Lightning Game (GhostWalkers 17)

8

Jonquille forced her mind away from everything but what she was actually supposed to focus on. Rubin was giving her an unprecedented opportunity. Not only had she been close to becoming a doctor, but she had a healing gift and yearned to use it. That talent was often so strong that when she was at the laboratory and others were too near, there were times she could feel something not quite right with their bodies. The compulsion to do her best to heal them was terrifyingly intense at times, depending on the degree of the problem, yet she didn’t dare, nor did she really know how to use that talent correctly. She’d never had the opportunity to develop it.

Jonquille observed Patricia as she walked. Her gait. The way she favored one side of her body just slightly. It was almost as if she protected her right side. In fact, twice she caught her right wrist with her left, as if just having the arm swinging free bothered her, yet she’d told Rubin it didn’t hurt. No, she hadn’t actually said that in so many words, she’d just acted stoic and laughed and said she was getting up there in age.

Rubin and Diego had gently steered the conversation without seeming to do so. They talked about family and the various times of year. The winter, how difficult it was, focusing first on her sons, asking her how they had fared. What they did. What it was like having them home. They asked about her absent children. Throughout the conversation they exchanged stories with her, getting her comfortable telling little details even about herself. What happened in the fall? The spring? The summer? They didn’t ever act impatient, and had clearly come prepared to spend the rest of the day with her. Their secret, she realized, was that they were truly enjoying themselves. Jonquille wondered if that was what they did with every one of the patients in the mountains, or if Patricia was that special to them.

“Patricia is going to lie on the bed for us,” Rubin said. “Jonquille, if you would just stand here beside me, I can show you what you’re looking for.”

Don’t touch her physically. Don’t ask her to remove her clothing. Do or say something to put her at ease.

For the first time in a long while, Jonquille was grateful for her smaller size. She knew she appeared nonthreatening as she moved close to Rubin, almost beneath his shoulder but still trying to give him room. She wasn’t certain what to expect. How could he examine Patricia if he wasn’t going to physically touch her? That didn’t make sense. Excitement set in, but she forced it down, knowing the predator in him would hear her elevated heartbeat. The healer needed to be present, not the hunter.

“Mama Patricia, did you make this quilt?” She didn’t have to make up the awe in her voice. The quilt covering the bed was handsewn. Stitch by tiny stitch. Each block was detailed, the pieces cut out of old material that had been used until it was faded and worn. She was certain those pieces had been material from her children’s clothing when they were young, and others from her husband’s clothing. This was a masterpiece. A remembrance quilt.

“Yes. Before the boys got me a sewing machine. I used the material from their baby clothes. I saved everything—well, at least the ones I didn’t give to other families that needed clothing. Some pieces are from my husband’s favorite shirts, ones I made for him, or mended over and over because he wouldn’t part with them.” She touched a square. “Our wedding clothes.”

Rubin extended his hands, palms down, about four inches above Patricia’s body. “Jonquille, you two can keep talking about the quilt. It’s very interesting, but I want you to follow my hands with yours. The exact path.”

Jonquille immediately followed his example, stretching her arms out to reach up beside Patricia’s neck. She felt the pull there on her own body. Heat rose in her. Almost without thought, she could feel an alignment that was wrong.

“I love the design of this quilt, using the clothes from when your children were babies and other various ages as well as your husband’s favorite shirts and your wedding clothes. How did you get that concept? Even the way each square depicts an individual story is so unique.”

There’s something wrong in her neck.

Good. Yes. Keep moving your hands down along her shoulder. This is the one she broke in so many places. Keep her distracted. She’s in a lot of pain but refusing to acknowledge it to her sons or to me.

She’s afraid it’s something extremely serious like cancer. Jonquille was reluctant to keep moving her hands when she hadn’t done anything to resolve the neck issue for Patricia, but she kept moving her palms slow and steady along the rounded shoulder.