Kiss of Fire (Imdalind, #1)(7)

“You’ve seen my father,” I repeated again, although I wasn’t sure if I felt joy, anger or excitement at this. Each emotion was there, but they didn’t stop swirling around each other; my stomach turned into a bowl of butterflies.

“Yes,” my grandfather supplied, ignoring a second look from Grandma. “He came by just the other day wanting to see you. He had a birthday gift for you, so we put it in that bag so you could have it. But don’t open it here; I don’t know if your poor mother’s heart can handle hearing a single word from him.”

“He wanted to see me…?”

“Yes, followed us here, no doubt. Poor lad seemed desperate...” Grandma cut Grandpa off with one stern look and he sank back in his chair, looking crabby again. I didn’t notice, though; I had begun spinning around in my chair in a futile attempt to look for my father. I knew it was pointless. I didn’t even know what he looked like anymore. Any man here could be him. That one had his eyebrows, another had his nose. Of course I had pictures, but they were from so long ago. Besides, it was hard to recognize someone from a twelve-year-old photograph.

“You might want to make sure his gift has been properly paid for, dear. I wouldn’t be surprised if he stole it. I am not sure my poor son has had more than two coins to rub together in a while.”

I stopped my frantic search to face my grandmother. Her face was somewhat hard and disappointed now. I wanted to hear more, to ask her what she meant, but my mother slid back into her chair, announcing herself to be full.

The car ride home was quiet, unlike either of us. The little black bag sat on my lap as if it were a dead weight or a bomb waiting to go off. I didn’t want to look at it, but couldn’t keep from stealing glances. I tried counting the stars, the fence posts, the houses; but nothing worked, and so, my eyes kept floating back to the bag.

“So, Joclyn...?” My mom’s voice came out of nowhere. “Did you have a good birthday?” I looked down at my mismatched clothes, at the beautiful necklace, and smiled.

“Yeah, Mom. I did. Thanks for everything.”

“You should wear that outfit tomorrow.”

“Not going to happen, Mom.”

“Why not?” she whined, offended.

“Well, I would get mugged for the necklace and tortured for my mismatched clothes.” My mom looked down at my outfit as I gestured toward it, her face breaking into a gigantic smile.

“It does look bad, doesn’t it?” she sighed. “I thought your grandmother would have more style sense—”

“Well, if you limit her to pencil skirts, she does great,” I scoffed.

“At least the bag is cute.” Her comment was innocent enough, but it stopped me dead in my tracks, the smile draining from my face. All I could do was nod and stare at it.

It was cute, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what could be inside. Any other person who had been abandoned by their father would throw it away without a second thought. Yet, I was drawn to it.

He had left because of the mark. Maybe the letter would tell me something about it, maybe he had found something out, or maybe it was a plea for us to let him come home. I couldn’t stop thinking about the possibilities, my heart beating uncomfortably at each one. If I was smart, I would have just thrown it away.

When I got home, I ran to my room with only a hurried goodnight to my mom. A shower would have to wait, changing would wait. I ripped open the bag and dumped the contents on my white bedspread. A small dirty package and a piece of paper fell out, each one leaving gray grease marks on the spots they hit. I looked at them—the package or the letter? I opted for the package; get the gift out of the way so I could focus on the letter.

I grabbed the small crumpled paper and began un-wrinkling it into a flat mass. There, amongst the dirty folds, sat a pure white marble; it almost looked like a pearl. I looked at it in disbelief. How could my wayward, possibly homeless, father afford to give me a pearl. It must be fake. I knew there was something to do with teeth to be able to tell if it was real and so I reached out to grab it with the full intention of biting it in half. However, the second my fingers came in contact with it, a shock of white-hot heat seared through my arm. I jumped back, cursing, wondering what my father had sent me.

I stepped closer to my bed, stopping as my head spun on my shoulders, my vision tracking and my stomach heaving a bit. I steadied myself, waiting for the spinning to slow and cursing whatever food poisoning I had gotten at the restaurant.

I looked everywhere for the bead, but the white pearl no longer lay in the dirty wrapper; instead, one of deep purple had taken its place. I moved the dirty paper around, and I searched over my bedspread, but no other pearl—of any color—could be found. Luckily, when I grabbed the purple pearl, no shock shot up my arm, though the small marble was very warm. I couldn’t help but be a little mad; it seemed like a cruel joke for a renegade father to send his daughter something that zaps her.

I placed the purple bead back on the wrapper and picked up the letter. Silly really, whatever was going to hurt me the most was going to be written on the page. I opened it, a shaky breath flowing out of me.



My Dearest Jocelyn:



Great, he doesn’t even know how to spell my name right.



My Dearest Jocelyn:

I write this letter in the hopes that my parents will deliver it to you, and find you well. Happy Birthday!! I can’t believe that eleven years have passed since I last saw you. I am sure you have grown into a beautiful young woman. Do you have a lot of boyfriends? Tell them to be careful or your dad will get them.