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Beating Heart

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Chapter One

That night, Evan has strange, choppy dreams that come in flashes. He dreams of sex, which wouldn't be unusual except that these dreams have a detailed, familiar feel to them, as if his mind is playing back a memory rather than making up something new.

He also realizes, when he wakes, that he never saw the girl's face. What he mostly remembers is her fine, pale hair. In the beginning it fell in a long braid over her bare shoulder. Later he saw it loose when she was under him and her hands reached up to clutch his arms and shoulders. Unbound, he remembers, it was soft against his nose and lips.

He comes downstairs in the morning to find his mother at the table in the breakfast nook, which is off the kitchen. The dining room itself is large, empty of furniture, and rather dark. Mom has finished eating breakfast and is drinking coffee. She looks relaxed and pleased with life in general. She has the house of her dreams, the job of her dreams, and happily she is unaware that her son has been having dream-sex with a hot young blonde all night.

"Good morning," she says.

"Morning," says Evan.

"Doughnut?"

"No, thanks." He gets some milk out of the refrigerator, and a glass. He pours the milk, then starts drinking it the way he always does, in one long series of gulps.

His mother takes a sip of coffee. "You look tired," she tells him.

"I had a lot of dreams."

"About what?"

"I don't remember." He does remember; he just has no intention of discussing this with her.

It's summer, but Mom keeps both hands wrapped around the cup. She always does that, as if she enjoys the warmth. "You should keep a dream diary," she advises.

"Yeah, I should," Evan agrees, but he doesn't mean it.

Mom sips her coffee again, then sets the cup down with a careful clunk. "I'll pick you up a journal, if you want. I'm about to get out and go sign Libby up for swim lessons."

"About time," Evan says without thinking. Immediately he knows he shouldn't have said it. It occurs to him now that Mom has been busy getting the house ready, picking out paint colors, meeting with workmen, signing papers. Now that they're here, of course she'll have more time to do things for Libby.

Mom's hands are still on the cup, but she's intent on him now. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he tells her, but then figures since it's halfway out, he might as well finish. "It's just that you moved her away from all her friends, and there's nobody for her to play with around here. And the Asshole never comes to see her."

Mom grips her cup a little tighter, and the look she gives Evan could nail him to the wall. "Don't call him that," she says in her put-your-foot-down voice. "He's your father." She starts to take another sip of coffee, but stops with the cup halfway in the air. "And you know something? You are not the parent here, Evan."

"Sorry," says Evan. He's not sorry, not really. And he adds to himself, as he walks off, but he really is an asshole.

Continues...

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Excerpted from Beating Heart by A. Jenkins Copyright © 2006 by A. Jenkins. Excerpted by permission.
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