Bear With Me (Woodland Creek)

  Bear With Me

  by

  Nicole Blanchard

  Copyright © 2015 by Nicole Blanchard

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Bolero Books LLC

  11956 Bernardo Plaza Dr. #510

  San Diego, CA 92128

  www.buybolerobooks.com

  All rights reserved.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Bear With Me

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Woodland Creek

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To Mom. For raising such an awesome daughter. Obviously.

  (And for being the best mom to the moon and back.)

  For more maps and information, please visit the

  Woodland Creek Website

  http://woodlandcreekseries.com/

  Sullivan

  It wasn’t until I lost my parents in a car accident that I learned about the gift I inherited from my mother. The gift that changed everything I thought I knew about myself and my family.

  Sometimes, I even manage to forget the new powers I possess, until I touch something, anything, and am bombarded by memories. I can’t very well pull away from my brother’s outstretched hand as he passes a packing box to me to load into the truck, so I brace myself and wince as I’m bombarded by his thoughts and memories.

  I wonder if there will be any hot girls there.

  I wish Sully would talk to me like we used to.

  There better be enough gas in this thing to make it a couple hours north at least.

  As he thinks about the truck, an image flashes through my mind of the day my parents brought home the truck for his sixteenth birthday, only I’m seeing and feeling everything from Sam’s point of view. I can even see my glowing, smiling face in the background.

  A gasp wrenches from my chest and I jerk away, rubbing my hands together to rid myself of the remnants from the vision. They leak from my mind like sand in an hourglass and I refocus on Sam’s concerned face in front of me.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  I hate that question. I must have been asked it a thousand times since the night we lost our parents. As a result, I bite out, “I’m fine,” with more force than necessary. I immediately regret it when his face falls and I want to say something to apologize, but there are no words left.

  How do I tell him what’s happened to me? How do I even do that without sounding crazy?

  Before I can offer an explanation, he’s slamming the back door and loping to the driver’s seat. I sigh and lift my thick brown hair off of my shoulders. I’m looking forward to cooler weather in Indiana.

  As he pulls away from the curb of the home we spent our entire lives in, I keep my eyes on its shrinking form in the rearview mirror. I wish I’d been given the power to control time instead of…whatever it is I have. At least it would allow me to do something useful.

  Like save my parents.

  Instead, the only thing I have are memories. All of them, it seems. It doesn’t matter if it’s a person or an inanimate object. If I touch it, I see everything about it. Like a history lesson I wish I could ignore as easily as I had my seventh period AP class senior year.

  It’s no wonder my mom was so eerily in tune with us.

  For a while I thought maybe Sam had gotten it, too. I’d even tried bringing it up at the funeral, but he only looked at me like I was crazy.

  I didn’t bring it up again.

  As I leave everything I’ve ever known behind, I wonder if I’ll ever start to feel like the girl I was before my life fell apart. I touch the window in farewell as our house disappears from view. A tear leaks from the corner of my eye and even in my sorrow, the memory of Sam making out with his ex-girlfriend fills my thoughts. I jerk my hand away, rubbing it on my jeans and groaning. That was definitely not an image I want burned into my brain. I force myself to relax and fall asleep. I manage to do so somewhere around Mississippi.

  “Wake up, we’re almost there,” Sam says.

  I peel myself off of the center console and look out into a different world. Florida doesn’t have time for seasons like fall or winter. There’s barely a drop in temperature before the sun comes back, brighter than ever.

  Somehow we made it to Indiana without killing each other. Farmland and palm trees were replaced with full, towering oaks. Beach and sand with thick, vibrant woods. And endless country roads with a quaint little town nestled at the edge of a massive national forest.

  I watch Sam out of the corner of my eye as his aviator sunglasses flash and his lips, identical to my own, mouth along with the pop song on the radio. A few months ago, I would have been singing along with him—we made the perfect duet. Call it twintuition or whatever. Now I don’t even have the energy to mouth the words.

  “C’mon, Sully. It’s your favorite song,” Sam says beside me. He only calls me Sully when he’s trying to be particularly pitiful. Normally it makes me smile, but this time it doesn’t. I feel…nothing. Inside, I am empty and raw. I tug on my mother’s locket and a wisp of her face appears, but it’s faint, almost transparent. Maybe there’s a limited number of times I can revisit a memory.

  The thought makes me ache. “Don’t call me that,” I say as I stare at the passing scenery. Just hearing that name now makes me want to explode.

  The last time he called me Sully was the night our parents died. I was laying on my bed in the soft, dreamy space between awake and unconsciousness. My earbuds were crooning a sweet song, and I was entirely relaxed. Then, I shot straight up in bed, my heart beating double time in my chest. At first, I thought it was one of those dreams where you’re falling, but wake up just before you splat on the ground. But it wasn’t. A knock came at my door and my head jerked in its direction to find Sam in the doorway. The look on his face told me it wasn’t a dream. That what was coming was the stuff of nightmares. The racing heart was because he felt it, too.

  I relaxed a little just knowing he was there. “You scared me,” I told him.

  When he didn’t crack a joke or even a s
mile, I pulled out the earbuds. “Something wrong? Did you and Lena have another fight?” She was the cheerleading captain to his quarterback. They were notorious for their on-again off-again relationship. “Mom and Dad home?”

  It was their twentieth anniversary and he’d taken her out to their favorite restaurant to celebrate. I made fun of them when they were leaving for how sappy they were about it, but inside I loved the way their eyes caught each other from across the room or when my dad stopped what he was doing just to kiss her silly.

  “Sully,” Sam started, then paused to swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Sully, Mom and Dad were in accident. The police are here. They didn’t make it.”

  Didn’t make it.

  After that it was a blur of funeral arrangements, concerned friends and family, and an abundance of lawyers. In a moment my life changed. Before I was on the track to Columbia, to practice law, like my father. And just like that, I could no longer afford to go there, not with the astronomical costs of closing my parents’ estate and the price of school alone.

  When Nonna, our maternal grandmother, called and offered us a spot at the small university in her town, I wasn’t left with many other options. As a donor to Hastings-Albrecht University, our grandmother was able to buy our way into the school. It wasn’t a bad place to go to school, it was just no Columbia. Indiana felt like it was a universe away from my former life.

  Aside from taking the edge off of Sam’s whip-like humor, he didn’t seem much worse for the wear. Then again, of the two of us, he had always been the more upbeat one. When we were kids, he was the magician, the trickster, and the goof. Not much had changed as he got older, except all of his tricks seemed to have turned to charm somehow because the girls flocked to him.

  On him, the strong jaw, full lips and striking blue eyes made his face interesting and unique. Women were always turning around to give him a second look and he was most at home in a crowd. I had never been as confident about my body as he was. Instead of accentuating it, I went without makeup and cute hairstyles, preferring to stick with my ponytails and loose clothes. I was much more comfortable on my own with my nose stuck in a book.

  “Okay, Sullivan.” Sam punches the volume button on the radio and an uncomfortable silence fills the tense space between us.

  We lapse into silence as we pass the Welcome to Woodland Creek sign and roll onto Main Street. My eyes catch on the news station which houses the Woodland Creek Chronicle where I’ll be helping out as an assistant after classes.

  “Dude,” Sam exclaims, his head twisting around, “I think I just saw an eagle.”

  Without lifting my head, I reply, “It’s probably just a buzzard, jackass. Keep your eye on the road.”

  “Don’t let Granny Suzanna hear you talking like that.”

  “I’m eighteen and she’s not my mother,” I state firmly, then I lift my head and quirk a brow at him. “I would love to hear you call Nonna ‘Granny Suzanna.’”

  He smiles at me and I catch myself smiling back instinctually. A beat passes and my smile falls. Noting that, Sam’s lips press together and he swings his head back toward the road. A rift has grown between us, full of all the things I can’t tell him and all the things he doesn’t understand. We’re out of sync. On different wavelengths. Dancing to different songs.

  It’s almost as bad as losing him along with my parents.

  Even worse because I can fix it, but I don’t know how.

  Nonna’s house is in the well-to-do section of Woodland Creek. Sam pulls the truck to a stop by the curb where it is decidedly out of place amongst the BMWs. He bounds out of the truck and up a concrete walkway bordered by a lush garden in full bloom. I don’t know what kind of architecture the house—mansion really—is, but it rises in an impressive sprawl on the top of the hill. Nonna’s family was one of the founders of Woodland Creek. My mom never went into details and her voice sharpened whenever I tried to get to know her parents more.

  Considering my new abilities, I’m starting to understand why. If I inherited it from my mother, she must have gotten it from hers.

  I pause on the walkway to stare at the three-story monstrosity. My parents had vastly simpler tastes. My childhood home was a tasteful ranch-style that had weathered the test of time. Complete with toddler drawings in hidden corners and our growth charts scribbled on the bathroom door frames.

  Sam knocks on the front door. There’s a short pause before the door opens to reveal Nonna, dressed impeccably in a linen suit, her dyed brown hair perfectly coiffed. She wraps her arms around him, the expensive-looking bracelets on her wrists jangling together. I move forward reluctantly, the wheels of my suitcase catching on the cracks in the concrete behind me.

  I’d left the pieces of my home—and some of me—behind. Gorgeous though it may be, the building in front of me feels like a stranger’s house. And I want nothing more than to turn around and head back where we came from.

  “Wow!” Sam says from inside the foyer. “This place is massive. You must really be rolling in it, huh?”

  I roll my eyes at him and clamber up the front steps, feeling awkward with my bulky suitcase dragging along. Nonna’s eyes study me, no doubt taking in my wrinkled shirt and cutoff jean shorts which are a far cry from elegant. I hug her, taking care not to make any contact with my hands. She smells like my mother, lavender and talc, but I have no desire to delve into her memories.

  “I’m so glad you could make it, Sullivan.” She pulls back so that she can look me over. “You look just like your mother when she was your age.”

  “Yeah, um, I get that a lot.” I wind my hair with my fingers and peer past her into the house where Sam is already exploring. “You have a beautiful home,” I manage to say.

  “Thank you. It’s been in our family since the first Thomas settled in Woodland Creek.” She takes a step back and gestures inside. “Why don’t you come in?”

  I offer a brittle smile and wheel my suitcase over the bump in the doorway. A staircase to my immediate left leads to the second story and just in front of me is a sunken living room with a large dark leather sectional. On the other side, a pair of French doors lead out to the back yard. The space is airy and comfortable.

  As I set my suitcase next to the stairs, I rest my hand on the banister for the barest of moments. It doesn’t take any longer than that for the memory to wash over me.

  I see my mother around my age, and damn if she doesn’t look just like me. She’s rushing around the house in a flurry of movement, stuffing things into her own suitcase. Nonna stands in the background, her arms crossed over her chest and a stormy look over her younger features.

  The moment fades out and present day fades back in with Nonna watching me with knowing eyes. I snatch my hand off of the banister and say, “Do you mind showing me the room? I’m a bit worn out from the drive.”

  “Really, Sullivan? You slept the whole way here. If anyone should be tired, it’s me,” Sam says, coming to stand beside us.

  I give him a look that says to mind his own business before Nonna tries to play referee. “Of course. You both must be exhausted. Dinner won’t be ready for a couple hours yet.”

  “This used to be your mom’s room,” Nonna says from the doorway a few minutes later as I take a few tentative steps forward. Her admission causes ice to form in my chest and I pause to look around.

  Unlike my room in Florida, this one looks as though it’s been preserved since my mom left. The cream walls and white furniture are accented with pastel pink drapes and bedding. Nothing like my own, more earthy style. I can almost picture her sitting at the desk, her face brightened with a smile.

  I tear away from that image and force myself to look around the rest of the room. The Jack and Jill bath next to the walk-in closet leads to Sam’s room, where he’s already sprawled across his own bed. He doesn’t look up when I enter and I figure he’s already passed out.

  I return to my room and smile hesitantly at Nonna. “Thank you again for letting us stay. And, y
ou know, for school.”

  Nonna nods, a movement so reminiscent of my mother it causes my chest to squeeze. “We stick together in this town, sweetie. You’ll learn to love it.”

  “Maybe.” I turn to unpack my bags.

  “You know,” comes her hesitant voice over my shoulder. “If you ever want to…talk about anything. I’m here. I know we haven’t been close, but I hope this opportunity will change that. I would like to get to know you and your brother.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat, but manage to smile. “Sure, that would be great.”

  She opens her mouth like she wants to say something and then closes it again. She looks around the room, her eyes lingering like mine had, probably imaging Mom. “I know you’re going to have questions. About... things. You can come to me. If you need someone to talk to, I mean.”

  My heart thuds loudly in my chest. A million questions begging answers war in my mind and somehow constrict like a tangle of snakes in my throat. The moment passes and she nods regally and leaves.

  The fight drains from me and my feet buckle. I slump to the bed as Sam’s snores echo from the next room.

  So she does know about my gift.

  Heat prickles the hairs at the back of my neck—and not in a pleasant warm-afternoon kind of way. In the uncomfortable, I-feel-completely-out-of-place kind of way. The voices of the librarian and her male friend are low with intimacy. One that makes my insides burn with jealousy and annoyance.

  I’d kill for some kind of interruption at this point, but it’s summer term, so the library is as empty as a tomb. She lets out a low laugh and my shoulders raise up in an attempt to block out the seduction scene going on behind me.

  For the first time since I gained these abilities, I’m happy for the constant hum of voices coming from layer after layer of psychic babble from the tabletop and the mouse I’m using to browse through available summer classes.

  When I realized my perfect dreams had been shot, I pretty much gave up the idea of ever getting the kind of life I wanted. Sounds dramatic, but it was easier than focusing on what was really going on. Now that I’m actually here, I feel that familiar excitement of possibilities thrumming just beneath my skin. Or maybe that’s the dregs of memories I’m absorbing from the keyboard. Either way, as I shuffle through the registration process, a seed of hope takes root in my chest.