The Healer: A Young Adult Romantic Fantasy (The Healer Series Book 1) (5 page)

“The only thing bothering me is your desire to fire me.”

“Did you go visit Kirby again tonight?” He sat back in his chair looking as if he already knew the answer to that question. I was confused by the change in topic.

“Um, yeah. I did.”

“He’s part of what you’re frustrated about, isn’t he? Because you can’t heal him?”

I stared down at my dinner plate. I was so tired of crying, and now, not only could I not heal the people I wanted to, but I was hallucinating because I was healing too much.

“You’re doing it again.” He looked like he was getting ready to bring up another sensitive subject.

“I’m just visiting him.” I swallowed hard, knowing my father wasn’t buying it. I tried reasoning with him. “His mother doesn’t want anything to do with him. Since he’s ill he’s not something she can use to further her career. He needs some support. He needs a friend, and we’re friends.” I looked up to see the sympathy in my father’s eyes and took that as a good sign. “At the very least I can help him manage his pain, even if it’s just for a little while longer.”

He nodded. “He doesn’t have much more time?”

“No.”

I was grateful he didn’t ask for a specific date.

“I think it’s great that you visit Kirby. He needs someone like you to keep up his spirits, but who’s keeping up yours? I’m really concerned about what this is doing to you emotionally.”

I kept silent. My lasagna sat cold and lumpy in front of me.

“You’re too attached to him, too close to the situation, and you may be trying to ease his pain, but I know you, Hope. You’re trying to heal him, too. Not being able to heal someone always wears you out more than anything because of the way you beat yourself up when you can’t. And yet you keep doing it when you already know what’s coming. You’re setting yourself up for some real heartbreak here. What happens when he’s gone?”

I flinched. It felt like my heart was being pulled from my chest. I raised my eyes to his and tried to remain outwardly unaffected by his question.

“I’ll be fine.” The words sounded hollow, even to me. “I’m completely prepared for the inevitable here. It’s not like I’m a stranger to death. Besides, Kirby helps me be at peace with…with things.” I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and knew my father was once again not buying it.

I sucked so much at lying to him. Of course it’d affect me. We both knew I’d be a total wreck once Kirby was gone, but admitting it would only further my father’s convictions that not only should I not work at the hospital anymore, I shouldn’t go visit Kirby anymore either.

“Please stop doing this to yourself,” he pleaded. “Don’t you remember how bad you were after your mother died?”

Wow, he really wasn’t holding anything back tonight.

“That was different,” I managed to choke out. “She was my mother and she wasn’t supposed to die.” I pushed my lasagna around my plate slowly. “Ten seconds, Dad. That’s all I needed. If I could’ve gotten to her ten seconds sooner she would’ve been just fine. That’s why I need to be there. I need to be at that hospital because ten seconds can change everything. It can change it all.”

He nodded his head, his suspicions confirmed.

“You took too much on. Blamed yourself for what was out of your control.” He had to stop abruptly and breathe a bit as a tear slowly made its way down the side of his face. “If you’ll remember, I wasn’t much help in saving her life either, and I’m the doctor.” My father’s weak smile was laced with self-reproach. I saw the pain he tried to mask and felt like I’d put it there.

“There wasn’t anything a doctor could’ve done. The damage that bullet did to her heart would have been impossible for anyone to repair, anyone but me.” I reached across the table for my father’s hand and grasped it tightly. We both sat in silence, father and daughter thinking about Julia Fairmont’s death.

“You’ve been doing your best to make up for a situation that no ten year-old should have had to deal with. I see you trying to be everything for everyone just in case there’s a chance that you’ll be too late, but Hope, honey, people die. You can’t save the world.”

“I can try,” I whispered determinedly. My father sighed in defeat.

“Let’s talk about something a little less…depressing.” He reached for his fork and took his first bite of lasagna, then grimaced. “Too cold.” He picked up his plate and walked over to the microwave. “So, let’s talk about school. How are your classes going?”

“I thought you said you wanted to talk about something less depressing. You’ve failed miserably.” I gave up on any attempt at eating my lasagna. As far as I was concerned anything you had to reheat wasn’t worth eating.

“You love school. Are you struggling in your classes? Why is this the first I’ve heard about it?”

I put up a calming hand before he had an aneurysm.

“Dad, everything’s fine. I’m getting A’s in all my classes, okay? I’m just bored with it is all. The subjects are super easy, and the only thing I find even remotely interesting is my class in folklore and mythology.”

“I didn’t know you were taking that. You started that this semester then or were you taking it in the fall as well?”

“It’s not like math. Public education only allows you to take fun classes for one semester. Math is used to torture us all year.” His eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“I thought you said your classes were easy.”

“The words ‘easy’ and ‘torture’ seem to go hand in hand in this case. Math easily tortures me. Plus, nothing even remotely interesting ever happens in my life.”

My dad gave me a wry look. I realized that statement must have sounded strange coming from a girl with the ability to heal people.

“I’m referring to the fact that I go to my classes, I take notes, I turn in homework assignments, and I ace my tests. It’s all pretty predictable.”

“What about guys? Isn’t there someone you’re interested in at school?” He gave me a fake smile, pretending he actually wanted to know.

I rolled my eyes at him.

“Please. The only action I’m getting around here is experienced vicariously through Angie. I swear that girl has a different boyfriend every other week.”

My dad looked way too happy.

“Don’t look so thrilled. The relief is oozing from your eyeballs.”

“I’m not thrilled. Who said I was thrilled? It’s perfectly healthy and normal for you to be dating at this age. Kissing boys in parked cars. Getting your heart broken by some immature guy who gets drunk on the weekends and cheats on you with some bleached blond cheerleader. All part of the learning process.”

“What if I did start to date someone? Then how would you feel?” I gave my father a tiny smirk.

“Completely unthrilled,” he said deadpan.

“Unthrilled? Dad, that is so not a word.”

“I’m your father and a doctor, and that means unthrilled is most definitely a part of the English vocabulary. How is Angie doing by the way? I haven’t seen her in about two days now. That’s like a record for you two isn’t it?”

I smiled, thinking of my crazy best friend.

“She’s had the flu for a couple of days now. I thought about healing her, but she enjoys whining and complaining so much I figured all the babying her mom would do would make her that much more enjoyable to be around once she got back to school.”

Dad chuckled softly, retrieving his lasagna from the microwave and sitting back down.

“I don’t get you two at all. I know you’re best friends, and I love having Angie over, but you‘re nothing like each other.”

I thought about that for a second. Angie and I were different in every way imaginable. Personality, clothing styles, opinions, and even right down to the way we looked… everything was different. I would’ve liked to have looked like Angie, but I’d been stuck with thick black hair, olive colored skin, and dark blue, almond shaped eyes. People always asked me what my ethnic background was, which was weird since both my parents were blond and white. I’d mentioned my appearance a couple of times to them, but they always changed the subject. It seemed like they didn’t want to upset me or something.

I broke from my musings and realized my dad was waiting for some kind of response from me.

“Angie helps me loosen up a little bit here and there, and I keep her from going to jail and possibly getting herself killed. We balance each other out,” I reasoned.

My father’s lips lifted in amusement.

I stood up from the table and put my full plate of lasagna in front of him, knowing he’d be more than happy to eat it.

“Well, I hope for your sake that something crazy happens at school tomorrow, even if Angie isn’t there to instigate it.”

“Even with Angie there, I still have math class.” I smiled brightly as my father’s laughter followed me up the staircase and into my bedroom.

My cell phone began to ring as I walked across my room and flung myself haphazardly on my ivory colored bedspread. I giggled, recognizing the ring tone as one of Angie’s personal favorites.
Moves Like Jagger
blared loudly from my cell phone.

“Were your ears burning?” I asked sweetly.

“So you were talking about me,” replied Angie. “I can‘t say I‘m surprised. The thought of you discussing my many virtues and accomplishments, simply delights me. After all, what else would you be talking about?” Her voice came out low and throaty.

Angie was, I thought, the most stunning beauty ever to have graced the face of this earth, a sentiment she’d have agreed with wholeheartedly. Fiery red hair…check. Perfect porcelain skin …check. Emerald green eyes…check and check.

“You know I do have other friends,” I said. “You never even considered the possibility that I might have been discussing my latest love interest before you called?”

“With your father? Please!” I smiled as Angie’s loud gasp crackled through the receiver. “Wait, do you have someone you’re crushing on? Because if you do, and you talked to your dad about it before talking with me I will hunt you down and force you to eat an anchovy pizza…minus the pizza!”

I had to smile. She always made me feel so normal. It was partly why I loved having Angie in my life. Though I’d never admit to it out loud, my father was right. The constant weight of everyone else’s pain was beginning to wear on me. I always felt like I was leading two different lives. There was Hope, the serious healer, and Hope, the carefree, average teenager. If Angie and I had never become friends, I don’t think I would’ve known how to balance my secret life with my supposedly normal high school one.

“Oh, yes. I can visualize you trying to pin me down while shoving slimy miniature fish in my mouth. You’d die before laying one of your nicely manicured fingers on something so beneath you,” I teased.

“This is very true.” Angie sounded disappointed. “It’s a shame you know me so well. That threat might have held some validity with anyone less worthy.”

“And yet, it resembles the latest boy you broke up with: shallow and empty.”

“Hey, Nathan was very full of…well…he was full of something.” Angie’s laughter sang sweetly through my cell phone.

“Full of himself, you mean?”

“Too true. The last date we went on he spent a full ten minutes looking at his reflection in his dinner spoon.”

I held back the urge to give her a big lecture on how awful her taste in guys was.

“Tell me you made him pay for dinner that time.”

“Are you kidding? I got up and left, making sure I got a ‘to go’ box, of course.”

“Of course.” I thought about Nathan Treadwell and the insane level of stupid he managed to operate under on a daily basis. “Why do you always go for guys who treat you like crap, Angie?”

There was silence on her end. I waited for her to break down and actually talk to me seriously for once about this subject.

“Well, they’re always such fantastic kissers. Have you ever met a nice guy who actually knows how to kiss? And if you did, would he actually be good looking?”

I shook my head. Clearly, her plan was total avoidance. “Angie, there are nice, handsome guys out there who are good kissers.”

“I’m going to have to disagree with you on that one. If a guy is a good kisser it’s because he’s good looking, and because of his good looks he has various opportunities to use said good looks in the pursuit of women. Which also gives him plenty of practice with kissing, which simultaneously makes him a good kisser and a first rate jerk…or man whore…whichever term you prefer.”

I decided to match her light tone with my own.

“Then I suppose in order to avoid the jerks of this world, it’s going to be of the utmost importance that we date only non-attractive, second rate kissers for the rest of our miserable lives.”

“Your words are poison to me.” I let out a soft chuckle.

“So,” she continued, “has that magnificent melon of yours come up with fantastic songs needing debuting at Expresso?”

Expresso was a very popular café/restaurant, dedicated to giving high school students a chance to “express” themselves. You could read poetry, sing songs, play your own music, and perform any other type of talent while others ate, mingled, and enjoyed the entertainment. The atmosphere was pretty awesome and laid-back. Angie and I had become regulars there, due in large part to her insistence that I take my journal full of lyrics and sing them for the “undeserving masses lucky enough to be present.”