“Iknow you don’t believe it now, but hewillbe okay,” I insisted gently.
“It’sjust …” He stopped himself, pressing his lips shut and shaking his head. “Nevermind.”
“Itold you, you can talk to me.”
“Talkin’isn’t gonna change shit, Andy,” he said, gritting his teeth.
“Butit might make you feel better.”
Hehung his head and sighed. “Here’s the thing,” he began, and sucked on his teethbefore continuing, “there is no feelin’ better about this. It’s not just gonnago away bytalking.”
“No,maybe not, but you might be able to find some semblance of peace.”
“He’smy dad, Andy, and he’s fuckin’ dying. Where’s the fuckin’ peace inthat?”His voice cracked and so did my heart. “It’s just … it’s just so hard to lookat him and know that in a couple months, he’s not gonna be here. I can’t wrapmy head around it. I don’t …” He blew out a breath and diverted his gaze fromthe old man across the street. “I don’t know how to cope with this shit. Youknow? Like, my brother and sister, they have their own lives to deal with andkeep ‘em distracted. What the hell do I have? I’m with him all the time. I’m …I’m the one listening to him cough and struggle to breathe.I’mthe onewho’s just waitin’ to wake up one day and find him dead. They have shit to do,and I have—”
“Me,”I interrupted, trying to remind myself that he was just finally talking and notintending to hurt me. But it still stung.
Hismouth stopped moving momentarily, frozen, before saying, “What?”
“Youhaveme.”
Helicked his lips and dropped his gaze to the cigarette, burning away and barelytouched. He stamped it out in the ashtray my mom had found for him, buried in akitchen drawer, then wiped a hand over his forehead.
“Ididn’t mean—”
“Iknow,” I said. “I know you’re just venting and I’m glad that you are. Butplease don’t forget that I’m here, and that I want to help you get throughthis. Okay?”
Vinnieturned to face me. His eyes found mine and held me there, breathless andfrozen, until his gaze dropped to my lips. His hand reached out, cupping mychin to lure me toward him, and I complied without hesitation. He stole mythoughts with a kiss, tearing me from the grey area between the lands of theliving and the dead, and for a moment, I resided nowhere but in the taste ofsummer on his lips and cigarettes on his tongue. I knew that, if he was anybodyelse, I would’ve found reason to be disgusted, and if I were an outsiderlooking in, I would’ve judged. But this was Vinnie, and I was me, and I wasfalling for everything that made up the whole of us.
“Iknow I have you,” he said, his voice rasped and whispered, as he moved his handfrom my chin to my cheek. “I just wish I could keep him around, too.”
“He’llalways be around,” I replied, sliding my hand over his.
“Youdon’t know that, though.”
Oh,this beautiful, broken man, I thought, as my heart ached.Tellhim. Tell him everything you know and release him from his torment.
“Actually—”
“Shit,that reminds me,” he said, abruptly, cutting me off.
“W-What?”
“Zachand Greyson are going to another one of those shows you like. They invited usto go with them. You interested?”
“Apsychic medium?”
Henodded. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t love that shit, but I know you do. So, if youwanted to go, I’d tough it out.”
“Then,let’s do it,” I said, wondering if this could be the one to save my life, alongwith my sanity.
CHAPTERTWELVE
ANDREA
When Iwas sixteen, I discovered John Edward. One of my mom’s friends had gone to seehim live and was blown away by his ability to communicate with the dead. It wasthen that I’d developed an infatuation with him and an insatiable intrigue inhis skill to harness his gift. I wanted to know how he did it, how he managedto balance life with the whispers of the dead, but I had never found theanswer. So, I’d gone in search of others, with hopes that they’d be able tohelp me out, but always came up empty.
Now,sitting in the small, dark theater with Vinnie, his brother, andbrother-in-law, my skepticism was on high alert. The stage lights flickered,imitating lightning, and a tin-canned rolling thunder echoed through the soundsystem. It was cheesy, reminding me of the low-budget school production ofTheTelltale HeartI’d seen when I was twelve, and it was a struggle to keep myeyes from rolling out of my head.
