The Honor Trilogy: Books One, Two, and Three of the Honor Trilogy (4 page)

Sitting at my kitchen table with me, Ethan is trying now to be more sensitive with feeding me information about myself. Like how I can control the pain and emotions that are not mine. It’s possible to
choose
to ignore them, as long as a conscious effort on my part is made. But that’s easier said than done. Plus now that I know I can help someone, how do I choose to ignore them? Doesn’t that go against my very grain?

Ethan agrees that, yes, it does go against the very nature of who we are. And because of our deep ability to feel, the guilt of
not
helping is most often worse.

“So what am I supposed to do, Ethan? If my mom has another heart attack or my Dad…I don’t know…gets hurt in a car crash or something, am I not supposed to try and save them? Now that I know I can?” Which I still can’t fathom, because it’s like I have superpowers, and supernatural things don’t exist. Not in my world anyway.

“No, Honor,” Ethan says quietly. “Your mother and father are different. Of course you’ll want to save them when you can.” His hand runs through his hair as he sips the water I got him when we first got home. “But…you need to be careful who you touch. You can very easily, inadvertently, heal someone, without even realizing it.” He snickers a little. “Though, now that you know how draining it can be, I’m sure you’ll know when you are absorbing someone else’s pain.” He takes my two hands, which are cupped around my tea mug (I didn’t want water, I had gotten myself a cup of tea instead) and holds them, almost lovingly, in his own. “Then…you’ll be taking away your own precious years.” He sighs. “That’s why I tried to keep you from making contact with Miss James.”

Snapping back my hands from his, I push back my chair, jolting out of my seat. “Oh my goodness. Miss James. I knew it. I knew I felt something from her,” I cry out, pacing the kitchen floor, while Ethan quietly taps his thumbs on the kitchen table. My hand automatically goes to my head, which is now throbbing just thinking about her. I stop pacing and sit back down, bracing myself, palms flat, on the kitchen table. “Ethan. You knew.” This fact just sinking in.

“Yes, I knew.”

“So…you felt it too?” I ask, amazed.

He nods, obviously waiting for more revelations from me.

“But…you…you…never looked like you were in pain.”

“I ignored it. Remember I told you we can train ourselves to do that,” he said, almost mockingly. Almost. Not quite. His voice held a little empathy as well. Which, now that I think of it, I guess is natural for him.

“Yeah.” Then I realize. “Ethan. She might die. We can save her.”

He covers my hands with his. “Yes, Honor, we can.” His voice is soft, as is his touch on my hands. I close my eyes for a second to absorb the joy in his running his thumb across mine. “But at what cost to us?” he asks.

“But isn’t that selfish? And doesn’t that go against our nature?” I hear the whine in my voice.

Tilting his head to the side, indicating the compassion he possesses, he says, “It is selfish, I guess.” Then his tone changes slightly. “But I always thought it was selfish of my parents to keep on saving others with no regard for their sons’ futures. Futures spent alone…without parental supervision or love…because they couldn’t keep from saving the world.” And that’s the first time I hear vinegar in his voice, the stimulus that makes it easier for him to push aside the suffering of others.

Sighing out loud, I realize that the pain I feel in my chest, right this minute, is his – his hurt…caused by the betrayal of his parents love and empathy for mankind.

Is it possible for one empath to take away the pain of another? I lay my hand flat against his heart.

He smiles. “It won’t work, Honor.” he says, aware of my intent to take away the pain in his heart. “We would just keep absorbing each other’s emotions. A painful, endless cycle.”

“Oh.” Ethan stands and pulls me from my chair. Wrapping his arms around me, I fear he’ll feel my heart racing. It’s then that I realize my feelings are much more intense when I’m with him. Is it because I’m feeling double the pain and emotions? Both of us empathizing with a beaten human race? Or could I be feeling emotions I’ve never felt before? Could I be falling for Ethan?

A soft flutter taps the top of my head. Ethan’s lips. “It’s not going to be easy. You know that, right?” His chin rests on my head, and I like the feeling it produces – little tingles beneath my scalp. “But if you can control your emotions…you’ll at least make it to see
your
kid grow up.” The sharp pang of resentment strikes both our chests.

Kid? Kids! I’ve always dreamed of having lots of children. The loneliness of being an only child was a miserable existence, especially being home-schooled. I want children. And I want to see them grow up. If what Ethan says is true, then…I will make it my business to handle my inner emotions…and ignore everyone else’s. Learning to decipher between the two will also be top on my priority list.

“Ethan?” Pulling away, just far enough to see his face (I don’t want our embrace to break just yet) I ask, “How do I tell the difference? What’s my pain and what’s not?”

He strokes my hair while still holding me, and I want so badly to kiss him. “It’s not easy,” he laments, “but you need to feel the connection…between the pain, your brain…and your heart.”

Nodding my head, I lean my head against his chest – embracing the thundering heart beneath his chest…wondering, is it his passion?

Or a reflection of mine?

The next morning, I don’t get ready for school, instead, I ready myself to go to the hospital and see my mom. While I am there, I will test my new, or at least new in knowledge, superpowers. Healing is not my intention. No. My intent is to be cognizant of any new aches or pains, anything I don’t have now but suddenly inherit as I walk the hospital halls.

While I am still home and alone (Dad is already at the hospital), I do a mental body check. I am in absolutely no pain. This is good. It will make it easier to distinguish any new pain that comes my way. I grab Mom’s car keys off the table. Her little green Passat is fun to drive. Of course, I wish I had my own, but this will do for now.

The time it takes for me to get to Saint Clare’s is quite a bit longer than it took Ethan yesterday, but I’m there in about forty-minutes. I am a slow driver. Plus, getting lost along the way doesn’t help.

Entering the hospital is uneventful, but as I precede further inside, I feel less energetic. Lethargy kicks in…as does smarting pain in several areas of my body. I get to mom’s room and I feel somewhat better. The pain feels…distant. There is nothing emanating from my mother. Good. Sitting up in her bed, Dad seated beside her, Mom shows all thirty-two of her teeth in her smile.

“Mom. How are you?” I ask as I lean forward to kiss her on the cheek.

“Oh, Honor.” She cups her palm on my cheek, her eyes tearing while she’s looking at me longingly and lovingly. “I feel wonderful. I am so sorry to have scared you.”

“Oh, Mom, stop…” Then, timidly, I tell her, “I’m just so happy that you’re here.”

With her top teeth biting her bottom lip, Mom removes her hand from my face and leans back on her pillow. “Honor…it’s…” Mom puts her smile back on. “It’s like a miracle,” she whispers. “They said I was having a heart attack. I’d even died for four minutes.” She makes a soft
tsking sound to herself. “Now…not one sign of ever having the attack. Nothing.” She tsks a bit louder. So does Dad. It’s true, there aren’t words for this kind of thing.

Mom begins to cry, and I feel myself tear up. Funny, but they’re not my tears. They’re hers. I am actually crying someone else’s tears. It occurs to me then that all those times in my life when I thought I was sad for no reason, I must have been sad for someone else. Now I can decipher the difference. Ethan was right. There’s a remoteness to the sensation. Something faraway about it. Yet, I feel the bittersweet joy my mother is feeling nonetheless.

My little family relishes in the moment a few more minutes before Dad breaks it up. “Honor, I’m going for coffee, would you like me to get you something?”

“Oh, sure. A Chai latte would be nice. If they have it. Otherwise, tea with milk and honey is good.”

Dad leaves and I sit on the edge of Mom’s bed. She takes my hand.

“Mom,” I begin slowly, “do you remember anything about…my birth mom?”

The look on Mom’s face nearly breaks my heart. Suddenly I feel…threatened. And I realize…my goodness…Mom must feel threatened by my birth mother. Immediately I am sad for my mother.

She is silent for a few seconds before her lips seem to move without any sound coming out of her mouth. “Your birth mom?” Her head shakes a little. “But…why? Why now?”

I kiss Mommy on the cheek. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”

She caresses my face. “No. Honor. Don’t be silly. You have a right to ask…I was just wondering why now…while I’m…here?”

“Oh, Mom, it has nothing to do with your being here. Really. I just, well…” I am at a loss as to what to say first. My breathing picks up the pace. I mentally try to calm myself down. “Well, Ethan knew her…or rather, knew of her.”

My mother’s eyes jump wide, while her mouth drops open. “Ethan? The boy who was here?”

I nod. “Yes. His mother was…best friends with her…my birth mom.”

“With Hanna?” Mom is clearly astonished.

“Yes. With Hanna…he said she was in her early twenties…when she…” This is very hard for me to say out loud. “When she…um…gave me…” After a long pause, I muster it. “Away.”

“Hanna? No. Couldn’t be. She was close to forty or fifty, I think. So sick…so fragile.” Mom closes her eyes. “I remember feeling sorry for her. I mean, I knew I should have gone through proper channels to adopt you, but…” Mom shakes her head. “She was so…desperate.
Begged
me to take you…no questions asked.”

I’m speechless. It never occurred to me whether I was adopted legally or not.

“You know,” Mom adds, “that’s why I home-schooled you.”

“I thought it was because I was sick all the time.”

She half-smiles. “Yes. Home-schooling was a convenient choice due to all of your illnesses, but…I was afraid. I was afraid I’d be questioned. I mean, I still had to register you and all. And, after Hanna gave you to me, a few weeks later, she’d sent me an envelope with a birth certificate and some other stuff, so I had legitimate papers. I was just scared that in a public school, more people would ask questions.”

“Did she say why, Mom? Why she gave me up?” I know my mother had already told me this, but I need to hear it now – now that I know what I know.

Another audible sigh escapes her. “All she said was that she and her husband were terminally ill. They had no family members they could trust and well,” Mom hesitates, clearly uneasy. “They said you’d be in danger if they kept you with friends.”

This surprises me. “In danger of what?”

Mom shakes her head. “She never said. I got the feeling I shouldn’t ask, so I didn’t.” Mom gives me this strange look. “I know I should have, Honor. I’m usually very prudent…but one look at your precious face, with those huge violet eyes.” My mother smiles when she sighs. “I fell in love with you, Honor. I couldn’t let you go.”

We sit there in silence for a while, not sure where to go with the conversation from here. I want to tell her I’m an empath, but I don’t believe it myself. Believe it? Heck, I don’t even understand it. But Mom needs to know. Who else could help me through this?

Dad walks in and puts a kibosh on my news.

“Thanks,” I say to Dad when he hands me my tea.

He nods. “Leanne, everything okay?

“Sure, Jack. Honor and I had a nice little chat.”

Dad smiles at me, then at Mom, “Good. Couldn’t live without you two.”

My father states his declaration casually, but a heavy heart is dragging it down. I feel it. Deep within my own heart, I know my dad is scared. He’d never come so close to losing his wife. His world has been shaken. And I feel his torment.

Knowing what I did to not only save my mother from death but my father from heartache, maybe I could embrace this empathy thing and find a way to live with it after all.

Pulling into the high school parking lot in my mother’s VW, I spot this awesome looking bright orange Challenger in a front spot. I’m not one for noticing cars much, but this one is crazy cool with its black stripes on the hood and black rims on the tires. I know I would have noticed it before. Either someone got a new car, or someone new has come to school.

But the Challenger conveniently slips my mind when walking into school, I spot, through the glass windows of the main office, the most handsome boy I think I’ve ever laid eyes on. Even better looking than Ethan (though I feel really bad for thinking that). This boy’s hair is a beautiful yellow blonde and his skin, flawlessly pale with a deep dimple that graces his cheek. At the angle I am standing, it’s difficult to see the color of his eyes, but I’m sure they are as exquisite as the rest of him.

The first period bell rings and I’m so caught up in gazing at this wonderful piece of Heaven that I am now late for class, and nowhere near my locker to get my things. This, come to think of it, is now a fortunate coincidence, because now I have to enter the main office to get a late pass. As I’m opening the door, the six foot god slips his sunglasses on and turns to walk out the door. But not before he pauses in front of me and smiles. “Hey, Angel,” he says, than floats away.

I can barely remember my name when the receptionist asks if she can help me. “Oh. Yes. Um…who was that boy?” I ask instead of requesting my pass.

“A new student.” She’s annoyed. “Do you need a pass?”

A new student? Wow. He just seems too…together to be a student.

“Honor. Isn’t it?” The secretary attempts to pull me from my daydreaming. “Do. You. Need. A. Pass?”

“Oh. Yes. Please. Thank you.” I shake my head back to the present.

In my first period class, French, I find myself too distracted to pay attention. Yesterday I was falling so hard for Ethan, and today…I cannot get that newer new guy out of my head. Incidentally, I find it hard to concentrate all morning. Not only am I pining over some beautiful boy I don’t even know, I am still trying to wrap my head around the idea of having the ability to heal people. Such a huge responsibility. One that doesn’t come without huge repercussions.

At lunch, Ethan is in a horrid mood. My own mood makes me aware of this. God bless him, though. He is actually trying to hide it. My emotions inform me of that, as does the plastic smile he’s wearing on his face.

“Hi, Sweetheart,” he says, sending tiny tingles through my body. New guy from the office who? Seeing Ethan sitting across the table from me reminds me of just how hard I was falling for the original new boy. “How’s your mother doing?”

“She’s better. The doctor wants to run a few more tests, but she should be coming home in a couple days.”

“Great,” he says to me, though his mind is elsewhere.

“Ethan. What’s bothering you?” I reach across the table and put my hand on his.

He squeezes my hand. “Nothing, Honor. Nothing I can’t handle.” But I still feel his apprehension. Ethan is brooding over something. “Honor?” I’m asked after several silent seconds – seconds I use to take a bite of my sandwich. “Can we go up to the reservation again…after school?”

With my mouth full of turkey and Swiss on rye, I mumble, “Sure.”

My heart feels heavy for Ethan. I’m not loving being able to feel his emotions. I just hope his anguish is a result of someone else’s…and not his own.

“Everything’ll be fine, Honor.” But it isn’t fine. Ethan is alone with his thoughts the rest of lunch period, while I chat with Tamlin about nothing in particular.

Walking into seventh period Math, my breath catches. The beautiful boy from the main office is talking with the teacher. His back is to the door, but I know it’s him. There is no mistaking the blonde mass of beauty. For a high school kid, he is abnormally tall, having probably three inches over Ethan, who, according to Ethan, already towers at six-feet two-inches tall (even though I thought
Eeth was taller than that).

I advance slowly to my desk, not paying too much attention to what I’m doing when I walk into a desk, dropping my books and splaying them across the floor,
grabbing hold of everyone’s attention in the meantime
– something I am not particularly fond of. Hustling to the floor to pick up my mess, a long pale arm slips around me and reaches for my fallen books. When I turn to see who my Samaritan is, I am staring right into another set of violet eyes. And they burn right. Through. Mine.

Suddenly I don’t know what I am feeling. But I get a funny taste in my mouth, and my chest begins to burn. The intensity of his gaze does not lessen. It heightens. And as it does, the burning in my chest deepens until it feels as if it were burning a hole right in my chest.

The violet eyes holding me in fiery shackles are not Ethan’s.

They are his.

The beautiful god from the main office.