Whisper (Whisper #1)(21)

She says it jokingly, but I’m inclined to agree with her.

“Okay, you’re all done.”

Esther screws the lid onto the tube of ointment and places it back in the cabinet. I look down at my hands and see that the bruising is almost completely gone. I wonder again about the balm and how it worked so quickly.

Noticing my look, Esther grins and says, “Secret recipe. It’s great for the rapid healing of smaller injuries — and comes in handy when you have three troublemaker children, believe me.”

It’s a shame it only works on small injuries. I’m guessing there’s no medication in the world that can help with the longer-term damage Vanik has done.

“I hope you like lasagna,” Esther says, leading the way back to the others. “I know you’re not used to eating anything too rich, but hopefully you’ll be all right.”

Lasagna? My mouth waters at the prospect. I used to love Italian food. When I was younger, we had Italian every Friday night. Pizza, pasta, garlic bread; even gelato for dessert. My dad would cook and —

No.

Stop.

StopStopStopStopStop.

“Jane? You okay?”

Busy focusing on my flip-flopped feet and trying to keep my memories in check, I glance up to see that Esther has led me to the dining room. Suddenly I’m the center of attention, with Cami’s concern drawing everyone’s eyes to me.

“You look like you have a sore tummy,” Abby says, entwining her fingers with mine and leading me to a chair at the table. She pulls me down and crawls up into my lap. “When I have a sore tummy, Mummy sings to me. Do you want us all to sing to you?”

“Abby, sweetheart, maybe we should give Chip some space,” Ward says, watching me carefully and missing nothing.

Abby appears adorably confused. “Who’s Chip?”

“That’s what he calls Jane,” Cami tells her.

The little girl scrunches up her nose. “That’s a silly name.”

“It sure is,” Enzo murmurs.

As I listen to them, the knots in my stomach begin to unravel and the memories drift away. I give Abby a grateful squeeze.

“You don’t look like your tummy is sore anymore,” she observes. “But we haven’t sung to you yet. Do you still need space, like Landy says?”

“All right, baby girl. Come here.”

Ward swoops Abby right out of my arms and tickles her sides until she giggles with glee. He settles her into a chair with a booster seat, and Ethan and Isaac jump up into the seats on either side of her, opposite Enzo and Cami. Ward spares me another lingering glance, almost like he’s asking if I’m okay. I tilt my chin up slightly in affirmation. His eyes warm — damn it, I responded instinctively again — and he takes off toward the kitchen. Only a few seconds pass before he returns with Esther, both carrying what looks like an incredible meal.

When I take my first bite of lasagna, all I want to do is moan with delight. But I don’t slip up again; instead, I just fork more into my mouth, then chase it with Esther’s perfectly roasted vegetables.

So many wonderful tastes, so many delectable flavors … I keep being reminded that the real world isn’t segmented into different shades of bland. After all I’ve experienced today, how will I return to my everyday monotony? I had been … well, not happy, but resigned, at least, to my life circumstances.

“How’s your work with the program going, Cami?”

Esther’s question ignites my interest.

All day Cami chatted on about this and blabbered on about that, but nothing she told me was of much consequence — and certainly none of it gave me any idea what she does with her time, beyond babysitting her brother’s charity case. Her only mention of the mysterious “program” was just before we left for Esther’s.

“Oh, you know.” Cami waves her fork in the air. Her eyes flick to me for a split second before she focuses back on her aunt. “It’s going well.”

“How are you handling your training? Are you growing stronger? All of you?” Esther asks.

I fight the urge to frown as I struggle to understand. Is Cami training with Enzo, too? I need more details — I need their words to stop being so … vague.

Cami’s eyes jump to me again. For some unfathomable reason, she looks nervous.

“It’s slow,” she hedges. “But we’re seeing … improvement.”

“Do you think now that Jane is —”

Ward clears his throat loudly, cutting Esther off, and she sends him a curious glance. She presses her lips together and turns back to her plate.

“Next time, I’ll add more garlic,” she says. “Give it more of a kick.”

I’m not sure whether I want to laugh again or to growl with frustration. Or perhaps to throw what remains of my lasagna at Ward’s head.

I do none of the above. Instead, I spear a roasted potato with my fork and raise it to my mouth. I never end up taking a bite, because at that moment the door to the suite opens and in walks a man — a very familiar man. The whole room grows silent.

I stare at Director Falon, stunned by his presence. His eyes move around the table until they lock onto my own. It feels as if the world has stopped. And then my life is turned on its axis by a single word shouted with immeasurable glee.

“Daddy!”