Carolina Moon

concentrate if her blood was screaming.
    For the first time in over four years she prepared to open herself to the gift she’d been cursed with at birth.
    But lights stabbed through the front window and washed across the room. Her thoughts scattered wild as blown petals at the sound of a car driving fast up her lane.
    Tires sent the thin layer of gravel spitting, an impatient, demanding sound. Her breath came harsh again as she forced herself to the door. She jabbed the flashlight in the pocket of the sweats she’d slept in, gripped the knife firmly in one hand and turned the lock.
    The car lights clicked off as the driver yanked open the door. “What do you want?” Snatching the flashlight again, Tory shoved at the switch. “What are you doing here?”
    “Just visiting an old friend.”
    Tory aimed the beam at the figure that stepped out of the car. Her knees went weak, her skin clammy. “Hope.” She choked out the name as the knife slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. “Oh God.”
    Another dream. Another episode. Or maybe it was just madness. Maybe it always had been.
    She stepped up to the porch. Moonlight shimmered onto her hair, into her eyes. The screen door creaked as she opened it. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, or were expecting one.” She bent down, picked up the knife. With one elegant finger she tapped the tip of the blade.
    “But I’m real enough.” So saying she held up the finger, and the tiny drop of blood gleamed. “It’s Faith,” she added, and simply walked in. “I saw your light as I was driving by.”
    “Faith?” There was a rush like the sea in her head. The joy in it, that frantic leap of it, ebbed as she said the name again. “Faith.”
    “That’s right. Got anything to drink around here?” She wandered into the kitchen.
    As if she owned the place, Tory thought, then reminded herself that the Lavelles did indeed own the place. She ran a hand over her face, into her hair. Then bracing herself, followed Faith into the kitchen.
    “I have some iced tea.”
    “I meant something with a little more punch.”
    “No, I’m sorry. I don’t. I’m not exactly set up for company as yet.”
    “So I see.” Intrigued, Faith did a turn around the kitchen, laying the knife on the counter as she passed. “A little more spartan than I expected. Even for you.”
    This was how Hope would have looked if she’d lived. Tory couldn’t get the thought out of her head. She would have looked just like this, deep blue eyes against clear white skin, hair the color of corn silk. Slim and beautiful. And alive.
    “I don’t need much.”
    “That was always the difference, one of them, anyway, between us. You didn’t need much. I needed everything.”
    “Did you ever get it?”
    Faith arched a brow, then only smiled and leaned back on the counter. “Oh, I’m still collecting. How does it feel to be back?”
    “I haven’t been back long enough to know.”
    “Long enough to come to the door with a kitchen knife in your hand when someone pays a call.”
    “I’m not used to calls at three in the morning.”
    “I had a late date. I’m between husbands at the moment. You never did marry, did you?”
    “No.”
    “I swear I heard something about you being engaged at one time. I guess it didn’t work out.”
    The sense of failure, despair, betrayal wanted to come. “No, it didn’t work out. I take it your marriages—two of them, weren’t there?—didn’t work out, either.”
    Faith smiled, and this time meant it. She preferred an even match. “Grew into your teeth, I see.”
    “I don’t want to take a bite out of you, Faith. And it seems pointless for you to take one out of me after all this time. I lost her, too.”
    “She was my sister. You never could remember that.”
    “She was your sister. She was my only friend.”
    Something tried to stir inside her, but Faith blocked it off. “You could have made new friends.”
    “You’re right. There’s nothing I can say to make up for it, to change things, to bring her back. Nothing I can say, nothing I can do.”
    “Then why come back?”
    “They never let me say good-bye.”
    “It’s too late for good-byes. You believe in fresh starts and second chances, Tory?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “I don’t. And I’ll tell you why.” She took a cigarette out of her purse, lighted it. After taking a drag she waved it. “Nobody wants to start over. Those who say they do are liars or delusional, but mostly