Free Heart Murmurs by R. R. Smythe Page B

water. His tiny chest gasps as he fills his lungs with air and he wails in earnest.
    Morgan’s eyes flick to mine. They’re bloodshot, but calm.
    â€œOh, my boy. Oh, my boy. Thank you so much—” The woman wades into the water, arms outstretched.
    â€œMorgan.” I fill in her pause.
    â€œMorgan.” She repeats his name like an embrace. He gently deposits the screaming boy in her arms, then supports her till she’s firmly on the creek bank.
    I extend my hand to him. He eyes it, one eyebrow raised. A lopsided smile breaks as he slips his hand into mine, allowing me to help him out of the water. It’s shaking.
    Superman does have a Kryptonite. Good to know he isn’t made of stone, after all.
    The rest of the tour finally catches up. One man asks, “Should I call 9-1-1?”
    The mother and I both shake our heads. She responds, “He’s okay. We’ll go to our own doctor to be sure.”
    â€œLet’s get you back to Orchard House.” Morgan gently guides the woman through the crowd.
    I take the two younger children by the hand, following in their wake. The toddler’s eyes are already drifting shut, his head resting against his mother’s shoulder.
    ****
    That evening
    Beth is hovering, stoking the fire. The quiet house is like a balm on my irritable nerves. She places another blanket on both mine and Morgan’s shoulders.
    â€œI’m so sorry, Beth.”
    â€œMia, it wasn’t your fault. You aren’t responsible for other people’s toddlers. I don’t know what that mother was thinking, anyway.” She eyes both of us, her eyes lingering on Morgan. “I’ll go make you tea, yes?”
    She bustles into the kitchen.
    One blanket drapes over both our shoulders. I feel the heat rolling off Morgan’s body. The whispers urge me closer, under his arm. I refuse to budge. A harsh anger grits my teeth. I’m furious.
    Morgan’s eyes finally leave the fire to look at me. One eyebrow rises in question. “What, Mia?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œIt’s something. You look about to tear my throat out.”
    â€œI…” I clear my throat. “Why aren’t we friends?”
    He shrugs and looks forward. “I don’t need friends.”
    â€œEveryone needs one friend.”
    His eyes flick back to me. They’re reluctant, like a barrier rumbles, wanting to lift.
    He scowls. “People here don’t understand me.”
    â€œWhat? It’s not like you’re a foreign exchange student.”
    He smiles. It’s an ugly thing. “I am, after a fashion.”
    I push off the quilt and stand. “Seriously, quit with the cryptic crap. Just ‘speak plainly’, as you love to say.” My fingers use the quotation marks, mocking his frequently used phrase. “And what’s with the way you talk? I think you’re taking the character acting to an extreme; it’s like it never leaves you.”
    His lips twitch. “Is that so?”
    Ugh. He’s impossible. “Yes, it is.”
    I move to leave and he catches my arm. His thick fingers could circle my wrist twice.
    Something in his expression shifts. “Sit down, Mia.”
    I glare at him.
    â€œPlease?”
    The whispers moan to be near him. My anger leaves in a rush, leaving only exhaustion. “Fine.”
    I sit roughly.
    He gently replaces the blanket around me. “You’re still trembling.” His arm lifts tentatively and then rests on my shoulders. I relax under its weight. The whispers hum like kittens.
    From behind, Beth’s footfalls enter and pause; she’s undoubtedly having a stroke that I’m not only quiet, but in his arms. They pad away quietly.
    His voice is in my ear, deep and husky, as I’ve never heard it. “What’s really wrong, Mia? Why are you so angry?”
    Hotness flushes my face and I speak through my teeth. “Because I’m tired of being