Thief Eyes - Janni Lee Simner [9]
As if I’d been running for quite some time.
Chapter 3
By the time I reached the guesthouse, the fog had cleared and my knee ached again. My lips were numb, and so were the tips of my fingers and toes. I threw the door open and stumbled into the entryway, soaking in the wonderful indoor warmth.
It took me a moment to realize that Dad stood there, watching me. He wore jeans and yesterday’s shirt, and his hair stuck out in even more directions than usual. He trembled as he grabbed me into a hug. “Haley, where were you?” I drew back and looked at him. “Just out for a run. I left a note.”
Dad shook his head. “That was six hours ago.”
What? “No, I only ran a few miles, I—”
Dad turned his watch to me—10:30, it read. “I’ve been out looking for you.” His voice was tight, like a string about to snap. “I was getting ready to call the police.”
My wet clothes felt clammy and cold. “That’s impossible.” No way had I been running for six hours. I thought of the sudden fog; that should have been impossible, too. Was I going insane? If Dad couldn’t handle a few nightmares, what would he do if I lost it completely?
I stretched my cooling calves, not looking at him. “Guess I’m still learning my way around.” I tried to keep my voice light—a nothing-to-worry-about-here voice. “Took a few wrong turns. Sorry.”
Dad reached out and touched my damp hair. It had fallen out of its elastic and hung limp about my face. He glanced at my torn pants. “Haley, is there something I should know?”
“Oh, yeah.” I forced a laugh. “Some boy’s dog ran into me, tripped me up pretty good.” I pulled off my sodden shoes and set them on the shoe rack by the door.
“You ran.” Dad’s voice was little more than a whisper.
“I’m a runner, of course I—” The words stuck in my throat as I realized what he meant. “No, not like that!” I hadn’t run away, not like Mom. I rubbed at my damp arms. A rock inside one of my soaked socks dug into my toe. “I told you, I got lost!”
“I know what you told me.” Dad’s face set into firmer lines. “But I’m telling you something, too, Haley. I won’t leave Iceland without you. Do you understand that?”
My fingertips and lips were still cold. I wanted to get out of there, into a warm shower. “I said I was sorry.”
“Do you understand?”
“I lost track of the time, I—” I couldn’t meet Dad’s steady gaze. How could he even think I’d run away? “I understand,” I muttered.
“Good,” Dad said. I couldn’t tell whether he believed me or not. “Go get changed, then, or we’ll be late for lunch.”
I bolted for my room, leaving wet footprints on the wooden floor. I had a sudden fierce thought: How come you left without Mom? I grabbed shampoo and a towel and headed for the shower. I knew well enough why Dad had left Iceland last summer—to look after me. But I could have stayed with Grandma in Yuma a few weeks longer, or else with Jared’s family back in Tucson when school started. Why had Dad let this go?
I peeled off my wet clothes—it felt good to get out of them—and turned on the shower. Warm water burned against my skin, chasing the last of my shivers away. The water held a faint rotten-egg sulfur smell. I thought of the woman on the seawall, of the hot ash scent before I fell into the bay. I turned the water up. Steam rose around me, and the numbness left my fingers and toes. I knew well enough that the smell came from the geothermal vents that heated the whole city. Hot water by volcano, Dad had said.
Fire leaping up from beneath the earth—I scrubbed fiercely at my scraped knee, only stopping when the scab began to bleed. I didn’t want to think about my dreams, any more than I wanted to think about the long-haired woman and the way her hand had gone right through mine. I glanced down at my own hands. The red circle from the coin was gone—again. I saw only half-moon scabs that were already healing. The pale white scars beneath them seemed to have settled in for good this past year, though.
Steam fogged the shower door. What if I really was going insane?
Could Mom have gone crazy, too? Crazy enough