My cell phone rang. I stared at the phone as it trilled. It was my father. The call went to voice mail. Mari and Dun didn’t say anything, and we silently waited for the voice mail chime.
He wanted to know where I was, said he knew that I hadn’t gone to school and that Mari and Dun weren’t there, either, and demanded I go home immediately and wait for him there.
I wouldn’t be doing that.
“Is a mounted posse going to come after us now?” Mari asked.
“I love it when you say things like mounted,” Dun joked.
“You’re twelve.”
I rolled my eyes, and my phone rang again. Irritated, I answered without looking. “What!”
“Pardon? Cora?” Finn’s gorgeous voice.
“God. I’m sorry. I thought you were my father.”
“You and your friends aren’t in school. And besides the bothersome fact that I didn’t get to inscribe something cleverly stupid into your yearbook, I got worried.” There was an adorable pause. “Truth is, I was afraid you were sick again.”
“No. I’m not sick. I’ve… There’s something I had to do.”
“Are you okay?”
Finn’s asking made the sadness pressing just under my heart’s surface swell and rise to my throat. “No.”
“Can I help?”
I was about to say no, but who else could wrap me in his warm aura and comfort me? I wanted Finn’s arms around me. I wanted to sink into him. But I had an ulterior motive, too. I didn’t know when, I didn’t know how, but finding my way to Ireland was suddenly very crucial. “Yes. Meet me at the rec center in fifteen minutes?”
Dun squeezed my shoulder as I slid from the car. I tried not to wince when he touched the tender spot where I’d been inexplicably tattooed. I hurried to the rec center with a new alertness. The flood of images from the key rotated over and over in my head. Besides the dirt, fear stuck to my skin, making me feel the need to be more on guard. I looked over my shoulder more than once as I walked through the tree-lined parking lot. Finn hadn’t arrived yet.
The copy of my mother’s letter and the key rested against my heart in my inside coat pocket. Emotionally wrung out, I leaned against the wall. Without warning, I burst into tears, crying into my hands. I cried for my mother, who was either massively brave or massively stupid. I cried about my father, who had let me down while trying not to let her down. I cried for myself. I couldn’t stop. Tear after tear dropped into my dirty palms.
There’s a difference between old tears and new. The old ones you’ve held back scrape from the inside when they come up. My throat ached with the effort to battle them. I’d been battling them for so long. Too long. The new ones flowed freely, a faucet of emotion that felt like it would never run dry.
There was more to my mother than the few memories Dad thought he could hide in a box. We had something dangerous in common, and I had a right to know what it was. I was at the core of a secret storm swirling around me, and my father wanted to cover my eyes.
I would not let his secrets blind me anymore.
Two warm hands covered my own and a tender kiss graced my forehead.
I knew who it was; I’d felt him approach.
Finn pulled my hands from my face and wiped my tears with the hardened pads of his fingers. “What’s the matter, Cora?”
“Everything. My father lied to me about my mother. He let me believe she left us.” My sobs grew louder, a torrent of emotions unplugged. “But she didn’t abandon me. She didn’t. She’s somewhere…I mean…I don’t know what happened to her.”
“Oh, sweetness—”
“I have to find a way to go to Ireland.”
“I’m not surprised at all that you want to go there. Ireland’s in your blood, Cora. It’s familiar to you in some part of your soul.” He leaned in close, his eyes alight, sparking gold and soft brown and so understanding. “Of course you want to look for your mother. Is there any way I can help you?”
Our faces moved closer, the kisses and warmth I needed just a fraction away, but then I stopped him. “Wait.” I ignored his raised eyebrow. His pretty lips. “You have a way of saying the exact thing I’m thinking.”
He kissed me softly, nibbling my bottom lip. “You must know your eyes broadcast every thought you have.” He cocked his head. “But sometimes you surprise me with what you say or do. I figured you’re extraordinarily direct.”
I didn’t like the idea that my thoughts and actions weren’t always my own around Finn. I’d have to be vigilant not to reveal too much. “No. Extraordinarily direct is not normal for me. That’s Mari’s job. Also not normal is grabbing your shirt like a thug in the hospital because I was curious about your tattoo.” My mind puzzled over it. The fever could have permanently scratched my record. But if that was true, why wasn’t I out of control with everyone the way I was with Finn?
“You’re curious about my tattoo?” he asked with a brash grin. He started to pull his shirt up, exposing the taut ridges of his stomach.
I shoved his shirt down and looked around us frantically. “Stop that!” I liked the laugh that pushed up out of me through my tears.
He shrugged. “Fine. Maybe I’ll show it to you some other time.”
I reached up and tugged the neck of his T-shirt away, trying to see more of it. “It reminds me of the triple spiral.” The flash of iconic and violent imagery from the key played in my mind again. “But it looks sort of like stars, too. Like a spiral galaxy.”
Finn nodded. “Fair play to ya, Cora. You do know your Ireland. It is what you say.”
“The triple spiral? But why?”
“It’s a family thing. If you’re familiar with Irish mythology, you’ll know they haven’t a clue what the triple spiral means. Loads of theories. My mum used to tell me the triple spiral was a puzzle that was important to our family’s history. It’s something of a family crest to her. Personally, the fact that no one knows what it means is what makes it cool. I see it as a tale with no beginning and no end.”
I traced my finger over the top of the labyrinthine constellation. “Maybe that’s the best kind of tale.” He covered my hand with his and pressed it to his skin.
It was our tale.
Finn hugged me. Strong arms around my back, almost lifting me from the ground. His heated embrace cocooned me, and I buried my face in his neck. My hysteria receded like a tide. He’d warmed me, soothed me. Pulsing, sweet energy swirled around my heart and expanded, pushing out through my chest. It was a door, opening for only him.
His mouth moved softly against my neck. “Since I met you, nothing else exists. No one has ever touched me the way you do. You’re like a fookin’ hypnotist. I don’t know what you do to me, Cora Sandoval, but I can’t stay away from you.” He released me and stood back. “I can’t. I’m here, standing in front of you because I can’t.”
“You’re here because I said I needed you.”
He shook his head. When he ran the back of his fingers across my cheek, a slab of resistance fell away like a chunk from a glacier, melting under his heat. When he bent to look deep into my eyes, I was sure I cracked open and bared my soul.
“I’m here with you and I’m here for you. I have dramas and confusion in my life, too. But it feels better when we’re together. Don’t you feel that, luv?”
I did.
When he kissed me, I was irretrievably his.
I waited in his car, holding my hands up to the heater vent, and watched him walk around to the driver’s side, his long legs flexing under his jeans, his shoulders flaring beneath his shirt. He smiled as he got in, and happiness surged through me. My dad would call it “smitten.” He’d used that word while walking among the redwoods one day, describing how he’d felt when he first met my mother when she was visiting Chile. I recalled the exact word because of the wistful longing in his eyes and because he so rarely spoke of her.