“Why?” she asked.
“I thought you’d be flying.”
“I’m taking time off,” she said. “I thought I’d spend some time at the gallery. It’s been neglected since Beth died.”
“How does it feel to be back?”
“It’s complicated—not all one thing.” She paused. “It’s practically my home. I’ve been coming here as long as I remember. A lot of memories. And some ghosts.” She thought of the Morrison painting.
“Your mother.”
“And Beth,” Kate said.My sister with her lover,she thought. Had Beth chosen that spot by the brook to be with Jed because of the Morrison painting? Had she let art guide her?
There was another ghost too: the girl Kate used to be. Her gaze went to the basement door. She had walked down those stairs one person, and when she’d come back up twenty-two hours later, she’d been someone else entirely.
“Are you okay?” Conor said, taking a step closer to her.
Kate nodded. She felt light headed.
“You look pale.”
Now he was inches away. She could feel waves of energy between their bodies.
Her skin tingled. She realized Conor was attracted to her. Maybe he had a hero complex, or perhaps it was the smell of her hair. Was she mistaken, or did he want to kiss her? For weeks now, she had sensed him nearby, watching her, even when he didn’t let himself be seen.
She never had these instincts—she’d been frozen solid, and the ice had started to form right here in the gallery when she was sixteen. What would happen if she touched him? She tried it, just one finger at first, tracing the back of his hand. Her skin burned.
“You knew I’d be here, didn’t you?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Did you follow me?”
She watched him staring at her. Electricity tingled through her body, taunting her to collapse, to quit holding it all together, to give in to something sublime and terrible. She felt overcome with desire. Was this how Beth had felt when she’d gone to the brook with Jed?
“Yeah,” he said. “I did follow you.”
“Are you supposed to be doing that?” she asked.
“I was concerned,” he said.
“About what?” she asked.
“About Pete. He lost face with anyone connected to the gallery; you’re letting his girlfriend and son stay in your family house. He might be very angry.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said, but now, in contradiction to her words, the pressure of her finger on his hand was stronger; she was holding herself up, balancing with one fingertip on Conor Reid. Blood was rushing in her ears, a roaring brook, melting the ice in her body.
“I’m messed up,” she said out loud.
“No, you’re not.”
She pulled herself away and walked across the room. She sensed him right behind her. He wasn’t touching her, but she felt warmth pouring off him. Now his hand was on her shoulder. Her hair was pinned up, and he brushed a tendril aside. She was numb. Would he notice? Would the ice really melt? Did she want it to?
“Kate,” he said, and his breath was warm on the back of her neck. She felt more than just a breeze, movement of air. He was going to kiss her. She felt everything he wanted, as if her own desire had become his.
She turned to accept the kiss. His lips nearly brushed hers. She bowed her head, shook it hard.
This doesn’t happen to me. I don’t do this,she said, but only to herself, not out loud.
