Cypress Point by Diane Chamberlain Page B

hands on her leg, for another fifteen minutes. Finally, Penny said, “This is so strange. It’s not hurting. At least not while I’m lying still.”
    â€œMove it then, with my hands still on it. Slowly. See if you can bend your knee.”
    Penny bent her leg. “My God, Carlynn, it doesn’t hurt. Just feels a little stiff.”
    â€œDo you think you can stand on it?”
    She helped Penny to her feet and accepted the grateful hug she offered. The guests cheered from behind them, as though they were witnessing an injured player rise from the ground on a football field.
    â€œCan you walk?” Carlynn asked. Penny began to carefully move toward the house, leaning against Carlynn, just in case. “Now,” Carlynn said as they neared the rear door, “we really should get some ice on it. No point in getting too cocky about all this.”
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    After the party, Carlynn and Lisbeth sat on the edge of the cold stone terrace, their legs dangling over the side, bundled up in jackets against the chill. Behind them, in the house, they could hear the tinkle of glasses and clatter of plates as Rosa and the other servants cleaned up. Fog was rolling in over the Pacific, but they could still see the lights of a boat that must have been quite close to shore.
    â€œWe shouldn’t be out here,” Carlynn said. “We’re both going to get sick, sitting on the terrace in the cold.”
    â€œYou can heal us, then,” Lisbeth said, and Carlynn looked at her quizzically.
    â€œThat sounded snide,” she said. “Did you mean it that way, Lizzie?”
    It was a moment before Lisbeth answered. “Sorry,” she said. “I just…it still amazes me, that’s all. How do you do it?” She turned to her sister. “How did you fix Penny’s leg?”
    It was not the first time Lisbeth had asked Carlynn about her healing skills, but this time the tone of her voice was marked more by envy than curiosity.
    â€œI don’t understand any more than you do, Lizzie,” Carlynn said. “Maybe Penny’s leg wasn’t really broken. Maybe she just scared herself when she fell.”
    â€œI saw it. It was twisted up.”
    Carlynn gently let one of her feet touch one of Lisbeth’s. “I have to be touching the person,” she said. “At least I know that much. But other than that, what I do doesn’t seem like anything special. I’m not a magician. It’s just that when I’m touching a person, I think only about him or her. I try to send them all my love, everything good that’s inside me. I concentrate really hard.”
    â€œIt’s amazing,” Lisbeth said, shaking her head in quiet wonder.
    â€œDo you remember Presto?” Carlynn asked. “The night before he was going to be put to sleep?”
    â€œOf course.” Lisbeth nodded. Presto had lived for three more years after that night.
    â€œAll night long I lay next to him with my arms around him,and I prayed. I just kept hoping and praying he would get well.”
    â€œIs it praying, then?” Lisbeth asked. “Is that what you’re doing?”
    â€œNot always. I’ve sort of experimented with it,” Carlynn admitted. “Sometimes I pray. Sometimes I just think as hard as I can about the person I’m touching. It doesn’t seem to matter what I do. The only thing I know for sure is that, afterward, I’m more tired than you can imagine.”
    Lisbeth knew this. She had seen her sister after her visits to Letterman Hospital. It was all Carlynn could do to drag herself upstairs to bed, and she would sleep so deeply that nothing could wake her for hours.
    â€œYou must be tired now,” she said.
    Carlynn nodded, then rested her head on Lisbeth’s shoulder.
    â€œI wish you could talk more easily to people, Lizzie,” she said. “They won’t bite.”
    â€œWell, I can’t,” Lisbeth said a bit