The distant Starborn Mountains shimmer near the cloud line, as if they’re the source of this weather. Lightning forks along the ridgeline and vanishes.
The thought shudders through me. If it weren’t for Ash, I’d be out there now, huddled beneath decorated rock, waiting for the downpour to pass.
But the cut on his arm?
I shake my head.
Some people heal faster than others, maybe?
But still…
“You’re drenched,” Grandma scolds, eyeing my clothes.
“The storm didn’t give much warning,” I excuse. “I’m gonna get cleaned up and change.”
She nods, song still pressed to her lips.
In the shower stall, steam rises. Warm and soft like it could wash away all of this.
Could but doesn’t.
Storms that never fully break. Glowing ink. Those things have explanations. Weird but not impossible.
Cuts that heal too quickly? There has to be an explanation.
Excess iron in his diet. Genetics. Something else?
You’re not here to figure out the neighbor, Jo.
I’m here for my dissertation. To pave the groundwork, tighten my thesis. Survey and record, document and preserve.
Afterwards, I stand shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen with Grandma, preparing a simple dinner of bread, cold cuts, thick slices of cheese, and mustard.
A thrill passes through me at the thought that Ash might come for dinner. I try to push it away, but it presses back, electric anticipation.
No, this is scientific curiosity. This is wanting answers, I tell myself.
But Grandpa stays upstairs, the barometric pressure still too much for him. And Grandma only sets out two plates.
The house lights dim and flicker. Grandma shakes her head, heading to the pantry to retrieve candles and matches. “Just in case.”
I slice salami in silence, trying to quell the storm of my thoughts.
“You look a thousand miles away.”
“Light years,” I answer, corners of my mouth tilting up.
He never comes.
The rest of the evening is a blur, blood heated, still sparking with whatever I felt when my arm brushed the cowboy’s. Focus distilled down to Ash’s closeness, and the things I can’t explain.
I sleep fitfully, tossing and turning, unable to quiet my mind. I should be more disciplined than this. Not let my eyes fool me…
But I saw what I saw.
As a scientist, that’s hard to deny.
Blackness crowds like an inky pool. Stuck somewhere between dream and wakefulness, a vision wraps me tight.
