But I couldn’t. The anxious trill of my thumb down my fingertips wasn’t enough to soothe the rising flood. It was so hot today that I’d left my jacket in the car, and I was certain that when the stranger had knocked into me, his bare arm had brushed against mine.
My next inhale came too shallow, too quick. I should have been more careful.
“He was fine. You would have felt if he wasn’t.”The monster paused, its presence soothing the center of my chest like ice to a swollen wound.“It takes more than that, and you know it.”
It was right, of course. Simpler life-forms, like flowers and fruit, withered with a single touch, the glow of their fading light sparking new life in me. Animals like voles or robins took longer to kill, due to their size and complexity. I didn’t know how long it tookto kill a human being, but surely it would take more than a mere brush of skin.
And the monster was right. I would have sensed it.
Still, I couldn’t help feeling shaken. I wasn’t used to being touched like that.
The monster sighed and opened our awareness to the threads of life in the weeds growing through the cracks of the sidewalk.“There,”it said.
I looked and saw a sunflower stalk swaying near the passenger side of the van. Making sure no one was looking, I took the stalk between my fingers. The petals shriveled, and a vegetal pulse bled to autumn on my tongue.
I sighed in relief, panic ebbing away. “Thanks.”
We rode in silence past a flowering orchard, potholes bouncing us out of our seats. I tasted sunflower the whole way. Soon, a house emerged. It looked like a cottage drawn by a child who’d never seen one before.
“How do you know him?” I asked when Mom put on the brakes.
Dust plumed around the Volkswagen’s windshield. “We’re old friends.”
“Bullshit.”
“Language,” Mom shot back. The old van door creaked on its hinges as she got out and slammed it shut behind her. “I trust him. Isn’t that enough?”
I didn’t know how to answer that, but I followed her to the porch, not knowing what else to do. Wildflowers of all sorts grew in place of grass: ironweed, yarrow, and heavy-scented lavenderthat made my nose itch. Each delicate plant whispered to the beast in me and tempted me closer. It would be so easy to slip off my shoes, to crush them underfoot and let the monster feast.
Instead, I pulled my gloves out of my pocket and slipped them onto my hands.
The air vibrated with the steady thrum of honeybees as Mom raised her hand to the door. Before she could knock, however, the door sprang open and a giant man holding a toolbox filled the entryway, gray suspenders stretched over a broad, muscular chest.
All three of us jumped in surprise.
The man rocked back, his toolbox clanking as he stared at Mom. “Lottie?”
I blinked. Displeasure knotted my neck in promise of a future headache.
“Jack!”
I didn’t like the delighted way she had said his name. Not at all.
The giant’s bewilderment slowly melted into a broad smile. “It’s really you. Do you want to—?”
“Can we?” Mom let out a laugh as the two spoke over each other. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Can we come in?”
“Of course!” Jack sprang back—oddly spry for a man his size—and emphatically motioned us in. I caught him studying me in the hallway mirror and shivered, feeling suddenly as overexposed as a canister of film held to the light.
The pale green cushions on the kitchen chairs were old and pilling. I kept my gaze on Jack as I sat. I didn’t like the way he looked at my mother. It was too soft, too… eager.
I tapped the side of my leg, but the anxious habit brought no relief.
“Can I make you some tea, Lottie?”
Her smile spread across her cheeks. “You always do.”
When I coughed, they startled, as though both had forgotten I was there. Awkwardness thickened the air as Mom jerked her chin my way. “This is Arthur. My son.”
