Lucid Design Read online

  “That’s quite an accomplishment.” His eyes communicated an effort toward diplomacy.

  Beth let the talk of money die there. If it wasn’t going to help her, it wasn’t worth discussing. “You’re simply too sick to go.”

  “I’m going to be sick no matter where I am.”

  “Yes, but here you’re safe.”

  “No safer than anywhere else. And being there might be a little safer. I can probably walk everywhere.”

  “People don’t know about you. You’ll cause a fuss.”

  Raleigh anticipated this argument. People who didn’t know that she blacked out tended to be upset upon seeing her unconscious on the ground. They generally called 9-1-1 and attempted to resuscitate her—even though she never stopped breathing. One odd woman once pulled her tongue for fear that she was choking on it. Often in the heat of the moment, people overlooked the medical bracelet on her wrist. “I’ll wear a sign.” She winced at the embarrassment of the idea.

  Her mother’s brow line softened, and her eyes grew glossy. While good at arguing, she was a master at guilting. “Let’s not give up hope for a treatment.” Beth used the word treatment because a cure was less likely. Usually she spoke of cures, but she pulled out all the stops now.

  “There’s never going to be a treatment! No one knows what this is. The answer isn’t going to magically show up one day. This is what my life looks like.”

  “Raleigh,” her father said, his eyes soft.

  “No, Dad. I’ve had the advantage of you two helping me exhaust all options in my search. Now, when I go out, I don’t need to hold on to the hope. I know there is none. It’s not that bad. My illness could be a lot worse. I could look different and have to worry about discrimination. You guys were against me riding my bike, and yes, I get a few scrapes, like today. But look how well I’ve managed getting around. I’m going to continue doing that, getting around. And college is the next step.” Raleigh’s back stood straighter after the speech. For too long she’d let hope bury the truth.

  Her mother wrung her hands around a dishtowel and stared down at the checked pattern. “No matter where you go in life, Raleigh June Groves, you never give up hope. We’ll discuss this later.”

  For now Raleigh had won, and she hadn’t needed to use the big guns—that she was eighteen and they had no right to tell her what to do. She’d only use that argument as a last resort.

  Leaving the tension in the kitchen, she headed up the stairs to her bedroom. She shut the door and ripped open the thick packet. It contained her dorm assignment, roommate’s name, and class registration information. Hope looked different to her than it did to her mother. Hope was freedom. Hope was leaving. Hope was in that heavy week-early envelope.

  2

  “NO AMOUNT OF laundry is going to make her forgive you.” Thalia, Raleigh’s younger sister, leaned against the dryer twirling her nose ring with her finger. And Thalia would know. She’d been testing her mother’s limit with her punk appearance and loose grades for a while.

  “It can’t hurt.” Even if Thalia was right, Raleigh was still going to try. A week had passed since the college confrontation, and since then she’d cleaned the kitchen, the bathrooms, and the garage. Now she tackled the laundry. After that, she’d sort the boxes in the basement. As Raleigh worked through the mountain of housework, her mother held steadfast to her grudge, like a sea captain enduring a maelstrom.

  “I still think it’s great that you’re going.” Thalia hopped onto the dryer and started folding a shirt.

  Raleigh smiled. “Why are you helping all of a sudden? Are you in trouble or something?”

  “Going to be. Alec Quick asked me out.”

  “The kid whose pants fell down in gym last year?”

  Alec was the guy to date in Thalia’s small group at school, a crowd that colored their hair and smoked near the front parking lot. Despite their appearances, none of them got into any real trouble, there was no cutting class. Thalia merely tested her parents’ patience but didn’t break it. Amethyst hair could only do so much.

  “It doesn’t make him any less cool. I’d think you’d have more sympathy, with your fainting and all.”

  “I blackout. I do not accidentally lose my pants in front of two gym classes. He’s going to be a senior, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll be a junior.”

  “Tell him to take out his eyebrow ring before he meets mom.”

  “She might not notice him with all the sulking she’s doing about you leaving. I always thought Lana and Ben would leave me, but never you.”

  A pang filled Raleigh’s chest. Everyone in her family had made sacrifices on her behalf. Raleigh always sucked up attention like a vacuum. Maybe Thalia was punk to stand out against Raleigh, not to anger their parents.

  “What are these ribbons for?” Raleigh lifted two peach silk ribbons off the dryer. They looked like they belonged in a Louisa May Alcott book or on the head of a kindergartener.

  Thalia tugged them away. “Mom says I have to wear my hair in a braid for Uncle Patrick’s party tonight. These are to tone down the purple.”

  Raleigh smirked. “That’s going to look good.”

  “Yeah, I know, but mom’s been so pissed about your college news that I’m not going to fight her about it.” Thalia slid off the dryer and shoved her hands into her pockets, wrinkling the ribbons in the process.

  —

  SWEAT SUCTIONED RALEIGH’S legs to the leather car seat. The itchy nylons her mother made her wear already had a tear near the ankle, and she resisted the urge to move and rip them further. She wished for tights but reconsidered when she glanced at Thalia. Her sister looked like a prairie girl from a bygone era, as long as you ignored the purple braids. Two years separated the girls in age, but Raleigh, with her neatly-styled brown hair and lavender cocktail gown, appeared much older. It helped that her back stood a little taller since the college confrontation with her mother.

  Thalia flashed Raleigh a strained look. In that glance, Raleigh recognized the resemblance she had to her sister. A similarity that went beyond their hazel eyes, small noses, and freckles. They both dreaded things like this, social situations that their mother thrived on. They were their father’s daughters.

  Gravel pinged at the wheel wells of the car as they drove up the pebbled path to the mansion. Family birthdays usually consisted of a few scoops of ice cream, not rented venues, and certainly not valets.

  Raleigh’s family got out of the car, handed over the keys, and gawked at the house before them. If the building could speak, it would scoff at Uncle Patrick’s mere fifty years. Its red bricks and iron gates boasted permanence. Raleigh followed her mother up the front steps. They’d put a hold on the conflict that simmered between them so they could celebrate tonight, but the truce wasn’t loose enough to accommodate chitchat, and the silences sat crisp in the cool air.

  “Are you with the Emerson Birthday?” a young doorman asked.

  “Yes,” Beth answered for her husband and children.

  “Right through here.” He ushered them through two large wooden doors. The early summer breeze drifted in with them prompting Raleigh to rub her chilled elbows. The young man deposited them in a grand entryway that opened into a vaulted ballroom.

  At least a hundred people crowded together in groupings of three and four. Fancy dresses sparkled under the chandelier overhead. A quartet played in the corner, a pleasing background to the laughing and mingling.

  “He’s only turning fifty.” Theo laughed at the spectacle of it all. “This is more befitting someone who’s reached the big one hundred.”

  “Shannon likes parties.” Beth’s voice held a clear warning for him to behave.

  Theo could be charming when he wanted. Being a lawyer, the suit he donned now was everyday wear. Still, he much preferred jeans and a t-shirt to this sort of thing. He gave Beth a wink—a promise that he wasn’t going to comment again about the overdone venue.

  “Would you like a glass of spark
ling wine?” A petite woman approached them carrying a tray of champagne flutes. The bubbles knocked against the glass catching the light.

  Theo took one. Beth held up her hand, refusing. The woman inched the tray closer to Raleigh. “I’m not old enough.”

  “You’re such a square.” Thalia rolled her eyes. “Don’t turn it down at college.”

  Raleigh and her mother stiffened at the mention of college. Raleigh sensed the muscles in her mother’s jaw tighten and then relax. Beth motioned to the crowd. “Why don’t you girls go find your cousins?”

  That was one order Thalia didn’t hesitate to obey. Raleigh stepped away slowly, her eyes searching the room, finding familiar faces in unfamiliar clothes. Her gaze caught on Keith Moore, one of her classmates. Former classmate, as they’d both graduated. Keith stood next to an older woman deep in conversation. With each word a dimple in his cheek faded and reappeared.

  “You could talk to him,” a voice said from behind.

  Raleigh didn’t need to turn around to know the speaker. If she hadn’t recognized his voice, she would’ve known him by the pain in his arm caused from years of pitching baseball in college.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Warmth crept up her neck, and she could only hope it didn’t show on her face. She turned toward Dr. Moore, father of the boy he’d caught her staring at.

  “My son is a nice kid. He could use an influence like you.”

  Dr. Moore spoke as though Keith was some sort of vagrant who needed good influences. They both knew that wasn’t the case. He was in almost every sport, and, like Raleigh, he graduated last semester with straight As. Undoubtedly, he was going to attend a prestigious college next fall, but she wasn’t sure which one.

  “I think he’s doing fine without me,” she said.

  “Tim, you found her!” Raleigh’s uncle rushed up and gave them each a warm pat on the back. His heart tapped anxiously in his chest, which surprised her, as her uncle normally had an even demeanor.

  “Pat, what do you think of your niece and my son?” Dr. Moore asked.

  Patrick looked at Keith and then to Raleigh. “I think she’s too good for him.”

  Dr. Moore’s smile waned a little. “In all honesty, I think you’re right. Don’t you worry, Raleigh, you’ll find the right guy someday, and he’ll be special.”

  “Yeah, he’s going to have to be really good at baby-proofing the house and catching me when I fall.” Raleigh meant it as a joke, but as the words slipped out of her mouth, she knew they were true. She’d spent more time in doctor offices than on dates and had more conversations about illnesses than cute boys. She snuck another peek at Keith, once again her peers moved forward without her. An ache blossomed in her chest. The thought of college squelched her self-pity.

  “You are so much more than your illness.” Dr. Moore, an oncologist, was accustomed to talking people through overwhelming obstacles. He walked the line of optimist and realist well.

  Patrick gave Dr. Moore a pointed look. There was a secret.

  “What are you hiding?” she asked.

  Patrick tapped his nose. “I’ve never been able to keep a secret very long around you.”

  She shrugged. “You’re excited about something. It wasn’t hard to guess.”

  “When you turn twenty-one, we’re taking you to Vegas,” Dr. Moore teased. “But in all honesty, we wanted to discuss that talent of yours.”

  “You have a patient you need me to look at?” Cancer had a unique quality to it, out of control, sloppy, and reckless. Dr. Moore’s patients were uncomfortable to be around.

  “Not a patient.” Patrick’s eyes scanned the room. “It’s about you. But we shouldn’t talk about it here.” He led them towards a room near the gardens. On the way over, more than one guest nodded his way or flagged him down. In return he gave friendly smiles but didn’t allow any of them to detour them.

  Patrick held open the tall door. Raleigh entered first. In the grand room her heels made small clacks on the polished wood floor, here a wool rug ate up any noise. The books along the wall gave off a dusty smell, and that coupled with the stiff odor of the leather furniture gave the room a stately presence. Dr. Moore shut the door behind him, and the voices from the party became a muffled din.

  “Are we allowed in here?” Raleigh asked. The sofas and desk sat untouched. Most of the house masqueraded well as a wedding venue. This room had touches of personality that reminded her that it had once been a home.

  Patrick glanced around. “Yeah, it’s included in the rental. It’s where the groom gets ready if there’s a wedding. Or it can be a place for the guest of honor to escape when he doesn’t want yet another person to remind him that he’s half a century old.”

  “Or for a young lady to find out the truth.” Dr. Moore’s eyes twinkled in the dim light.

  Her stomach did flips in anticipation. Memories of being young and hiding in her father’s office added to the excitement. “The truth about what?”

  Patrick’s face transformed to the stoic one he used with his patients. “Tim and I have been doing a lot of research... to learn about your blackouts.”

  Raleigh’s stomach knotted. Whatever they knew caused her uncle to be giddy. They had an answer. Doubt tempered her own eagerness. This wasn’t the first time someone had claimed to know something. “You know? Like really know?”

  “We think we do.” Patrick put a hand on her shoulder.

  “There is a story,” Dr. Moore interrupted. “This is the most magnificent medical thing I’ve ever come across. We’re going to walk you through it.”

  Patrick nodded. “Tim, you do it. I’ve never been a storyteller.”

  Dr. Moore took one of the chairs and motioned for them to sit on the sofa. “This all started when I stopped focusing on your main symptom, which is blacking out, and started investigating the other one.”

  “There is no other one. I don’t get an aura, headache, or seizures. You know all this.” In the past both men had tested her countless times. They knew the aspects of her riddle as well as she did.

  Dr. Moore leaned back in his seat. “Your ability to sense disease, Raleigh. I didn’t look in to it because it took me so long to understand what you do. At first, I thought you were observant or following a hunch. It took me a while to understand that you actually feel the disease.”

  “I thought you believed me about that a long time ago.”

  “I had faith in you. But I didn’t understand precisely what you meant.”

  “It is a hard thing to believe,” said Patrick. “Even with all the evidence, your mother still refuses to acknowledge it.”

  Dr. Moore resumed telling his story. “A year ago, I thought, why not follow that? And I did. I learned about an obscure group of scientists in the nineties who researched this exact sort of thing. The idea that some people can feel the ailments of others. History is littered with stories of people who can do it. Some thought they were inspired by God, some were undoubtedly fakes, and others charlatans. However, some of them were probably real, discounted for the same reasons people will want to discount you.”

  “Other people have been like me?” Little good it did Raleigh now. If only they could go back in time and Dr. Moore could tell the therapist who insisted that she was delusional.

  “Yes, but probably not as good. These scientists in the nineties not only looked in to who could do it but how. They discovered a whole tribe of people with your skill. When a townsperson fell sick, the healers would drink a potion that helped them ‘speak to the spirit’ of the person afflicted. They put a religious bent on it, but it is the same thing you do.”

  “I don’t drink anything.” The mystical leaning made her question if it was the same as her affliction.

  “No, you don’t. Most of the people could only sense disease when they drank this potion and were in distress. You said that your ability enhances when you’re nervous, such as during public speaking.”

  “Yes. I can pick up on people f
arther away when I’m scared or stressed.”

  “So, like them, you have increased abilities during these times.”

  “But....”

  Patrick put up his hand. “Let Tim finish.”

  “The scientists found that these people had a hormone in their system, and they named it Lucidin. When enough of this hormone was present, it allowed the person to sense someone else. The drink caused the body to produce more Lucidin, as did stress.”

  “So, you think I have this Lucidin in my system?”

  “You do.” Guilt riddled Patrick’s face, and he bit his lip. “That’s what I checked your blood for two weeks ago.”

  “You didn’t want to get my hopes up.” Raleigh barely remembered giving him the blood. Two weeks ago, he’d requested some, saying it was for yet another routine test.

  “The results came in too late last night, or I would’ve told you.” Joy radiated from him, Raleigh could feel it building in his chest.

  No not yet, she wouldn’t get excited until she was sure. “The results came in from where?”

  “From Doctor Orman, a Lucidin expert,” Dr. Moore said. “She’s flying in to do more tests with you.”

  Patrick put his hand on Raleigh’s shoulder. “It’s a formality. She’s confident the Lucidin is causing your blackouts.”

  Of all the theories and misdiagnoses that Raleigh had endured, this was the most outlandish. If she didn’t trust these two men so much, she would’ve assumed it was some kind of joke.

  “Is there a cure?”

  “We’ll have to talk to Doctor Orman,” said Patrick. “Don’t tell your mother—not yet. Let’s be sure before we say anything.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. Mom isn’t talking to me much these days.”

  “Come by the hospital Monday. You can meet Doctor Orman, and we can establish where we’re going from there,” said Dr. Moore.