so he could keep them organized. I picked up the last journal, skipping over the weight, two hundred eighteen.
“What does it say? Does it say where the heart is?” Brynner hadn’t moved, his face still next to mine.
I tried to read, and failed, both because of the jumbled mess on the pages and the one Brynner made inside me when he was that close. “I can’t read this yet. This isn’t phonetic; it’s completely conceptual, and it’s using all three character sets.” I pointed to the early ones. “He’s learning the language, and quickly. By here”—I pointed to the middle set—“he’s creating constructs to represent ideas, and by the end, it might as well be a private language.”
“So it’s useless.”
“No, it’s not.” I patted him on the shoulder. I’d hit statues less firm. “I think your aunt would say, ‘Have some faith.’”
He caught the joke, smiling at me. “Always.”
“I can start at the beginning and work my way forward. I’ll be able to fill in the ideographs from context, and by the time we hit the last ones, there will be two people who speak his language. And one of us will still be alive.”
I’d be able to translate the journals. Find the heart, and with the money I’d make, be able to stop worrying day and night. Brynner could read his dad’s writing and maybe make peace with the demons that haunted him.
In that instant, I became aware of how close he still was, as he spoke, his breath tickling me. “You did good, Grace.”
I turned my head and kissed him, holding on for a moment while his shock dissolved, letting go when he stopped pulling away. Then his lips pressed against mine, softly first, then firmer. Hungrier. With one hand, I pulled him toward me, with the other, I supported myself.
He brushed my face, running his fingers along my cheek, causing me to gasp. A burning sensation lanced through my hand, and I fell back, breaking our kiss. A strangled cry of pain burst through my lips.
“What?” Brynner grabbed my hand, even though I tried to clench it into a fist.
A white dot surrounded by angry red marked my palm.
Brynner moved a box and cursed, smashing something with his fist. “I’m sorry. Brown scorpion. That’s going to sting.”
I gasped, clenching my fist, rocking. My fingers already puffed out, and my lips tingled. “I need my purse.”
“I’ll get you some baking soda to put on it. I know, it hurts like hell.” Brynner moved away, and I caught him by the hair.
I gasped to spit out the words. “EpiPen. Allergic.”
BRYNNER
That’s exactly why I’d learned to expect something bad when good things happened to me. I ran to the living room and found her purse. Inside lay an EpiPen in a clear plastic tube. More than anything, it resembled a thick ballpoint pen that ended in a needle. I didn’t stop, didn’t flinch as I drove the needle into her thigh.
Her body arched, then relaxed as the epi hit her. I gathered her in my arms and carried her through the house, kicked the front door open, and nearly flattened Aunt Emelia.
“Boy, what happened?” She dropped the bag of groceries on the porch, sending tomatoes bouncing down the steps and into the yard.
“Brown scorpion. She’s allergic. I used the EpiPen.” Grace lay in my arms, gasping for air.
Aunt Emelia ran for her kit and came back with a needle.
“She’s in anaphylactic shock. Her heart will stop if it goes on.” With practiced fingers, she drew a needle and plunged it into Grace’s arm, slowly drawing it out. “Get to County right now. Drive as fast as you can without killing you both. I’ll call the ER and let them know.”
“Come with me. If she stops breathing, you could put in a tracheotomy.” I nodded to the car.
She barked at me like a drill sergeant. “Boy, you’ve been watching too much TV. Drive like you did as a teen, and stop arguing. Get her to the hospital before that shot wears off.”
I opened the passenger door of the rental car and gently put her in. “I thought the epi would fix it.”
“That attack could go on for days, depending on how sensitive she is. That dose will last thirty minutes. Maybe. If she isn’t in the hospital on a drip by then, you’d need to cut down to her lungs to do any good.” Aunt Emelia ran up the porch, and I tore out, driving like a tornado on wheels down