For a while there’d been the soft murmur of voices and I’d hoped Gavin would come to visit me, but the murmur died down a while ago and Gavin never came. Maybe that’s for the best. I don’t know what to do. It’s happened three times. It’s sure to happen again. And next time we may not be so lucky.
Eventually the door creaks open and Gavin pokes his head in. My heart soars when I see him. I open my mouth to say his name, but he places his finger over his mouth and scoots in, shutting the door quietly behind him. He strides across the room, his long legs eating up the floor in two steps, and when he pulls me gently into his arms, my heart skips a beat.
He lifts my chin with his finger so I’m looking into his beautiful silvery gray eyes, and for what feels like forever and no time at all we stare at each other. Then, finally, his mouth is on mine. My eyes close and my stomach flutters as my head spins. For a moment, as our lips touch, I feel right. Like maybe I am home.
Then he pulls away and reality crashes in again, like the waves crashing against the shore. This isn’t my home, and I’m going to end up killing someone if I stay here. I have to talk to him.
But before I can, he says, “We have to be quiet. I snuck in. The good doctor thought it would be better if you rested without me bothering you.” He rolls his eyes. “Mom’s got the door guarded, but she had to use the bathroom, and everyone else is asleep, so I took advantage.” He smiles, then kisses my nose before nudging me over with his hip and lying down beside me.
“And when she comes in to check on me?”
He shrugs and crosses his arms behind his head.
With a shake of my head, I pull the arm he has closest to me down and then wiggle around until I find a comfortable spot, and lean my head against his shoulder. It feels so nice to have him next to me like this. I don’t want to ruin it by talking about how broken I am.
When I wake he’s still there, standing next to the one window in the room and gazing out through the salt-stained glass and leaning against the peeling windowsill. Hearing me shift, he turns. He looks exhausted and I can tell he didn’t get a smidgen of sleep last night. Guilt licks at me. I know it’s because of me. Once again I’m causing problems just by existing.
I run my fingers over the grooves of my necklace. His eyes follow the movement of my fingers before moving back up to meet my own. We stare at each other, and I’m sure we’re both doing our own survey of the other. The tension in the air is palpable, but then, as if someone flicked on a light switch, the tension disappears. Gavin’s lips quirk into a small smile and he moves toward me. Before either of us can say anything, the door to my room squeaks open and we both turn toward it as the doctor bustles in. He lifts an eyebrow when he sees Gavin, but doesn’t say anything to him. He just asks how I’m feeling.
The words slip out without conscious thought. “I’m just about perfect.”
Gavin’s head whips around and he blanches. He exchanges a look with the doctor, who says, “Well, let’s just take a look and make sure of that, shall we?” After a series of noises I can’t interpret, Dr. Gillian finally says, “Everything seems fine. And I don’t believe there’s anything else I can do here.” He stares at Gavin when he says it and I have a feeling he’s saying more than what I hear.
Gavin won’t meet my eyes, proving my suspicions. I don’t like it. What aren’t they telling me?
I open my mouth to ask, but Dr. Gillian continues quickly. “I’m going to release you, but you’re to take it as easy as you can in the next few days. If you feel something out of the ordinary, you need to let me know immediately.”
I want to know how I’m supposed to tell what’s not normal when everything is strange, but I don’t ask. He’s not going to know either.
CHAPTER THREE
Memory is a fickle creature. As easy as it is to lock something into your memory, it is as simple to unlock it. For a memory system to function properly it is essential not only to activate the relevant information, but also to inhibit irrelevant information. There are many memory phenomena that seem to involve inhibition, although there is often debate about the distinction between interference and inhibition.
—EXCERPT FROM DR. FRIAR’S ESSAY ON MANUAL MANIPULATION OF MEMORY RECALL
Gavin
I walk Doc out of the house. He takes a moment to reiterate, “She really should go to Rushlake.”
I know!, I want to shout. Instead, I hand him the package of cookies my mom baked last night, the fresh fish I caught this morning while Evie was sleeping, and some of the venison jerky he loves so much. “Thanks for everything, Doc.”
He stares for a moment, then sighs. “It might be a good idea to focus on discovering what the trigger is. Sometimes it’s just a matter of preventing it.” Then he says, “My favorite part of making house calls to you all is still the payment. And calls in the winter are always the best. Ginger cookies are my favorite.” He lifts the package of cookies and winks before turning around and making his way down the path that leads to the rest of the village.
I swipe my hands over my face. How the hell am I supposed to find her trigger? There doesn’t seem to be one. The first time she attacked my dog. The second, she was sleeping. The third? Who the hell knows? Where’s the correlation?
A hand lands gently on my shoulder and I can tell by the way my nerves tingle that it’s Evie. Fixing a smile on my face, I turn to face her and give her a once-over. She doesn’t look near as tired as she did this morning. Not even close to how tired I feel.
She gives me a small, puzzled smile. “Why did you give him fish?”
“Payment for making a house call.”
“Payment? Fish are money?” She looks even more confused, and I bark out a laugh.
“No. We don’t really have a lot of money, but I fish and hunt, so generally we trade him for his services. He needs food and we need medical care.” I shrug. “It works well for both of us.”
She frowns. “So you gave away your food because I needed medical care?”
I have a bad feeling about this conversation. “We pay for all medical services with food or Mom’s sewing—even people from the city love the clothes she makes. That’s how it works here. Mr. Steris trades his services—he’s a metalsmith. And Mr. Pok barters his best ale.”
“But you gave up your food for me.”
I kick at the dirt with the toe of my shoe and shove my hands in my pockets. “Yes, but that’s how we always pay for things. Not just medical care. We buy grains from the farmers, or from Mr. Pok, or Mr. Steris, or anyone in this town really, by trading meat or whatever Mom makes. Some pay us, like the mayor’s wife. But mostly the barter system works well for us.”
“That’s not what I mean!” she yells, startling me. “You gave your food up for me! Food that could be used for feeding your family or trading for things that are much more important than me.”
Her eyes are all bright and shiny, and panic makes my nerves tingle. I hate when girls cry. I never know what to say, how to help. Unsure what to do, I pull her to my chest and hug her tightly.
“It’s not a big deal, okay? It’s just some fish and cookies. And my mom loves to bake.”
“But I’m causing you problems by just being here.” She plays with the necklace at her throat.
Finally I get it. I lift her chin up with my finger so I can look at her face. “Look, Evie, it’s not a hardship to have you. I love having you here. And I like that I’m able to do something to help you. I’ve felt so useless lately. You saved my life, Evie. And all I could do was wait for the doctor to help you when you needed me. So, if all I can do is give a few hours of my time catching some fish and giving them to Doc, then that’s what I’m going to do.”