Touched - By Cyn Balog Page 0,85

softly, then gave me an “is she insane?” look. “Good thought, though.”

Nan stood up. Her expression, for once, was grave. “Lovely chatting with you both. Now I must get ready for bed.”

She started for the staircase, her shoulders slumped and her head down. Normally she would have cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, but I could tell she was rattled. And who wouldn’t be?

“Good night,” I called after her, and then I couldn’t resist getting one last dig in there. “You might want to forgo your bath. I’d stay away from water altogether, if I were you.”

Nan didn’t respond. Taryn swallowed and grimaced like there were knives in her throat. She’d shredded the paper napkin into a pile of confetti. “Maybe she will sleep on it and change her mind?” she offered.

I shrugged. “Maybe.” I kept my voice light to hide the dread that had crept over me. There was still a long night ahead of us, and evil always seemed more possible in the darkness.

Lightning lit the sky far away, but the thunder didn’t come as an answer. As I walked Taryn outside, there was no noise at all—no crickets, no humming of the streetlights—as if the entire town was holding its breath for what was to come. The Park was between storms, so the clouds had parted like a curtain, revealing the silver-dollar moon and thousands of pinpoint stars. Now, everything seemed hushed, the way the Park liked. As I held Taryn’s hand, even the You Wills were gone, leaving a silence that was almost too silent. It was unnatural. Foreboding.

“Can we talk somewhere else?” Taryn asked.

I nodded and followed her down the gravel driveway, but when we were walking together, still holding hands, she did very little talking. It seemed like she was afraid to say something. The air was so humid you could almost taste it. We ambled slowly to the corner in the darkness, then kept right on going to the playground on the Fifth Avenue bay.

Tiny pools of water glistened on the seats of the swings. Taryn’s skirt was still damp from before, so she didn’t bother to wipe the swing dry before she sat on it. I sat down on the swing next to hers.

“I’ve known a lot of guys,” she said, digging her bare toes into the sand. “They all wanted something from me. But not you. You’re different. You’re like my angel.”

I laughed. “Are you crazy? I am not your angel. I ruined your life in a thousand ways, remember?”

“Why are you so nice to me, then?” she said.

I snorted. “I’m not nice to you.”

“You let me give Bryce that Touch. You risked your life—the lives of your family—for me. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” I said. “You would have died if I didn’t.”

“I could have found someone else, maybe,” she said. “You felt guilty? Is that what it is?”

“No. Look. You’re as important to me as my family. In my life, I’ve known hundreds—thousands of girls, maybe. I’ve married them, had kids with them, grown old with them, loved them. But you are … I can’t explain it. Every time you even walk away from me, I feel like there’s a hole in my chest. I think I would die if anything happened to you. Literally. The pain would kill me.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, just sat there watching the lights of the bridge dancing on the smooth ripples of the dark bay. Finally, she said, “Wow.”

I wasn’t sure if she meant “Wow, that’s amazing” or “Wow, you freak,” but when she turned to me, there were tears in her eyes. So I inched forward in my swing and kissed her again. She exhaled sweetly, the way girls do, and I put my hand through her hair, wanting more of her, wanting to pull her closer. But it snagged on something, and when I rubbed my thumb to my fingers it was gummy and thick, like she’d used too much hair gel. I pulled my hand out.

“What the …” I looked at my hand. Sniffed. Oh, hell.

“What is that smell?” She stared at my hands. “Is that … peanut butter?”

“Ugh. Kid who sat on this swing before must have been eating peanut butter,” I said, inspecting the chains. I couldn’t tell much in the dark, but now I could smell nothing but peanut butter. It made me want to retch. “Ugh.”

“Calm down, it’s okay,” she said, laughing. She took her shawl off and gently