Rebecca York - Powerhouse

“Remember, I told you she was pretty strict. So her changing her mind was … unusual. The next time I tried it, I wanted chili for dinner. And I told her to make it—without saying anything out loud. She did.”

“That must have given you a feeling of power.”

“Yeah, but not for long. My mom was the kind of mother who watches for you to do something wrong so she can punish you.”

Shelley winced, wondering what it would be like to grow up like that. Her own parents had always been warm and loving and supportive. They’d raised her to believe in herself and to take responsibility for her own decisions. They’d died before she knew she was going to have a baby, but their confidence in her had given her the courage to raise a child on her own. Sometimes it made her sad that Trevor would never know his grandparents. He’d never make cookies with her mom the way she had, or go fishing with her dad. And every holiday had had its traditions—like fun stocking stuffers at Christmas. She’d made sure to do all those things with her own son. Matt was still speaking.

“Mom was smart. She caught on pretty fast—and started beating the crap out of me when she thought I was—she called it ‘pushing’ her. I guess that’s as good a name as any for what I can do.”

She nodded.

“And then she would go around talking to teachers and other people I knew, finding out if I’d ‘pushed’ them. So I had to be careful if I wanted to use it.” He laughed. “Like once when I should have gotten detention, and I persuaded the teacher to let me off. Mom found out about it and made sure it never happened again.”

Shelley’s chest was so tight she could barely breathe. “I’m sorry. I had no idea about any of that.”

“Of course not, because I never let on. It got stronger the older I got, but I used it less and less.” He made a dismissive sound. “I think it’s one of the reasons I’m good at training horses. I can get into their minds, too.”

“That’s fantastic.”

“I decided it was weird.”

Shelley was still taking everything in. Now that Matt was talking to her so openly, it seemed that she had missed so many opportunities to connect with him on a meaningful level when they’d been together.

“What did your mom think of your being kidnapped—and showing up again?” she asked.

“She never could explain it. And she acted like she thought I was lying about not remembering what had happened to me.” “She sounds … like a real gem.”

He shrugged. “She died ten years ago.” He grimaced. “I was sad, but I was relieved, too. Relieved to be free of the pressure of not antagonizing her.”

Shelley winced. “When you were kidnapped, she told the authorities?”

“No. She thought I’d run away.”

“A twelve-year-old?”

He shrugged again. “And she was determined not to have anyone think ill of her because of it. So she told folks I was visiting my uncle.”

“That’s child abuse.”

He shrugged again.

“I don’t dwell on my relationship with her.” Switching back to the previous topic, he said, “I don’t know how I got the talent. But I thought it had something to do with those missing months. I figured they’d done something to me. Something that—” he swallowed “—something that changed my DNA.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Maybe because I read a lot of science fiction novels. Then, when I got older, I read scientific literature on the subject. Anyway, I didn’t want to pass it on to any child of mine. That was why I vowed never to marry and never to have children.”

Shelley looked out into the darkness, then back at Matt. “That’s why you walled yourself off here?”

“Yeah. And … because I could never stop thinking that since I’d been taken away once, it could happen again. Now it has happened—but not to me.”

“Oh, Matt.”

He sounded so lost and defeated that she sprang out of the chair, crossed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him.

As he stood rigidly in her embrace, she started speaking quickly. “It’s not your fault. None of it is your fault. It’s just something that happened to you.”

“And to my son.”

“But you came back.”

“I was twelve. He’s only … four.”

When she pressed her face against his chest to muffle a sob, his arms came up to clasp her to him. “Shelley, I’m so sorry that I brought this on you—and Trevor.”

“I’m sorry too,” she whispered. “I should have told you about your son. I should have made you part of his life. He missed knowing my parents, and he missed knowing you.”

“And you worked hard to make up for that.”

“Yes. We could have had more money, if I’d taken more clients. But I spent time with him instead.” She flapped her arm. “I felt guilty about that, too. I kept thinking that if I could have afforded a more expensive nursery school, he wouldn’t have gotten stolen.”

“Don’t! They would have gotten to him some other way.”

She went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I know now that I was fooling myself. I was being selfish. I didn’t want to get into a fight with you about my getting pregnant. So I just avoided the issue and kept Trevor all to myself.”

He squeezed her tightly, then eased away. “Will you tell me about him?”

“Yes. I’ve got pictures in my wallet. Is my purse in the mudroom?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I should have given it to you.”

“I didn’t need it,” she answered on the way to retrieve her purse. Opening her wallet, she got out a handful of pictures of a dark-haired little boy with blue eyes. The earliest one showed him in a high chair banging a plastic cup against the tray. Then there were two pictures of him at a playground. A school picture where he was posed against a blue background and a picture of him on a horse. “He rides?”

“I figured he’d like horses. That was at a rodeo that came through Boulder.”

“He looks like me,” Matt marveled.

“Yes. I’ve got a lot more pictures at home. Not just pictures. I’ve got videos. And I try to write down the interesting or the funny things he does. I guess in the back of my mind I was keeping a record for you. But I couldn’t admit that to myself.”

“Tell me more about him.”

“He’s … sweet. And smart. He’s memorized all the songs they sing at school. He loves to paint. He’s already learning to read.”

Matt looked impressed.

She laughed. “He likes chili. I guess he gets that from you. But it’s hard to get him to drink his milk.” She glanced at the mugs still sitting on the table. “I have to put chocolate in it.”

Eagerly she went on to tell him so many of the things she hadn’t been able to share with him. They made her feel closer to Matt—and to Trevor, too.

“It sounds like you’re a good mother.”

“I let somebody take him,” she whispered, because she knew that if she tried to speak louder, she’d break down again.

“You couldn’t guard him every minute. You had to work—to support him. Sending him to nursery school was a good option. And you had no idea that anyone was after him,” he finished.

“Now it feels like I was living in a fool’s paradise.” “I’m the one who would have been on guard.” “But you couldn’t be. Because I didn’t tell you.” He sighed deeply. “We’d better stop assigning blame. You came here so I could help you get him back. We’ll do it.” She nodded, hope blooming inside her. She hadn’t known any of Matt’s history, but knowing it made her feel as though they could find their son.

“You need to eat something. Then we’ll get to work looking for him.”