Touch

By kat kirst

Cheryl has an unexplainable secret—a secret she has kept from her sister, the kids at school, and even her parents. Cheryl can see the past.  She keeps her powers hidden, tucked away in the corner of her existence like a whisper…until she meets Bo. He wants her to use her powers, to tame and refine them so she can help him solve a century old mystery. Suspenseful, fast moving, and touched with romance, the story unfolds as Cheryl learns she must find herself before she can find her true destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kat Kirst
• Release date: Oct 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536593006

kat kirst

Kat Kirst spent most of her teaching years in a junior high classroom. Now that she has retired, she is happy to have finally graduated from 8th grade which gives her ample time to write more novels. Kat lives in Port Alto, Texas with her husband, Tom, who keeps her focused on her dreams, and her dog, Chance, who keeps the yard free from any and all squirrel invasions.

Book preview

1

One Weird Old Lady

My sister’s nail digs into my shoulder like a delicately curved knife. You’re zoning out again, she says. Snap out of it.

She watches my hand run itself across the marred tabletop. I’m powerless to stop it. It works all on its own, searching for secrets as it follows the wooden trim that someone carved a century ago. My fingers memorize each dip and swirl.

Sarah sighs. Even though she never says it out loud, she’s used to me doing this. She knows how to pull me out of the past and back into the present.

We are standing in the antique shop that my Aunt Mary dragged us into. Normally, I would never come near a store like this. I prefer the mall where everything is new. New is unspoiled, clean and fresh. New has no memories, only the memories I make.

In a place like this, I can’t help myself. Even though I can’t allow anyone else to see what I can do, the past creeps into my fingertips, pushes itself into my body, and lights up my brain like an old black and white movie. Except, I don’t just see the pictures—I feel the emotions, too. For a moment, I am there.

The ghosts of the little girl and her family, who once sat around the table that I am touching, fade away like a late morning dream.

In the now, Sarah stands behind me, anxiously tapping me on my back with one finger. Her nail, painted in gold sparkles, digs through my shirt again and into my skin. Her eyes nervously dart toward the window. Are you okay? She grabs both my shoulders and squares her face with mine. Her delicate forehead is folded in an urgent frown. Finally, she gives me a little shake. Cheryl, are you okay?

I nod and try to focus my brown eyes on her blue ones.

Aaron’s out there. He and Jake just walked by. Sarah tucks a wisp of hair behind her ear. Even though I have lived with her my entire life, I’m struck again at how perfectly golden blonde she is. Gosh, I hope he didn’t see me in this nasty place.

I try to clear my head and stay in the now. I don’t mean for the table to speak to me again, but it jumps out and almost grabs my hand, pulling it toward its worn, scratched top. Once there, it easily pulls me into the lives of people, long since dead, who spent hours gathered around it. Their story flows up my arm filling my eyes and heart.

Without wanting to, I have lost the now again.

Suddenly, I am confused and terribly afraid. I have never seen Daddy cry before. My fingers pick at my blue cotton dress remembering when Mama made it from flour sacks and the stripes on it were bright and cheery.

The farm’s dried up, Mabel, he repeats between sobs. There’s no more money. What’ll we do? Where’ll we go?

Mama walks over to him and gently places her hand on his shaking shoulder. It’s the times, Darrell. It’s this depression we’re in. She looks at me. You’re scaring May. You’ve got to pull yourself together.

Sarah pulls at a wisp of my dark hair to get my attention. Cheryl, would you pay attention to me? I bet they’re going over to Dairy World. Let’s ask Aunt Mary if we can go over there for just a few minutes. You know her. She’s going to spend an hour looking through this nasty place.

I focus on my sister’s eyes, take a deep breath, and force a smile. Sometimes, when the past feels so real, it’s hard to clear it all away like cobwebs stuck deep in corners that refuse to be swept clean.

Sarah hates it when I zone out. She says it’s creepy and weird. I wonder what she’d call it if she really knew what was going on. I keep smiling and nod my head. I know she won’t notice any- thing anyway. When Aaron struts by like he’s all that, the only thing she sees is him. I don’t know why she can’t look past the labels he wears to see who he really is.

I’m going to tell Aunt Mary where we’ll be, she announces before flouncing away toward the back of the store. Her long blonde hair swings first to the right and then to the left. Then, it lays perfectly down her back the way it always does in direct contrast to my curly, unmanageable mane.

My hand drifts toward the table again, my fingers daring each other to trace the long linear grain of wood flowing down the center of the table like a waterfall. I want to know more about the story, their story. The story of Mabel and Darrell. And mostly, the story of the little girl named after my favorite month of spring.

Suddenly a hand closes around my wrist, stopping me. It’s a working hand, dry and wrinkled, but its nails are long and painted red. As I watch each tendon tighten, I turn to see the woman who runs the store. She is old, like my aunt, but she is a very different person.

She is Romani. I can tell from her dress and her skin which will tan this summer into a deep reddish-brown. Even though she’s probably forty-five, she wears her hair long like Sarah’s. Hers hangs almost to the center of her back, dark and wavy. Her jewelry is gold and large. Her lips match her nails.

I’ve been watching you, Chey. She grips my wrist harder. Why do you do that? Why do you keep your hands together as you walk through my store, yet you stop at this table and stroke it? What do you see?

I raise an eyebrow. What does she mean by asking what I see? Have I been that obvious?

My name isn’t Chey; it’s— I think twice before telling her who I am. Besides, all I see is a junky old table, I say smartly, hoping it will make her go away. What am I supposed to see?

The woman lets me go and smiles as if she somehow knows my secret.

Oh, I don’t know. Some people see the future. They see this table sitting in their own kitchen surrounded by their own families. They see a husband, a child, or even many children.

I frown. I’m in tenth grade. I think I’m a little too young to be thinking about a husband and kids, don’t you?

She thinks for a moment. Maybe. She runs her hand on the table, stopping on the spot my hand was resting before. So, if you weren’t thinking of the future, maybe you were thinking of the past.

My breath catches. She couldn’t know anything—I’ve never seen her before. She’s probably just saying things.

Mom says gypsies are like that...all mysterious and full of double meanings. She says they only believe half of what they say and pretend the rest of the time. She thinks gypsies love everything about the supernatural because they make their money telling fortunes. They like to make people think they’re witches or something.

I don’t know what to believe.

I’ve lived with the Romani all my life; my school is filled with them. At least it was in the earlier grades. Most of the girls are home-schooled after fifth grade, leaving their obnoxious brothers to bother me in the hallways. Maybe it’s because I have dark hair and olive skin, but they watch me in class. Sarah’s noticed it, and I’ve felt it. Either way, I’m not particularly interested in guys. I’m going to be a veterinarian, and that takes a lot of studying. Unlike my sister, who’s Miss Popularity in the hallways with her cute figure and big blue eyes, I keep more to myself.

The woman stares at me as if she is still waiting for an explanation, which she’s not getting.

For a moment, I actually think about throwing the whole thing at her just to watch her reaction, but since I don’t understand what I do myself, I keep my mouth closed. Mom says to stay away from gypsies and all their dabbling into things where people shouldn’t go.

I wonder what Mom would say if she knew where I went pretty regularly these days.

The woman is still waiting, her eyebrows raised expectantly in little demanding arches. I feel no disrespect for her culture. Personally, I don’t even use the term gypsy. I use the word Romani since it sounds more polite. I decide it doesn’t matter; I’m going to call this woman what she is: weird.

Sarah comes to my rescue.

We can go! Aunt Mary says we have a half hour. That means we can stretch it to forty-five minutes. She grabs my arm. Do you have any money?

My fingers dig into my pocket. I don’t really want to go to Dairy World—especially to see that stuck-up Aaron Sheridon—but anything is better than standing in front of this strange woman, trying to explain myself to her.

I pull out a five dollar bill. This should be enough, I say. I could use some chocolate.

As we fly out the door, I feel the woman still watching me.

Goodbye, Cheryl Koski, she says. Goose bumps erupt on my arms like a pox.

I don’t want to do it, but I have to look once more at this woman who suddenly knows my name. She is leaning against the front counter with her arms crossed, watching me, waiting for me to give her an answer.

I don’t.

***

Since it isn’t tourist season yet, Dairy World’s service is fast. I watch Tammy who stands behind the counter making our order. Her quick hands roll scoops of strawberry and vanilla ice cream before pulling at the brass knobs which dispense long, sticky streams of chocolate and butterscotch into our dishes. Tammy’s been here as long as I can remember, and while she works, her eyes are always somewhere else, far away. I promise myself one more time to never make myself work here.

I’ve seen the people who flock to our town in the late spring—the entitled teenagers and their spoiled little sisters and brothers. They drive in from the North and the Midwest every season searching for a piece of ocean beach and a palm tree or two. We call them snow birds or trunk slammers behind their backs, both hating their presence and depending on the dollars they spend every year in our little town. I know that South Beach depends on them coming, but personally, I hate tourist season.

My sister and I order an old fashioned banana split with vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry scoops of ice cream, but Sarah ruins it by asking Tammy to pour nuts all over everything. I hate nuts. Besides the fact that I spent two years in junior high avoiding them like the plague because of my braces, they usually give me a stomach ache. Even though my braces came off a while ago, nuts are right on the top of the No Eat list.

So, I spend a good amount of time picking around the nuts while Sarah mows through the split.

Is he looking at me? she whispers.

I turn my head.

Don’t look at them.

How can I tell if I don’t look? I sigh. Geez, Sarah. We’ve known Aaron most of our lives. Why are you acting so...so crazy about him?

Because he’s different now. He’s older. And since he transferred to the Prep School in Weldon, he’s...he’s just more...worldly, I guess.

Worldly? Weldon is twenty minutes down the road!

Sure. But the kids who go there come from all over. Check out that guy he’s with. His name’s Jake. I’ve heard he’s from some very rich family out east. He’s kinda hot, you know. She looks up at me with wide eyes. We should double date!

I slap my hand to my forehead. Seriously? Don’t you think you should get Aaron to ask you out before you hook me up with...pretty-boy best friend?

So, you do think he’s cute.

Yep. He is. But he’s also one of those stuck-up posers who thinks the world owes them something, and besides the fact that I’m not looking for a guy right now, you and I are not part of their world.

Sarah makes her lips all pouty and stabs at the ice cream. C’mon, big sister. Help me on this.

I’ll tell you what. I’ll pretend I’m checking out the menu on the wall, and see what they’re doing.

Sarah shoves a big piece of banana in her mouth, widens her eyes, and nods her head. I turn mine casually.

They’re talking to each other. They’re not looking at anyone except each other, Sarah.

Maybe we just missed it. I swear, Aaron was looking at me a minute ago. Sarah does the pouting thing again. He also said ‘hi’ to me yesterday after church. What can I do to get him to notice me?

I sigh, louder this time. This is so stupid; there’s only one easy thing to do.

I stand up and march over to Aaron’s table.

Hey, Cheryl, he says, taking another sip of soda. What are you and Sarah doing?

Waiting on my aunt. She’s at that little antique store across the street and she can get lost in there for hours.

Aaron glances out the window toward the shop and raises both eyebrows to show me he wouldn’t be caught dead there. He waits for me to agree with him, but Sarah does it for me.

I hate that place, she says from across the room. Our aunt made us go there.

Aaron accepts the excuse, checks to see no one is watching, and slips a silver case out of his pocket. He smiles at me as if I should actually think it’s beyond cool, opens it, and offers me a cigarette. At first it makes me uncomfortable, but then I realize I’m just plain mad. Is he kidding? Like, if I were stupid enough to smoke, I’d light up in Dairy World? Like, he would? It’s so obvious he’s showing off, it’s pathetic. What my sister sees in this guy is totally beyond me.

He snaps the case shut and flashes it. It is engraved with a circle of arrows surrounding a triangle. He flashes it again, thinking I am impressed with it.

I’m not. What I am thinking is that the case looks old. What I’m mostly thinking is that it is something I will definitely avoid touching.

I’m Jake, Pretty-boy says. He stands up a little and stretches out his hand to greet me. I’ve never had a boy try to shake my hand before. It’s probably something they taught him to do at Weldon.

Would you girls like to join us? Pretty-boy asks.

I try not to notice the pained grimace Aaron shoots at him or the thump that comes from under the table as I motion for Sarah to come over. She does so with a smile almost as big as the unnoticed long drip of chocolate ice cream running down the front of her jeans. Pretty-boy shakes her hand, too.

We talk about Weldon’s football team. Mostly about Aaron being on the football team, and how ‘freakin’ amazing’ he will be. Then we move on to the upcoming basketball season and how Aaron will rule the court. Jake doesn’t seem to mind, Sarah drools over the whole conversation, and I’m ready to eat some nuts just to get the whole thing over with.

The only thing that saves me is seeing Aunt Mary on the other side of the street looking for us. She stands under the store’s big ‘Antiques’ sign searching up one side of the street and down the other. I watch her eyes focus on the hand painted Dairy World sign, and I nudge Sarah with one elbow. We have to go, I mumble. And I mean now!

It was great running into you, Sarah says, flashing one of her infamous smiles at Aaron. You should call me. Sarah hesitates for a minute. Give me your phone and I’ll key in my number.

Aaron turns to Jake, raises one eyebrow and smirks. Then he turns to my sister. I can never refuse the request of a beautiful lady.

Sarah giggles and flashes her baby blues at him. She keys in her number and holds his phone in the air. You have to call me now, she teases.

Aaron winks and grabs his phone from her. Like I said, I don’t disappoint the ladies.

Aunt Mary has given up waiting for us and has begun to cross the street. I elbow Sarah a little harder and jerk my head toward the window. Do you want her coming in here and embarrassing us? I whisper.

Sarah finally gets the message and bolts with me, following shortly behind.

Call me! she tells Aaron one more time before we get out the door.

My sister can be so stupid.

2

Night and Daze

Breakfast is so annoying, I can’t wait for the kitchen clock to hit seven-fifteen so I can leave for school. I know I could drive myself because I’ve had my license for two months now, but Dad always says, Age has nothing to do with having car privileges. A young driver has to prove herself trustworthy as well as financially able.

That means two things: I’ll be getting a job for sure this summer and, until then, I’ll have to keep riding the stupid bus, which I’m certain is painted bright yellow just to make my life more embarrassing.

Dad’s begun his usual morning mumblings that we’re running late when Sarah comes downstairs in a skirt so short, he sends her back upstairs to change.

I was planning to wear my jeans, she says, giving me the evil eye, but someone didn’t have the decency to tell me I had spilled chocolate on them.

She throws on something longer, but I know what she’s hidden in her backpack. Sometimes that girl makes me so angry. Being her big sister and all, my parents expect me to look after her, but lately it’s become a never-ending job that I’m positively getting tired of.

Sarah never thinks about the big picture. She never worries about what will happen when she gets caught doing whatever crazy scheme she’s thought up. Heck, it never even occurs to her to worry. She just plows through life and people and mostly me to get what she wants. Of course, when things