Cindy Miles - At First Touch

“Smells like sea sewage to me.”

He chuckled as they picked their way along the lane that as kids they’d run through at top speed. “Well, then,” he said beside her. A little closer. A little more amused. “Give it some time. It’ll grow on you.”

“I doubt it.” She knew her answer sounded acerbic. She’d meant it to.

“Hey.” The air shifted as he leaned closer. “Open your mind, Reagan Rose Quinn. And your nostrils. There are a lot of great experiences just waiting to happen.” She felt a nudge as Eric gently elbowed her in the ribs. “Glad you’re home, by the way. It’s been too long.”

Before Reagan could recover from Eric’s comment—actually, from any of them—dark shadows accompanied by voices descended upon her.

“My God, look at this grown-up girl,” a deep male voice said. The form grew closer, and Reagan’s hand was enveloped by a large warm one. “Good to see you home again, Reagan.”

In what she hoped was the right direction, Reagan turned and smiled. “Thank you, sir,” she replied.

“That’s my dad, Owen,” Eric said beside her.

“Oh, sorry, honey,” Owen said. “I should’ve warned you before grabbing your hand, eh?” His chuckle was lighthearted and gruff at the same time. What was with all this friendly familiarity? She hadn’t seen any of these people in more than fifteen years. It made no sense to her.

No matter how often she was reminded that she couldn’t see, Reagan always tried. She peered through her shades—squinted hard, as if that would in some way help clear the blur. Brighten the darkness. It didn’t. So she held up her hand and gave her head a soft shake. “No, it’s fine, really,” she said. “It— I—take some getting used to, I guess.”

“Warning, I’m about to hug you,” another of the forms called out, and in the next second Reagan’s body was being squeezed. Firm lips grazed her cheek. “Nathan,” the voice advised. “You still look like a brat, by the way.”

Memories flashed before her. “Your favorite name for me.”

“I guess I can almost rightfully call you sis, huh?” another voice said. Spoke, but didn’t grab. Didn’t hug. Didn’t touch.

“This is grown-up Matt, Rea,” Emily spoke beside her, then giggled. “My fiancé and your soon-to-be brother.”

Reagan turned her face toward Matt’s form. “I’ve heard...all about you.”

Matt chuckled softly. “I bet you have.”

“Well hells bells, no one told me the party was going to be in the side yard,” a deep, gravelly voice said. Another shadowy form moved toward Reagan, and she could tell a limp made him wobble a bit as he made his way to the group. Winded, he cleared his throat. “Gotta tell an old man these things, you know. Say, darlin’, can you bake? Not sure if I want any pies baked by a blind girl, but I’ll give anything a try once—”

“Dad,” Owen chided. “Forgive old Jep, Reagan,” he said. “The years have stolen his manners.”

Reagan felt caged in. Surrounded by so much unfamiliar familiarity. She wanted to escape. To be alone. “From what I can remember he lost those long ago.” Everyone chuckled around her, and she turned her face toward Jep. The old guy spoke his mind, and she confessed she liked that. At least he wouldn’t tiptoe around her. “Em’s always been the baker. I just...lick the bowl.”

“Hmm,” Jep remarked. “Suppose I can share a bowl now and then. Still—glad to have another purty girl livin’ beside us. You’re welcome in our home anytime, darlin’.”

“Thanks,” Reagan replied.

“You’re welcome. Owen!” Jep called out.

“Right here, Dad,” Owen said close by. “Come on around back, kids.”

“Damned hush puppies won’t cook themselves, you know,” Jep added.

“I know, Dad.”

“Eric, I’m ready for those shrimp now, if you can find it in yourself to stop all that damned flirting and get a move on,” Jep grumbled.

“Yes, sir,” Eric replied, then his voice was at Reagan’s ear. “He’s just jealous. I’ll save you a place beside me.”

Reagan didn’t say anything, and the forms all began moving away.

An arm slipped through hers. “Come on, Sissy,” Em said with a soft laugh, close to her ear. “Let’s go.”

They walked, and soon the shadows and shapes and forms of the Malones all blurred together, and Reagan couldn’t tell who was who. Emily led her along the side yard and around back, to where the sun must’ve been shining with all its might, with no clouds to block the rays from her skin, and her cheeks warmed, and a fine sheen of moisture clung to her bare arms. For a moment, she felt...right.

She imagined the sky was a vast blanket of blue. Imagined the sun gilded everything in its path. Imagined the water rippling as a mullet fish or a ray broke the surface. And as they stepped onto the dock, Reagan concentrated. Hard. She could hear the water lap at the marsh grass and mud, and the brine rose and blended with the warm June air as it rustled the big, waxy magnolia leaves.

Yeah. She was home, all right. All those things felt familiar. Smelled familiar. Seemed familiar. Like from a long, long ago movie she’d watched; the way a certain scent triggered a particular event from the past. There, but dormant. Waiting for that spark to release it. It made her remember the girl she’d been, running down the dock and launching off of it, knees pulled to her chest, falling into the warm, brackish water. It seemed...a lifetime ago. The life she’d had before her parents’ fatal accident. Before her own.

Only Reagan had changed. She was different. Different from anyone gathered on the dock.

And she’d never be that Reagan Quinn again.

CHAPTER TWO

THE PUNGENT AROMA of strong coffee brewing seeped into Reagan’s subconscious, and her eyes blinked open. Confusion webbed her mind at first—where was she? For a moment she stared hard, trying to clear the haze and blur of the room. She sat up, rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. Then the feeling of dread that visited her daily swamped her, and she froze. She wasn’t just blind. She was blind...and home.

Back on Cassabaw. Had been, for nearly a week.

Coming home was...a shock. The last time she’d been on the island was the day of their parents’ funeral. They’d pulled away from the cemetery, a U-Haul carrying their belongings, and she’d never been back. She didn’t remember as much as Emily did, but flashes now crossed her mind, and they were like a thick cloud of recollections in front of her face. Ones she could almost see, but not quite. Faded pictures that were memories of her parents, laid out in an album; of playing on the dock with her sister; of easing through the creek in their father’s aluminum boat and letting her fingers brush the marsh grass as they passed. Sometimes she wondered if she actually remembered the memory or just the photograph.

She’d lost her sight. Her parents. Her childhood. She’d lost...all of that. What she had in her brain was now the only photo album she had.

Reagan let her body fall back against the pillows and she lay there, arm draped over those cursed eyes, and she squeezed them tightly shut and just...breathed. Tears pooled and spilled over her closed lids, dampening her pillow.

Moments later, a knock sounded at her bedroom door, and before she could respond, the creaking of a rusty hinge alerted her that it was being cracked open.

“Rea?”

Reagan swiped at her eyes and sat up. “Hey,” she answered hastily, not wanting her sister to catch her in a moment of weakness.

Emily’s soft footfalls crossed the room, and the bed sank a little when she sat on it. “I made coffee,” her sister said.

“Yeah, I uh...” Reagan replied. “I can smell it.” She smiled, but turned her face toward the light streaming in through the window.