A closet psychic, a genius tween, a mysterious young man…and four generations of secrets.
This paranormal-meets-science-fiction novel is Book 1 in the Daughters series. Paid subscribers have access to the entire book.
Too Much Input and Not Enough Info
Another day had flown by, and I’d been surprised to spend most of it chatting with Maureen. She’d seemed to enjoy my company, too, because she stayed all day and ordered lunch in with me. And as a bonus, her presence kept me from fretting over my awkward interactions with Mr. Olympian and Adam. In fact, the more I thought about it, it would be nice to spend an evening with adults. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d talked about politics, or a theory I’d read about—or even listened to good music—with anyone other than my daughter. Then again, these were Maureen’s friends. And Phil’s, but still…
Ugh. Snobby much?
Right. What I should do is pay attention and learn. Maureen’s personality was bright and uncomplicated—not a compliment anyone would ever give to me.
It really was a quick day, and in no time, I’d picked up Eileen and brought her back to the shop. Maureen left soon after so she could inspect the day’s work at the new location, but as she was walking out, I reminded her again that I’d be glad to help with food for the party. For the third time, she said she was fine, so I let it drop. Not like I had experience, but I wouldn’t have thought throwing a party was so easy.
Damn. I kept forgetting to ask her about the guy she wanted me to meet. Then again, maybe the less I knew, the better.
“What is it, Mom?” Eileen looked up from her perch behind the counter, one hand still in her backpack.
“Nothing, sweetie. Forgot to ask Maureen something.”
“About the party?”
“Yeah, no biggie.”
Eileen studied me for a second, then pointed. “What happened?”
I followed the line of her finger to where the tilted ladder was visible above the curtains. “Nothing. Track came loose.” She squinted at me, and I felt my cheeks warm. Reaching over, I grabbed a book from her bag. “What’re you reading?” My eyes widened at the spooky mansion on the cover. “Poe? Isn’t that a little dark for eighth grade?”
“Whatever, Mom. Ms. Livingston’s class just finished reading Anthem….” She flashed me a look.
Oh, right. Thirteen. My bad. “Wait. Ayn Rand’s Anthem?”
“Yeah. Callie told me that the government lines people up and pairs them off to have sex. Randomly. That’s so gross! Way grosser than some dead guy’s heart beating under a floor.”
Point taken. “Okay, Leeni. Nerd knowledge time. Did you know that Edgar Allan Poe was an amateur astronomer?”
“He wrote horror-scopes?”
My kid cracked me up. “Clever, my little punster, but no. An astronomer. I read that Poe was the first person to explain why the night sky was black, instead of white from the light of all the stars.”
“That’s cool. Why?”
I’d fallen into that one. “Mmm…I think it boiled down to the universe being so big that light from the farthest stars hasn’t had time to reach us yet. Those are the black spaces. I was more interested in whether the author thought multiple universes could exist.”
She rolled her eyes so dramatically that her head followed. “Mom. Do you really think that’s possible?”
“Sure,” I said. Even the author hadn’t believed it was a provable theory, but it could explain so much of what was just…off…in the world. “Alright, now. Easy on your old mother. What else is going on? Did y’all start the electricity project?”
The rest of the afternoon was quiet, with only an occasional customer, and I was grateful for the second day in a row of quality time with my favorite person.
She was intrigued by the concept of parallel universes? That was unexpected. The child’s chatter, however, was not.
As he listened through the wall, he found himself reluctant to leave. He needed to search the hospital or to find a crowd. He needed to be listening for humans to make a mistake and confess what a few had hidden so well; but instead he found himself staring at a display of grapevine wreaths and wondering at the woman’s silences and occasional interjections. She indulged her loquacious child’s intellect—and propensity for drama—but what thoughts shaped her own mind?
He spun on his heel and stalked toward the door. Unacceptable.
“Do you want a special arrangement?”
Surprised, he turned to the elderly woman standing beside the counter, crafting bows from ribbon spooled around her ankles. She had not spoken upon his arrival, and this unprompted overture had him searching for an appropriate reply.
“I do not understand your question.” Banal, but accurate.
She smiled, and her skin’s soft creases folded her face into an aged beauty, not unlike the full-blown sasanqua in the glass bowl on the counter. “I’ve been doing this for almost seventy years, honey. You have a woman on your mind, and you don’t know what to do.” She made another loop with her dexterous, gnarled fingers.
Immediately, he focused his senses. She was not generating fractals, but her physique and visible aging met standard parameters. Intermingled with greenery and blossoms, her scent hinted at a typical American diet laden with sugars. Her words were…insightful. Aggravating. Presumptuous. Accurate. Another bow dropped into the basket.
Just an outspoken human elder.
“You are mistaken.” He exited before she could respond.
“I’m afraid I’m not.” She spoke quietly, to herself, but her voice reached his ears as clearly as if he were still in her presence.
His long strides had already taken him three paces from the flower shop. Ten from the apparel store. Not acceptable. Not acceptable not acceptable not. His mind looped the words like the woman’s ribbon, over and back, twist and repeat, while he walked the streets, waited at the bus stop, and rode amid the weary humans. The echoing voices of the crowded shopping mall finally supplanted them, and he found an empty bench near the carousel.
This was a mistake. Driving through SaltWynds with a visitor’s pass dangling from my rearview mirror seemed stupid, like a spy cursing in the wrong language behind enemy lines. Of course, that thought in and of itself was stupid, because these landscaped lawns and tastefully excessive houses wouldn’t look like enemy territory to anyone else.
And it’s nighttime, dummy. No one can even see the pass. Relax.
But relaxing wasn’t possible, no matter how condescending my subconscious wanted to be. The fact that Maureen and Phil lived in the most exclusive gated community in Wilmington was no surprise. And the fact that I’d never visited was no surprise, given the whole lack-of-human-interaction-thing I was exploring. What was a surprise was that it was a Friday night, and—until I’d been interrogated at the gatehouse—I’d actually been looking forward to the party. But te security guard hadn’t liked the look of my truck, and I’d had to show my ID to convince him that I was the Lila Givens on the guest list.
Once I’d allowed Maureen to coerce me, I’d spent the last two days getting used to the idea of coming. And this morning, with her so chipper talking about the Japanese paper lanterns she’d hung in the yard, I’d realized I was happy to be part of something fun. She made it seem fun. The guard, however? Not so much.
Now I felt out of place and fake, overdressed and uncomfortable. I’d made the extra effort to twist my hair into sections as it was drying, and now it hung in tousled ringlets down my back. I’d even put on mascara and painted a redder lip than my normal nude gloss. Wearing the velvet top and heels just added to the effect. What a poseur I was. I didn’t belong here; I belonged alone, with my books, waiting for Saturday morning so I could pick up Eileen from her retreat.
She’d eventually figured out Maureen’s scheme and had caught me off-guard on the way to school Thursday morning.
“So there’ll be men at this party?” she’d asked at the last stoplight.
“Um, yeah…Phil’s a man, sweetie. Hadn’t you noticed?”
She’d snorted at my pathetic attempt to feign ignorance. “You know what I mean, Mother.”
Mother? I’d barely suppressed my own snort. I felt like I was about to get a lecture on boy-girl parties from my grandmother.
“No, Eileen, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Mother is old, dear. Don’t addle her brain any more than it already is.”
“Mom, come on. That’s what you’re worried about, right? Maureen’s trying to set you up with a guy.”
I’d sighed and given up. “Yep.”
“Well, you should give him a chance. If you like him. I wouldn’t mind.” We’d been pulling up to school by then, and with a quick “Love you!” she was out of the truck and dashing in the building.
My thirteen-year-old had given me permission to date.
And so here I was, gussied up and cruising past million-dollar homes in an olive-green, four-wheel-drive relic, on my way to spend a few hours talking with complete strangers who—if I knew Maureen—were all going to be watching to see if her matchmaking skills were as legendary as she made them out to be.
My foot came off the pedal, and the Bronco complained, dropping from twenty-five to a lurching ten miles per hour. I could turn around. Call her and say I’d had car trouble. She’d believe that.
I guided the Bronc to the curb and prepared to make a U-turn, but waited when I saw headlights behind me. They belonged to a truck, a black F-150, which stopped just as it was about to pass. The passenger window slid down, and a dark-haired young woman gestured to me.
Cautiously, I rolled down my window. The interior light came on in the truck, and Adam leaned around the woman.
“Lost? Or chickening out?” he called.
“You scared me!”
“Guilty conscience?”
“I thought the guard had chased me down to give me an ugly vehicle ticket or something.”
“Nope, he’s harassing a pizza guy in an El Camino. This is Cara, by the way.” His wife smiled and waved her fingertips in a hello. “We’ll do better introductions at the house.”
The Ford pulled ahead, but stayed slow until I started moving. Suddenly, I felt much better. Everyone made jokes about SaltWynds’s exclusivity—even people who lived there. And if I didn’t like this guy, so what? Mingling politely was no different from chit-chat at work.
The dark road continued to curve toward the waterway that buffered the coast from the ocean, and just as I was wondering when the pavement would hit the marsh, it ended on a graceful cul-de-sac. Maureen and Phil’s property dominated, with a sweeping lawn that dipped east into a blackness that could only be the water’s edge, and sloped upward and westward to a grand, Southern Colonial home that seemed to have more french doors and windows than walls.
Landscape lighting peeped from the foliage, creating an artistic display of light and shadow across the live oaks and waving palms—along with the paper lanterns. Those swayed in the night breeze, glowing in red-hued satisfaction at being included in such a setting, while the house itself shone from within. Chandeliers, sconces, and lamps exuberantly spilled their excess from the windows and onto the stone walkway leading to the gabled portico. A pair of french doors marked the main entrance, and these, too, were lit and welcoming.
I coaxed my old beast around the arc of the stamped concrete driveway, parking it beside the big Ford. We were the first to arrive, which would make it that much easier for me to be the first to leave. Adam was already helping Cara down from the cab, so I hurried to gather my purse and the bouquet I’d brought.
It felt a little silly to bring Maureen flowers, but she hadn’t wanted food, and any bottle of wine would be shamed by Phil’s collection. My grandmother had taught me to bring a hostess gift, so flowers would have to do.
The delicate scents of freesia and tea roses perfumed the night air. Sweet Miss Hester had selected her freshest blossoms, and had seemed very interested in the party, asking who’d be there, what I’d wear, and whether I was excited. So cute. My grandmother had once told me she’d been quite the social butterfly in her day, with full dance cards for every event at Lumina.
“Hi, again.” I joined the couple. “It’s very nice to meet you, Cara—and congratulations!” As I shook her thin hand, I was struck by how very young she seemed. Perhaps it was the rich darkness of her hair against her heart-shaped face, or maybe it was the ballooning tummy that overwhelmed her small frame and lacy, sherbert-pink dress. Adam towered over her, although he was only about six-three.
“I love my earrings.” With a shy smile, she pulled her hair back so I could see them, then ducked against Adam’s encircling arm.
Well, at least I wouldn’t be the most introverted person here. If nothing else, maybe Cara and I could have a nice chat off to the side, away from the noise. Of course, since we were the first to arrive, there wasn’t any noise yet; but Maureen would no doubt crank up some pop music at first opportunity. I led the way up the walk, but before we reached the doors, our hostess yanked them wide open.
“You came! Phil and I made a bet, and I just lost! But I’m so glad!”
“You thought I’d bail on you? Never.”
“Phil hedged his bet.” Adam called from behind me. “He told me if I saw her to drag her by the hair if necessary.”
My jaw dropped, and I glared back at him before I could catch myself, but this seemed to amuse him even more. I was just going to have to accept the jokes tonight.
“Phil!” Maureen shrilled into the house. “Get your butt out here! You owe me that back rub. Adam confessed!” Like her husband wouldn’t fly to Sweden and back to bring her a gift-wrapped masseuse.
He joined us in the foyer, singling me out with glee. “You didn’t expect me to sic Adam on you!”
“You’re a pain in the butt.”
“You need to be kicked in the butt, missy.”
I groaned, but couldn’t think of a retort. Apparently even my daughter thought I should date.
“Here, Maureen.” I passed her the flowers and my purse. “Take these before I hit your husband with them.”
“Ooh! I love freesia! Mmm, smells so good! Thanks!” She dropped my purse on a table, burying her nose in the petals as we followed her to the kitchen.
It was fabulous, of course, with gleaming quartz countertops and white cabinetry inset with glass panels. Elegant crystal dishes with bite-sized vegetables, fruits, and chunks of bread were displayed on the island, and a bag of chips and a jar of salsa were nearby as if an afterthought. But it didn’t seem like enough food for a party.
She didn’t. “So…we’re the first ones here?”
Maureen took longer than necessary to select a vase and then replied with all the innocence of a newborn babe. “We’re just missing one person. He should be here any minute now.”
Phil chuckled. “She’s something, isn’t she?” he said proudly, wrapping his arm around her waist.
“Oh, she’s something alright.”
“I don’t understand…?” Cara’s voice was as small and fragile as she seemed to be—reminding me to show good manners even though I now officially, one hundred percent regretted coming tonight.
“It’s nothing,” I forced a fair imitation of humor into my voice, “Maureen apparently thinks a couples-only evening is a less stressful blind date than meeting someone at a party.”
Cara’s eyes widened, and I knew I had one ally to get me through the evening. Maybe two, because Adam seemed a bit angry.
“Aren’t you going to tell her who it is? You haven’t yet, have you?”
Come to think of it, she hadn’t. She’d dodged the question when I’d finally remembered to ask. I raised my eyebrow.
“Well, I didn’t want you to freak out or anything,”—she ignored my unladylike grunt—“but it’s too late for you to back out now.”
That sounded ominous, but before I could manifest a full anxiety attack, a crystalline melody chimed. Doorbell. She ran out, and everyone else watched me as we listened to her cheery greeting—but when the male voice answered, Cara and I both reacted.
She jumped and slipped beneath her husband’s arm, but I openly marveled as Maureen ushered him, Mr. Olympian, into the kitchen. His wavy blond hair and warm-toned skin infused the room with a honeyed glow, and my body responded before my brain could stop it. Stepping forward, I smiled, and then waited in awkward silence for Maureen to make introductions.
He was just standing there. Tall, beautiful, and…uncomfortable? Our hosts exchanged a look, and I felt a rush of sympathy for the poor guy. They didn’t know his name! How in the world had Maureen not asked while she was playing Cupid?
Jesus Christ, Lila, you didn’t ask either.
True. Gathering my courage, I offered my hand. “We haven’t been officially introduced. Ruining your shirt doesn’t count.” My cheeks warmed, but I pushed on, “I’m Lila, and you already know Maureen…and this is her husband Phil, and their friends Adam and Cara.”
I tried not to wince at his grip. He was hotter tonight than when I’d spilled coffee on him. No pun intended, though I couldn’t help but note the sculptural way his white linen shirt defined his chest. He still hadn’t spoken, and now his eyes were making more than my hand feel hot. A pop of red light, vivid and fiery, appeared between us and I was even more distracted. Not now, I begged it.
“I’m s-so sorry!” I fluttered. “We never exchanged names…?”
“We have met.” His gesture encompassed not only Maureen, but Phil and Adam as well.
That’s right, Adam had said he’d met him. I glanced his way, but he showed no signs of knowing his name either. Nor Cara, though she’d acted like she recognized his voice. My confusion must’ve been obvious because Mr. Olympian zeroed in on me again.
“You can call me Sal.”
“Saul? S-a-u-l?” Not what I would’ve expected. Uncertainty flashed across his face, and I tried again. “S-a-l?” I waited for his slow nod. “Helps me remember names. To see them in my head.”
“Sal what?” Adam sounded annoyed.
“I do not understand.”
Maureen jumped in with a smile. “We just wanted to know your last name, too.”
“Stone.”
“Really?” Oops. Hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “I-I used to know someone…no relation, I’m sure.” Not one of my better cover-ups, and my pause dragged into silence.
Phil clapped his hands together. “Let’s open some wine!”
Yes, please.
An hour later, I was still mulling over the name. It felt contrived—like an articulated puzzle I couldn’t solve because the answer was too obvious. Saul…Sal…Salvador? Salvatore? Salvatoré Stone? Sal Stone.
“So. Sal. What did you say you do again?” Adam’s question was barely on the polite side of a challenge.
We were seated around Maureen’s mahogany dining table, poking laden fondue forks into pots of melted cheese and chocolate and sipping rich red wine. Well, Cara and I were sipping water. I’d gulped the first glass Phil had offered, and now I was drinking water.
I was such a lightweight. One glass of wine and angels were flickering everywhere. I tried to look past them to see Sal’s reaction to Adam’s question, but the pomegranate-red speck pulsing over his left shoulder wasn’t helping with my current attention issues—even if it was the size of a seed, rather than the whole fruit.
“I do advisory work,” Sal said, twisting his fork until his slice of kiwi was completely doused in chocolate.
“Who do you advise?” Adam pressed.
Blue angels kept sparking into being at his chest and throat, then zooming toward Sal, only to disappear a foot or so away. And those were in addition to the ever-present swarm of white, so numerous that even their wee selves overflowed the space around Adam—and me. I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“Are you well, Lila?” Sal leaned toward me. His demeanor had changed drastically once we’d migrated into the dining room. He’d taken the seat at the head of the table, and indicated for me to sit beside him on his left, while Phil had good-naturedly seated himself at the other end and invited everyone to make themselves comfortable.
I tried to convince myself that Sal’s knee, which kept touching mine under the table, had nothing to do with the…authority…he kept displaying. It had been Sal who’d noticed how quickly I’d drained my wine and had asked if I’d like water. Maureen’s amused expression hadn’t left her face yet, which would’ve been annoying if I wasn’t so distracted by the yellow flecks of light streaking back and forth between her and Phil. They were both on their third glass of wine.
“Lila?”
“I’m fine! Just a little headache.”
“You know, another glass of wine would fix that problem,” Phil teased. He and Maureen both knew I was pretty much a teetotaler.
“That is not a helpful suggestion.” Sal was overly firm, and we all looked at him in surprise.
Phil recovered first. “But then she might need you to drive her home. Just trying to help a buddy out.”
“Awkward!” Maureen giggled and pretended to slap her husband, but he grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Ladies, how about a tour?”
“Good plan.” I stood up immediately. Sal was looking at Phil as if he didn’t get the innuendo, and I didn’t want to be anywhere near him when he finished sorting it out. Or when Phil decided it would be funny to spell it out for him.