
negates his uncle’s statement, but he doesn’t say anything. “Would
you girls like to come up to the house for some lemonade?”

I begin to roll my eyes at the silliness of
the request as well as at Stacy and the double-H’s
over-enthusiastic response, until I notice Sam doing the same
thing. I try to stop mid-roll, refusing to agree with him on
anything. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to stop an eye-roll
smack in the middle. It’s quite painful. My eyes immediately begin
to water. I reach up to wipe the pain-tears away, only after
dragging my fingers through the grit remembering about the dirt on
my face.

Great
, now I have mud streaks down my
face. I look at Stacy, whose face is virtually clean and at the
double-H, also clean. I guess my refusal to wear a bandana over my
face beneath my glasses is my payment for my current
predicament.

“We’d love to,” Stacy gushes, echoed by
Hilary and Heather. I risk another glance at Sam, who is grinning
openly at me now. I’m sure it has something to do with the wet,
muddy track now leading from the corner of my mouth. He cocks an
eyebrow at me, as if daring me. Stacy and the double-H swing
gracefully off their bikes, and follow Shane toward the ranch. Sam
stays behind to mock me.

“Coming, Niamh?” he asks, laughter in his
voice.

I nod, glaring.

“I’m sorry, what? I couldn’t hear you,” he
laughs. “Got something in your mouth?”

I stand up slowly, straddling my bike. Not
taking my eyes from his, I slowly swing my leg over. Climbing down,
I walk toward him. His eyes widen slightly, but the grin never
leaves his face. As soon as I am right in front of him—standing
this close I decide he must really be at least six-five—I pucker,
and breathe in through my nose. Then I spit the whole, disgusting
muddy mess—right next to him. I admit it; I seriously considered
spitting it on him, or at least on his shoes. I chickened out.

Whether Sam knew my original intention or
not, he bursts out laughing. “All right,” he yells, punching the
air with his fist. I wipe my mouth with my sleeve, and intensify my
glare as I push past him. Only a guy would think spit is something
to cheer, rather than a disgusting act.

I manage to ignore Sam’s cheerful whistling
as he casually strolls behind my aggressive stroll. Very noble of
me to refrain from shoving him, I’d say. When I arrive on the
doorstep, however, I’m checked in my anger. Shane and the others
have already entered, the screen door having swung closed behind
them. Whatever else I am, I can’t ignore my polite upbringing,
which requires me to knock before entering the house of someone I’m
not that familiar with. I debate the silliness of knocking, when
Sam is quickly coming up behind me, and can open the door to his
home himself, versus knocking rather than waiting for him to do
so.

His arrival takes the decision out of my
hands. He reaches past me to grasp the door handle. I am
uncomfortably aware of his nearness, and the faux intimacy of the
gesture. When he hesitates, I glance up at him irritably—to see him
looking at me, brows raised, infuriating grin still in place. His
face is far too close to mine for ease.

“What?” I demand, when he continues to look
at me.

“I
could
pull the door open” he says,
winking at me.
Winking
at me! My face flushes. “But it would
likely smack into you, and that would be rather rude, don’t you
think?”

My brows furrow in confusion.
What?
Finally, my brain does its job and processes, but only after I
glance back at the screen door and realize I’m standing directly in
front of it—and it swings toward me. Embarrassed, I step sideways,
out of the half-circle formed by his arm. He chuckles, and pulls
the door open, waving me to enter ahead of him with his free hand.
I give him my best haughty look and sweep into the house, following
the sounds of laughter into the kitchen.

They glance up at my entrance, except for
Shane who is squeezing lemons into a pitcher. The remaining three
sets of faces change from smiles to looks of horror as they spy me.
Assuming they think it’s rude to wear my sunglasses in the house, I
push them up on top of my head. Their eyes go wider.

“Uh, Vee, the restroom is just around that
corner,” Stacy informs me.

I shake my head at her. “Thanks, Stace, but
I don’t need…” I trail off as she begins making circular motions
and pointing at her face. My dirty face is suddenly brought to my
recollection and I grimace. “Right, gotcha. I’ll be back.” I refuse
to glance Sam’s way as I follow her pointing finger.