Powerhouse. Rebecca York

       Chapter Three

      Shelley’s breath turned shallow as she watched Ed hesitate where he stood in the middle of the kitchen. For a moment, he looked totally confused. Then he made a little burbling sound in his throat and walked past her and into the pantry. When he emerged again, he was clutching a can of vegetable beef soup.

      He stopped short, holding the can and looking at it as though it was a foreign object. “What am I doing?” he muttered. His expression changed to one of embarrassment as he glanced from the can to Matt. “This is yours. I should put this back.”

      “No. That’s fine,” Matt said. “I know you always liked it. Take it home and have it for dinner.”

      “You’re sure?”

      “Of course.”

      Still clutching the can, Ed hurried into the mudroom, and Shelley could hear his coat rustling.

      Moments later, the back door slammed, and she was left alone with Matt who was gazing at her with what she could only call a smug expression on his face.

      Her pulse was pounding as she looked back at him. She’d thought he was spinning a story—for some reason that she couldn’t figure out. She’d thought maybe he was coming unglued. But he’d told her to pick something to have Ed do—and the man had done it. It had been entirely her choice.

      Ed had hesitated at first, like he didn’t know why he was getting the soup, but in the end, he’d followed what must have been Matt’s silent directions.

      All at once she was unsteady on her feet. Weak-kneed, she dropped into the nearest chair and grasped the edge of the table in front of her.

      Matt stood across from her, his face turned to a mask of tension. “You still think I’m crazy?” “I didn’t say that.”

      “I don’t have to be a mind reader to know what was dancing through your head.”

      She felt her cheeks flush. “I’m sorry. You’ve got to admit, it sounded … off the wall when you told me about it.”

      “Yeah. It takes some getting used to, all right. I sort of came to the realization gradually when I was a kid. At first I couldn’t believe it myself.”

      “How did you discover something like that?”

      He laughed. “I guess the first time was when I wanted to watch a TV program, and my mom wanted to make sure I’d done my homework first. It was a really important program. At least for a twelve-year old. A Bonanza rerun, I think. I silently asked her to let me watch instead, and she amazed me by doing it.

      “Remember, I told you she was pretty strict. So her changing her mind was … unusual. The next time I tried it, I wanted chili for dinner. And I told her to make it—without saying anything out loud. She did.”

      “That must have given you a feeling of power.”

      “Yeah, but not for long. My mom was the kind of mother who watches for you to do something wrong so she can punish you.”

      Shelley winced, wondering what it would be like to grow up like that. Her own parents had always been warm and loving and supportive. They’d raised her to believe in herself and to take responsibility for her own decisions. They’d died before she knew she was going to have a baby, but their confidence in her had given her the courage to raise a child on her own. Sometimes it made her sad that Trevor would never know his grandparents. He’d never make cookies with her mom the way she had, or go fishing with her dad. And every holiday had had its traditions—like fun stocking stuffers at Christmas. She’d made sure to do all those things with her own son. Matt was still speaking.

      “Mom was smart. She caught on pretty fast—and started beating the crap out of me when she thought I was—she called it ‘pushing’ her. I guess that’s as good a name as any for what I can do.”

      She nodded.

      “And then she would go around talking to teachers and other people I knew, finding out if I’d ‘pushed’ them. So I had to be careful if I wanted to use it.” He laughed. “Like once when I should have gotten detention, and I persuaded the teacher to let me off. Mom found out about it and made sure it never happened again.”

      Shelley’s chest was so tight she could barely breathe. “I’m sorry. I had no idea about any of that.”

      “Of course not, because I never let on. It got stronger the older I got, but I used it less and less.” He made a dismissive sound. “I think it’s one of the reasons I’m good at training horses. I can get into their minds, too.”

      “That’s fantastic.”

      “I decided it was weird.”

      Shelley was still taking everything in. Now that Matt was talking to her so openly, it seemed that she had missed so many opportunities to connect with him on a meaningful level when they’d been together.

      “What did your mom think of your being kidnapped—and showing up again?” she asked.

      “She never could explain it. And she acted like she thought I was lying about not remembering what had happened to me.” “She sounds … like a real gem.”

      He shrugged. “She died ten years ago.” He grimaced. “I was sad, but I was relieved, too. Relieved to be free of the pressure of not antagonizing her.”

      Shelley winced. “When you were kidnapped, she told the authorities?”

      “No. She thought I’d run away.”

      “A twelve-year-old?”

      He shrugged again. “And she was determined not to have anyone think ill of her because of it. So she told folks I was visiting my uncle.”

      “That’s child abuse.”

      He shrugged again.

      “I don’t dwell on my relationship with her.” Switching back to the previous topic, he said, “I don’t know how I got the talent. But I thought it had something to do with those missing months. I figured they’d done something to me. Something that—” he swallowed “—something that changed my DNA.”

      “Why would you think that?”

      “Maybe because I read a lot of science fiction novels. Then, when I got older, I read scientific literature on the subject. Anyway, I didn’t want to pass it on to any child of mine. That was why I vowed never to marry and never to have children.”

      Shelley looked out into the darkness, then back at Matt. “That’s why you walled yourself off here?”

      “Yeah. And … because I could never stop thinking that since I’d been taken away once, it could happen again. Now it has happened—but not to me.”

      “Oh, Matt.”

      He sounded so lost and defeated that she sprang out of the chair, crossed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him.

      As he stood rigidly in her embrace, she started speaking quickly. “It’s not your fault. None of it is your fault. It’s just something that happened to you.”

      “And to my son.”

      “But you came back.”

      “I was twelve. He’s only … four.”

      When she pressed her face against his chest to muffle a sob, his arms came up to clasp her to him. “Shelley,