Cold Touch (18 page)

jump in a cold swimming pool. Or the ocean, maybe.

That other Tucker had gone to the ocean a couple of times, he thought.

More often, he’d swam in a lake. There’d been a rope hanging from a big old

tree that used to let him swing out over the water like he was a bird flyin’

through the air. He’d always been afraid to let go, even though sometimes he

wondered if he could maybe just keep on flying rather than fal ing down and

makin’ a big splash. He’d be afraid, terrified, but also excited and pretty sure

he’d be fine. That, just like always, he’d land safe in the water, and his mama

would smile and clap her hands, and his daddy would laugh and give him a

big okeydoke sign with his fingers.

He’d lived with his family in a pretty house near a field ful of apple trees that

his daddy grew along with peaches and cherries. He didn’t like the peaches,

but he thought he used to climb up to snitch apples on his way home down the

long gravel lane that led from the school bus to his house. He also sort of

remembered the way his big sister would run home fast, her braids flying out

behind her, leaving him in her dust, his shorter legs unable to keep up.

Sometimes in his dreams, he found himself running and running but never

getting anywhere.

Just dreams. Like Tucker. Like his old life.

Now he was Jack.

“Damn it, boy, I told you to have my supper on the table!”

He cringed, tucking himself into the corner between the stove and the flimsy

wal that separated the tiny kitchen from the just-as-tiny living room. He’d been

thinking, letting his mind drift, rather than doing what he’d been told. He’d

probably pay for that now.

Thwack!
A stinging pain, his ears ringing with the force of the slap. He

braced himself for the next one, but he got off easy; there was only that one.

Uncle Johnny musta been pretty distracted. He’d come back in a funny mood

tonight, itchy, almost, like he was jumpy in his own pants. Mad and cursin’, then

acting like there was nothin’ wrong at al .

Maybe it was because of the man in the shed.

Though he was al tied up and blindfolded, the man had throwed hisself so

hard against the door, it had almost splintered open before Uncle Johnny had

even knowed it. Jack was glad that had happened this evenin’, after Uncle

Johnny got home from wherever it was he went most days. If the man had got

away while Jack was here alone, he had the feeling he’d be the one who’da

got beat with the strap instead of the poor, cryin’ man in the shed. The fact that

Jack couldn’t have done anything, since Uncle Johnny locked him in the trailer

when he was gone, probably wouldn’ta even made a difference.

Funny, that Tucker boy had never thought men could cry, only girls and

babies.

As for Jack? Wel , he knew better. Oh, my, yes. He’d heard men not only cry

but sob, scream and beg. Sometimes he had to put his hands over his ears

late at night just to make the sound of it stop, even long after whoever had

made those sounds was dead and buried in an unmarked grave in the woods.

“Wel , you gone deaf, boy?” snapped the big man at the table. “Where’s my

supper?”

“It’s ready,” he whispered, quickly spooning the food into a cracked bowl.

Scuttling over, he put it down in front of the man, offered him a spoon and a

shaky smile, too. “Not too hot, just the way ya like it. And I buttered ya some

bread.”

Uncle Johnny scooped up a few pieces of the soggy pasta and shoveled

them into his mouth. He chewed, swal owed, then muttered, “Not bad.”

Jack waited, wondering if Uncle Johnny meant it and would fol ow up the

praise by pattin’ him on the head or tel in’ him he could have some food for

himself. Or if he was just playin’ possum, waiting for Jack to get closer so he

could whack on him again. Jack never knew.

Sometimes Uncle Johnny seemed to be like two people sharin’ the same

face and skin. He could be nice, friendly-like with a big smile, sayin’ things like

“Cal me Daddy, son!” Then something would snap, and he’d be mean as a

snake. He even seemed like he had two brains in his head. Each one talked

with a different voice, and, when it got real bad, they sounded like they was

arguin’ with each other.

A while back, when he started to notice how bad Uncle Johnny could be

when the mood came over him, he’d started to think of the mean Uncle

Johnny as someone else.
Uncle Bob
. Not out loud, a’course, just secretly, in

his mind. He didn’t know why; it just helped keep him on his toes to remember

which one he was dealing with.

He suspected Uncle Bob had walked in the door and smacked ’im. But he

wasn’t sure who was sittin’ at the table right now.

Final y, when the bowl was almost empty and the room had been real quiet

but for the sound of his eating, Uncle Johnny—and he thought it was Uncle

Johnny now’cause his eyes weren’t al squinty and hard—looked at him.

“Wel ? Aren’t you hungry?”

“Yessir!” he said, so relieved at that normal voice he wasn’t sure whether to

laugh or cry.

“What are you waiting for, then? Have something to eat,” he said with a

smile, as nice as could be, like he hadn’t just wal oped him. “Growing boy

needs to keep his energy up.”

As good as it was to see that smile, Jack knew it could be wiped away in

an instant. He could never count on it stayin’ for long. If he’d dared to have

some food without first bein’ told he could, and Uncle Johnny had been in an

Uncle Bob kind of mood, he coulda ended up with his arm in a sling. Better to

wait to be invited, no matter what.

Now that he had been, he hurried back to the stove. His stomach rumbled

loud enough for Uncle Johnny to hear it, and from the table, he let out a laugh.

“Hurry up there, Jackie-boy. The grizzly in your bel y is getting hungry.”

“Yessir,” he mumbled, quickly spooning the few remaining pieces of food

into the other bowl. He stood by the stove, eating his scraps quickly, using his

fingers. He didn’t want to risk getting too close, for fear that Uncle Johnny

would decide he did want the rest, after al , and take it.

Or, worse, that Uncle Bob would.

Before he’d finished, he heard a ringing sound coming from Uncle Johnny’s

pocket. It was the phone that he kept with him al the time, except when he

locked it up in a trunk he kept in the bedroom, along with some clothes and

other stuff Jack had never gotten a good look at.

Jack sometimes used to think he might make a cal on that phone, if his

uncle ever happened to drop it or somethin’. But he didn’t know who he’d cal .

Tucker’s mama and daddy and sister was dead and gone. He had nobody

else, just the man sittin’ at the table, the one Jack watched now with both

loathing and a kind of shaky, terrified love.

Uncle Johnny pul ed the phone out, looked at the numbers on it, and

answered in a sociable voice, “Hel o, there. What can I do for you?”

Jack smiled as he washed the dishes, glad the phone cal wasn’t a bad

one. Maybe if Uncle Johnny stayed in this mood, he might let Jack listen to the

radio after dinner. Maybe he’d even go out and get some ice cream that the

two of them could eat outside while they watched the sun go down. He’d done

that on occasion, a long time ago, but it hadn’t happened since they’d come to

this new place a while back.

Then he thought about the man in the shed, the way he’d screamed and

cried. And Jack decided he’d rather stay in and listen to the radio, especial y

if he could turn it up real loud. Even if it meant no ice cream.

“You did?” Uncle Johnny said into the phone. “This morning? Are you sure?

Goodness, that musta slipped my mind. Sorry about that!”

He was quiet again, and the next time Jack looked over, he saw those eyes

get smal er. Squinty-like.
Uh-oh.
His legs wobbled, and he leaned against the

counter, hopin’ he was wrong but not thinkin’ he was.

“What?” Uncle Johnny asked, his voice gettin’ low, husky.

No. Oh, please, no.

“Who the fuck you think you’re talkin’ to?” The man sneered, his whole body

curling up tight, al hard and mad. “Don’t be thinkin’ you kin order me around . .

. You think I’m s’posed ta be skeered ’cause a some old bones in a wal ?”

Closing his eyes, Jack reached for the scrub brush, knowing he had to get

the dishes extra clean. He didn’t want to do anything wrong, give the man any

reason to get mad.

There would be no radio tonight. No ice cream. No sunset.

He only hoped there wouldn’t be any beating, either.

Because Uncle Bob was back.

When Olivia had agreed to attend a family brunch this morning to celebrate

her sister’s engagement, she’d thought the only hard part about it would be

pretending she didn’t dislike her future brother-in-law. Though her sister

obviously saw something in him worth caring for, Drew Buckman did seem to

go out of his way to make himself unlikable. Their father cal ed him a tool. And

their mother, always a little more blunt, referred to him as the nutless wonder.

Buckman was a corporate lawyer—strike one. He was also a pompous

know-it-al —strike two. Final y, being seventeen years older than his fiancée,

he was also a bossy, control ing jerk. He had Brooke looking to him for

permission before she ordered something off a menu.

Strike three, you’re out
. Not just the game but the whole bal park. Except he

wasn’t, unfortunately. In six months, he would become a member of the family.

Her sister could do so much better. Brooke had always been shy, a late

bloomer, and had started dating Drew—who’d been their senator cousin’s

best friend for decades—right out of col ege. She’d wanted a settled, steady,

older man. Nobody dangerous, nobody too exciting. Like the tortoise who was

content to go slow and steady, confident the trophy at the end of the race was

worth skipping any exciting sprints, Brooke had never even considered taking

a risk.

Olivia sometimes wondered if it was because of what had happened to
her

as a teenager. Brooke had, after al , been sleeping in the next room, just

twelve years old, when Liv had been taken. She’d been the one to realize

Olivia was gone the next morning. Maybe it wasn’t so surprising she’d wanted

a safe life and a safe man. Safe and, in Olivia’s opinion, sad.

Funny, though, as it turned out, hiding her dislike of the future groom wasn’t

going to be the hardest part of the morning. Neither was trying to pretend it

wasn’t the weirdest thing in the world to have a big family gathering with her

not-divorced parents and their significant others shooting under-the-breath

gibes at each other. Nor having to listen to her senator cousin talk politics

while his snooty wife talked about her designer clothes or simply name-

dropped.

No. The hard part was trying to not let al of them know how utterly terrified

she was.

Terrified, excited, hopeful, reluctant—al feelings that overwhelmed her when

she thought about where she was going right after brunch: to examine the

remains of a boy who had been haunting her waking and sleeping moments

for more than a decade.

Gabe Cooper had agreed to her request. She didn’t know whether he

Gabe Cooper had agreed to her request. She didn’t know whether he

believed she could do what she said, but the skeptic had at least become

open to the possibility. She appreciated it and liked that about him—his ability

to move outside his comfort zone. One of the many things she found herself

liking about the good-looking, thoughtful man.

Stil , when she thought about this afternoon, she couldn’t help shaking. The

funny thing was, she needn’t have worried about anybody noticing her mood.

They were al too busy being shocked by the fact that she’d brought someone

with her.

“You sure you’re doing okay?” she asked in a low voice, watching Gabe

cast a dubious eye on a smal dish of caviar on a nearby table. He seemed

much more a beer-and-wings type.

And she liked that about him, too.

“Sorry. I don’t have much experience with family gatherings,” he said.

“Yours doesn’t get together often?”

“I don’t have one,” he replied, his jaw stiffening. “At least, none I’m wil ing to

claim.”

She mental y kicked herself for asking. Though her family was a bit out of

the ordinary, and she sometimes wanted to lock her parents together in a

room and make them admit they stil loved one another or final y just agree to

get a divorce, she could not even imagine life without them. “Wel , thanks

again for coming. I appreciate it. We can leave in a half hour or so.”

“I think I’l survive that long,” he said with a slight smile.

She stil couldn’t quite believe he was here. She’d been half-joking when