Touched - By Cyn Balog Page 0,68

she was so on edge.

She was visibly shivering, her lower lip trembling, so when she leaned forward—to give me a hug? A kiss on the cheek? I’m still not sure—I turned the wrong way and ended up jabbing her cheek with my jaw. We both pulled back suddenly, and I could tell she was in just as much pain as I was by the way she rubbed her cheek and grimaced. Total idiot move. I wanted to bury my head in the sand. Instead I walked to the Kohr’s stand and got an orangeade so I could have adequate refreshment for the “show.”

Ten minutes later, I’d thrown away my last dollar’s worth of quarters on a classic video game called Mr. Do! and my orangeade was gone. The clock on the wall said 4:45. The arcade wasn’t busy yet, but I knew it would be soon; it was Sunday. Right now, it was mostly families, a lot of kids trying their luck at Frog Bog and the fishing game. From where I stood, I could just see the wall I’d need to shimmy over to make it to the hiding spot. Part of me wanted to go there right away, but I’d forgotten to ask Taryn how long the Touch took, and another part of me didn’t want to be sitting there for hours. As I stood there trying to decide, the orangeade hit me full force.

When I came back from the men’s room, I saw a face I recognized. I stopped abruptly because I wasn’t expecting to see anyone I knew. It took a while to place the face, but it was her, my old babysitter and Seventh Avenue badge checker. Jocelyn. She’d been there the day Emma died. It was Jocelyn who’d finally gotten through to me as I tried to revive the little girl. She’d put her hand on my shoulder and yanked me back from the lifeless body, saying, “Nick! Nick. Get ahold of yourself.” She’d looked at me the way she’d done when she sat for me, and I’d found the knife drawer. Condescending, but mostly just horrified.

Now she was the one who looked small and vulnerable. It was right at that in-between time, the blurred line where family-friendly fun and party-all-night mixed. But despite the fact that she belonged to neither category, she melted into the scenery perfectly. She stood alone, but she wasn’t dressed for a night out on the town. She had on a prim white sweater, the kind old ladies at church socials wear. She had her hands laced in front of her, as if praying. Jocelyn was probably in her late twenties, but she looked a lot older, probably because she was so serious and proper. Her hair was pulled back in a very severe way that made every line and flaw in her face visible. She was always frowning, but with her hair like that, the frown looked mean. She fidgeted, taking in all the games and attractions as if she’d never seen them before. I almost had to laugh, watching her standing there like she’d rather be anywhere else.

It was hard for someone to be more out of place than I was, but she managed. Why the hell she was here, of all places? Maybe she was meeting someone. Maybe she was going on a date.

I was trying to think of what kind of guy she’d date when I neared her. I wasn’t expecting to stop and talk to her, but then she folded her arms across herself. She was shivering. Her face was pale and ghostlike. There was something wrong.

She glanced at her wristwatch, and in that moment, something caught in my mind. It was the first night I’d met her. She’d taken some Hot Wheels out of her backpack and let me play with them. She had one that was aqua blue, with doors and a trunk that opened. It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. She was telling me that I could keep it when my mother began moaning from upstairs. That night, when Nan came home, I’d cried, clutching that car in my hands, knowing I’d probably never see Jocelyn again. But she came back. She babysat for me a few more times, until she went to college.

I stopped short in front of her. Immediately, pangs of pain thudded in my head. I wasn’t sure if I could bring myself to speak to her, if I could find the right words. I opened