Annie's Song(20)

“You can thank her yourself.” Michelle appeared from behind the same display. “What am I being thanked for?”

“Helping Annie,” Penn said. “Like we needed to be—”

“It was our pleasure, Zach.” Michelle laid one hand on Penn’s shoulder when she opened her mouth. Zach blinked; it was like watching his mom and Annie. “Feel free to look around. Penn will help you if you have any questions. I need to—damn. Sorry.”

She covered her mouth and turned away. But not before Zach felt the tingle, moving quickly up to slick pain. Then the emotion-blurred image popped into his head. She lost something.

“Michelle?” Penn rubbed her back. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t find the locket,” Michelle whispered. “Mom’s locket.” Zach dropped his cap, clutched the shelf next to him as the pain became a slow, twisting knife in his gut. “Zach?”

Her voice sounded distant, and the hands that guided him through the shop only intensified the pain, since they belonged to the person who lost. He needed to find . . .

“Find what, honey?”

Blinking past the film of tears, he found Michelle in front of him. Kneeling in front of him. Awareness of the chair that held him filtered in through the pain. Taking in a shaky breath, he whispered.

“Your locket. Need to—find it.”

“No—he can’t be.” Penn’s disbelief slammed into him like a tidal wave, and he doubled. “Zach—breathe now, that’s it.” He felt her power, a cool wave washing over the heat of his pain. “Sweet God in Heaven—he’s a seeker, Chelle.”

“That’s not possible. They’re a myth, Penn.”

“Apparently not. Zach,” her voice was gentle when she said his name. For some reason it twisted the pain in his gut tighter. “Does it hurt you if you can’t look for something you know is lost?”

“Duh,” he whispered. Annie would have been proud.

Penn laughed. “Sense of humor intact. That’s good. Michelle, tell him you want him to find the locket.”

“This is absurd.”

“Tell him.”

“Zach.” Her quiet voice touched him like a soft, soothing breeze. “Can you find my locket for me?”

“No.” Penn sounded impatient. “Don’t ask. Tell.”

“Right. I want you to find my locket, Zach.”

“Okay.” The pain eased, like it did before, as soon as she said the words. Two sets of hands helped him sit upright. “I’m okay.”

“You look like death. Michelle, bring him in back. I know I have some of my roast beef sandwich left from lunch.”

“Roast beef?” His stomach clenched. As much as he wanted that sandwich, it would have to wait. “Maybe after.” He met Michelle’s gaze, tried not to flinch from the loss he saw there. It was all he could see, all he could feel beyond the pain. “I need to see the locket. I can’t get it clear. Too much emotion attached to it.” He held out his hand.

Eyebrows raised, Michelle took his hand, her eyes widening. The image snapped into focus, as vivid as if it hung in front of him. And he knew.

He pushed himself up, every muscle screaming in protest, and limped to the long black marble counter. Michelle followed after him. “No, it can’t be there. I haven’t worn it in the shop all week.”

“Hush,” Penn said. “Let him do this.”

The locket in his head got brighter, almost blinding, the closer he got to the counter. One hand caught the edge, the marble cold under his fingers as he slid them along the length of it. He hunched over the counter as a flash burst through his head. Shaking fingers closed over a scarf on the shelf under the counter. He dragged it up, the soft wool feeling like pounds instead of ounces. With a harsh breath he dropped it on the counter.

The locket glinted against the black marble.

“Oh God.” Michelle touched the locket. As soon as she did, the pain died, the image fading from his mind. “Oh, my God.” Scooping up the locket, she wrapped her arms around Zach. “Thank you.”

He felt her shaking, heard the tears in her voice. He still didn’t know how to deal with this part of it. The gratitude, the gushing emotion. He patted her back, awkward, let her hold on to him.

“The locket is important to her.” Penn stepped into his line of sight, one hand rubbing Michelle’s back. “It belonged to her mother.”

“I know.” Zach swallowed, not saying what else he knew.

That her mother died in a car accident. That the locket was the only thing to survive the fire that engulfed the car on impact. He hated the intimate details he learned about the people, the items. But he kept them to himself. He certainly wouldn’t want someone spewing out his secrets. The ones he remembered, anyway.