Theresa Weir - Bad Karma

She shook her head. He was bleeding under the bandage. She could see a spot of red seeping through the gauze. “I want Beau to have him. I told you that.”

“The key,” he said, as if he’d only just remembered it.

“I have the feeling it’s never going to be found,” Cleo said. “You’d better just go ahead and change the locks.”

“The rest of your money. It’s at my house.”

“Put it toward getting the locks replaced.”

He got a funny look on his face. “I don’t think we’ll need it.” He seemed to search his mind for more words, finding them. “You know what people in town are saying about you? That you used your psychic powers to save us both.”

“I can’t take any credit for Campbell ’s carelessness.”

She didn’t want to talk about that. To herself, she could finally admit that she had a skill that went beyond normal. But it was still a subject she wanted absolutely nothing to do with. At least not now. Maybe someday, but not now. “About the hostage case you were involved in,” she began. Cleo wanted to leave him with something-reassurance-as well as a memory of her that wasn’t all bad.

“It’s not something I like to think about,” he said. “People died. It was my fault.”

“We can’t always be the ones to fix things. If I had died out there the other day, it wouldn’t have been your fault.”

Yet he’d been willing to die for her. And he would have died if something hadn’t distracted Campbell. “And if you’d died-” She swallowed. She reached out and took his hand. “If you’d died, it wouldn’t have been my fault. Bad things happen.” She turned his hand over. With one finger, she unconsciously traced the lines on his palm.

From far off came the sad, lonely cry of a train whistle.

“The ring,” Daniel said. “I still have your ring.”

Her mind spun back to another time, to a sweet, dark-haired boy who had loved her. A sweet, dark-haired boy who had died.

For the first time in years, the guilt she’d felt whenever she thought of Jordan was gone. She would never know if she’d really transcended time and space. But if she had, maybe she’d gone there to save him, maybe she’d gone there to try to stop the accident, not cause it. And maybe the only person she’d been able to save was herself.

“Mail the ring to me at my brother’s address.” She wanted to turn the conversation away from Jordan and her past. She wanted to look forward. “What will you do now?” she asked.

“Jo is trying to get me to come back.”

“Will you?”

“Maybe. For a while.”

“I hope you get a chance to return to Scotland.”

There were the people who put down roots so deep no one could tear them out. Then there were the ones like her and Daniel, the travelers, the wanderers, always seeking, never finding, always moving on.

“There’s Beau,” Daniel said.

“I’m afraid Campbell may have been right when he said Beau was your excuse. Beau’s more independent than you think, maybe more independent than you want him to be.”

The train pulled to a stop, wheels scraping and squeaking, steam billowing from underneath. She was the only person getting on. The conductor wouldn’t wait long.

Daniel looked as if he wanted to say something.

With a flash of insight, she recognized his hesitation. He isn’t ready for me to go, she thought, amazed at the revelation. But she had to leave. She needed some time to put herself back together. And in Egypt, Missouri, that wasn’t going to happen. Maybe after Seattle she’d go to San Francisco, she didn’t know. She couldn’t look that far ahead.

Fog. Daniel had given her fog. She’d never forget that. There was a lot of fog in San Francisco.

“All aboard!”

“Bye,” she said, taking a step toward the train.

“All aboard!”

His eyes. She couldn’t pull her gaze from his eyes. From the longing, and the pain, and something else-something she thought she had to be imagining, something she told herself was a trick of the light. Love. She thought she saw love.

“Bye.”

She turned and hurried up the steps. She’d barely stepped inside before the train began moving away. By the time she made it to a seat by the window, Daniel was just a silhouette standing in front of the station, already a part of her past.

Daniel stood and watched the train until it disappeared, hardly noticing the hot sidewalk under his bare feet, hardly noticing the pain in his shoulder.

What had he expected? Nothing in their so-called relationship had merited a handshake, let alone a heartfelt goodbye.

Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe he was jealous because she was leaving, moving on to someplace new and unknown. Maybe he was attracted to her because of what she represented-the world, everything that wasn’t this, wasn’t here, someone rare, someone unique, someone exotic and strange and wonderful.

No, maybe it wasn’t love.

Cleo was having the dream again. Not the pumpkin dream. She hadn’t had that since leaving Egypt. No, this was a different dream. A warm, lovely dream.

Daniel Sinclair was there. The sky was vast and blue, the grass beneath their feet as green and welcoming as tomorrow. Somewhere in the distance she heard the sound of the North Atlantic pounding against solid cliffs, and the cry of gulls overhead.

In the dream she had a secret, a wonderful secret she’d saved until this moment, this one perfect moment.

He knew she couldn’t have children, but his love for her was strong. “We’ll adopt,” he’d told her. But she’d seen the flicker of sadness in his eyes. It had lasted only a moment, but she’d seen it. You know these things about the people you love.

They walked, holding hands, fingers lightly brushing fingers. She swung around to face him. She wanted to see his happiness when she told him. “I’m going to have a baby.”

First there was a flash of joy, then confusion, then joy again. “How? Are you sure?”

She took his hand and pressed it gently to a stomach that had just the slightest swell. She nodded, smiling up at him. “They did an ultrasound to be certain.”

He pulled her into his strong, warm, comforting arms. He smelled like the sea, and he smelled like the sun, and he smelled like Daniel.

She took his face in both her hands, pulling him closer. And then his lips touched hers, all warm and soft. “I love you,” he said. “I love you so much.”

A shrill scream came out of nowhere, pulling Cleo partially out of the dream.

“Mom!”

From somewhere in the distance, somewhere far away from her dream, a child shrieked. “I was watching TV first and Carmen changed channels! Mom! Dad!”

Cleo awoke with a jolt, finding herself in her niece’s bed.

She closed her eyes and rolled to her stomach. She wanted to go back to sleep. Sometimes if she woke up in the middle of a dream, she could concentrate and get herself back there.

“Mom!”

Not this time.

Cleo rolled to her back, tossed off the Peter Rabbit covers, and sat on the edge of the bed. The digital clock read 6:30. She rubbed her face. How come kids liked to get up early, but adults never wanted to get out of bed? What happened there? Was it because kids thought of each new day as a wonderful adventure, while adults knew the truth?

Barefoot, wearing plaid flannel pajamas, she left the room, almost colliding with Adrian in the hallway. “Go back to bed,” she told him.

His eyes were barely open, his hair sticking out in all directions.

“You were up late. I’ll take care of the girls.”

“Thanks.” He turned and shuffled back to the bedroom he shared with Mavis.

In the living room, the girls were still fighting.