racing through her still form. “I can sense some of what you’re going through. When I touch you, I feel the confusion of many lives churning together.”
“Can you tell anything about the lives? Who I was? What I was doing?” The memory of the Pacific Coast Club is still fresh, and I wonder how it all ties into Veronique.
“No. Nothing specific. That’s something you’re going to have to figure out for yourself as time goes on.” She shakes her head as if to clear it. “I also feel abilities growing. Great abilities. I can’t tell exactly what, but I feel an empathic spirit.”
For a few minutes, neither of us says a word. For all I know, Whitney’s thinking about what she’s going to have for dinner, but my mind is racing. Images from the Pacific Coast Club rush through my brain, and I think back to what Griffon said in the park. If I had believed him sooner, would it have made a difference? Would it have stopped him from disappearing on me?
“Is there something special about the Akhet you came here to find?” Whitney asks softly.
It’s so strange to hear these words coming from someone else, someone who has no connection to Griffon or Janine, who has no way of knowing that she’s confirming their story. It makes it seem possible. Real, even.
I raise my eyes to hers, feeling fear and relief flood through my body in equal measure. “No. I think I’ve already found it.”
The crowd at the game is noisy, but I sit a little apart on the bleachers and zip my jacket up tighter. The baseball field faces the Bay, and the wind whips across the water like it’s the middle of winter. Griffon’s up to bat again, and despite the fact that I’m still mad at him for his disappearing act, I can’t help but feel a charge of excitement as I watch him take a few practice swings. I’m not huge into sports, but I could easily learn to be a fan of the tight gray pants they’re all wearing. Griffon looks at home in his uniform, and holds the bat like it’s an extension of his arm. There’s an ease to the way he plays, like he’s born to it, and I wonder if this is the first lifetime he’s ever played baseball. I’m pretty sure I know what the answer will be.
Despite the cold wind, the sun is shining, and as I wait for Griffon to take his place at the plate, I’m increasingly glad I decided to come after all. When he finally called me last night and asked me to come to his game, I tried to say no, I really did. He can’t just kiss me and then disappear for a week and expect things to be okay. I want to be the strong person who doesn’t cave the second she hears his voice. I want to be the person who doesn’t come running whenever he whistles. Those are all the people I want to be, but I’m failing miserably. Who I am is the person who came all the way out here to sit at a freezing, windblown ballfield because of one phone call.
“Come on, Hall!” “Kill it!” People all around me are shouting his name, and I feel almost proudly possessive watching him play. I look at the other girls scattered on the bleachers and wonder if he knows any of them. If he’s ever asked any of them to come to one of his games.
Griffon taps the bat on home plate and then holds it over his shoulder, his eyes riveted on the pitcher. The first pitch goes by him and he doesn’t even flinch, just waves the bat in the air waiting for the next one. The ball barely leaves the pitcher’s hand before I hear the crack of the bat and the screams of the crowd. Griffon speeds down the baseline as the ball soars through the air, and I can hear excited shouts of “it’s going!” all around me. One guy in the outfield races back toward the little fence, and just as it looks like the ball has dropped into home run territory, he knocks it down with his glove.
“He dropped it!” the man behind me screams so loud I can almost hear the veins bulging out of his neck. Never stopping or taking his eyes off the coach, Griffon speeds around the bases, finally sliding into third in a big cloud of dust at the same time the baseman leans out to catch the ball. Griffon jumps up grinning, and brushes the dirt off his pants as the umpire swings his arms wide and calls him safe.
It takes two more batters before the ball becomes airborne again, and Griffon easily makes it from third to home, stepping hard on the plate as he crosses, giving his team the lead that lasts for the rest of the game. They’re like little boys as they try to compose themselves for the ritual lining up and shaking of hands with the losing team, breaking into high-fives and chest bumps as soon as it’s over. Of all the guys on the team, Griffon is the one who draws your attention, and I know from the way the rest of the team gathers around him that I’m not the only one who thinks so.
The team is barely off the field when Griffon pulls himself away from the group to walk toward me. His curls are sticking out from under his baseball cap, and I can see a line of sweat coursing under his jaw. There are other people still standing near the field, and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me out in public like this. If that’s still where we are.
I don’t have long to wonder. Griffon drops his bag in the dust as he reaches the bleachers, then leans down and kisses me hard, the excitement of the game still shimmering around him. His usual scent is even stronger, and I can feel my heart beating right into my core as his hand brushes mine.
He pulls away, his cheeks red from exertion and a smile playing on his lips. “I’m so glad you came out here,” he says.
I look at him in his gray pants and dark blue uniform shirt. It’s going to be hard to stay mad at him. “I almost didn’t.”
A slight look of panic crosses his face. “Really? Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you say these amazing things, kiss me, and then disappear for a week.”
“Listen, I’m sorry about that,” he says. His eyes lock onto mine. “I couldn’t help it. There was something I had to take care of. An emergency.”
I search his face, wanting to believe him. It would be so much better to have a crisis—okay, maybe not a
Griffon breaks his gaze and looks down. “I can’t talk about it right now. There’s some stuff I’m involved in, and I couldn’t have anyone know where I was. Or be able to trace me.”
“What kind of stuff? You’re in high school.”
“True,” he says. “But I also have other responsibilities.” Griffon looks around at the crowd that is slowly disappearing. “I can explain it more later.” He leans over and takes my face into his hands. Leaning in, he kisses me, gently this time. “Forgive me?”
Looking into his eyes, I know there is no other choice. “For now,” I say.
After a long, lingering moment, he pulls back and takes my hand in his. “Good. Are you hungry?”
I’ve been too nervous about seeing him to eat much so far today. “Definitely.”
“I know just the place,” he says, and pulls me off the bleachers. He leads me to a familiar red truck.
“No bike today?” I ask.
“No. Janine let me use this.” He swings his baseball bag behind the seat. “It’s easier with all of my gear.”
As he starts it up, I notice the unmistakable aroma of fried rice. My heart starts racing as I recognize the first signs of one of my visions. I
Griffon glances at me. “Are you okay?”
I swallow hard. “I’m not sure. All of a sudden I got a really strong smell.” I know I look panicky, but I can’t help myself.
“Like Chinese food?”
“Yeah. Combination fried rice.”
Griffon laughs. “It’s the car,” he says. “Biodiesel. Janine had it converted a few years ago so that it runs on used cooking oil. She gets it free from a Chinese restaurant on Shattuck, so the car always smells like Chinese food. Sorry. I should have said something.”
I laugh too, more out of relief than anything else. I’m not going to pass out and have some crazy vision in
