I met Mrs. Weston’s eyes and said, “There’s enough hardship in the world. It feels really good to spread some hope and healing around.”
She raised her mug. “That is a beautiful thing,” she said. “Thank you.”
I clinked mine against it and we both drank.
Chapter Fifty-eight
The last couple of weeks with Urd passed quickly and, praise to the gods, uneventfully. I stood in silence at the Well of Destiny. The scent of earth and water wrapped itself around me. Sometimes I wished I could stay here. The peace and the serenity was more than appealing. It was salve to my wounded soul. I wanted to wrap it around me and take comfort in its safety.
Urd materialized. I reached inside and found the now empty place.
“I’ll miss you,” I said.
“I have come to feel a human fondness for you.”
“Did you learn what you wanted?”
“Some of it. I would have to experience human emotion to know what to do, and even then, I wouldn’t know.” She shook her head. “I did gain an appreciation for how you continue to do the best you can in the face of uncertainty.”
“If you paired that with your ability to foresee consequences, you would know more.”
“The emotion clouds my ability to draw those conclusions.”
“Damned if you do.”
She cocked her head.
“It’s another phrase. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”
“Very aptly put.”
She pulled me to her abruptly and hugged me. I returned the embrace. We stood for a long moment, as if physical contact could fill the hole her absence made. When we parted, Urd reached out and touched my face. Her skin was soft and smelled of talcum powder. I closed my eyes. There is something about touch, freely given and received. It bonds us. Makes us feel safe. Makes us feel loved. Feeds the soul.
I tried to smile but knew it was only the shadow of one. “I go now, a child of Midgard.”
She said something I didn’t understand in a language I’d never heard.
“What’s that?”
“An adage. One I didn’t fully comprehend before our adventure.”
“What’s it mean?”
“Generous and brave men live the best.”
Tears sprung into my eyes and I held them back. I swallowed a few times, trying to keep my voice from cracking. “Thank you.” I kissed her cheek.
I walked away from the well, glancing over my shoulder as she watched me retreat. I couldn’t have returned to my home world while I stood in front of her. It was hard enough to walk away. To see her form get smaller each time I looked back. When I couldn’t make her out anymore, I turned back to the hotel room.
Chapter Fifty-nine
I stood back and looked at the photos. There were only about twenty. I’d scrawled names on scraps of paper and tacked them next to the pictures. I had two hundred and ninety-six more to find. I’d never forget their names or their faces, but I wanted to hold them closer than I could in my memory.
I’d almost stayed in that place. I’d almost given up. I’d almost become the person I could never forgive. These people didn’t know why they had died. Their families had no idea that they’d lost their lives because I couldn’t break Tosd Mor’s hold on them quickly enough. I wanted to see them. Wanted their deaths to mean something. And until I could repay them, they’d grace my study wall.
I heard the boys come in and call my name. I hobbled out to the living room and barely managed not to say “ow, ow, ow” with each step. Scáthach was kicking my ass. And Daniel’s too. But he’d stayed much more physically active than I had. Starting a workout routine in your forties is a damn sight more difficult than earlier in life. I wasn’t sure if there was enough ibuprofen in the world to keep me mobile.
Daniel and I didn’t always land on her island at the same time, but it had happened frequently enough that we’d been able to talk without the weirdness that accompanied the first phone conversation since Suzanne had been healed.
He’d decided to stop solo freelancing and start a security company specializing in people immune to psychic gifts. Drew opted to partner with him instead of rejoining the military. I was helping them get established in the psychic community. And working out a deal with multiple deities that would end in his staff being immune to psychic talents.
I enjoyed training alongside him. I enjoyed working with him. Helheim, I just enjoyed his company. Maybe Miriam was right (yet again). Maybe I did need to think about a real relationship, even if I worked with him. Maybe I’d compartmentalized my life too much. Been too afraid of the consequences instead of excited for the possibilities.
“You, sit.” I said to Ethan. “You’re still recovering.”
He sat and set the crutch to the side. Dillon plopped down to the floor at his feet.
I shuffled to Ethan and kissed his forehead.
“What’s with the old lady walk?” Ethan said.
“Scáthach is kicking my a—my behind,” I said.
“You’re going to want to skip the workout before your interview,” Sean said. “You don’t want to walk like that in front of the nation.”
“The interview isn’t happening for a while—we’re still hammering out the details. At least it’s gotten other reporters to stop calling me.” I crossed the room slowly. “Gods, Scáthach is going to kill me between now and then.”
“It’s probably good for you,” Sean said.
“You may change your mind when I can take you down.”
“Yeah, right, Mom.” He put up his fists playfully. “Try it.”
“Just you wait.” I pulled his face toward me so I could kiss his cheek. “This isn’t why I asked you and your brother to come over, but I may as well give it to you now.” I handed a piece of paper to him.
“What’s this?”
“It’s Marcus Wesley’s phone number. He’s your lawyer now. You can call him and talk to him about how you got the footage for my case.”
“Do I really want to do that?”
“Well, he’s asking for your help for footage again, so I’d find out for sure if you’re breaking any laws.”
Sean folded the paper and put it in his pocket.
“Would you like anything to eat or drink?” I headed toward the kitchen.
“Mom, you said you wanted to talk to us about something.” Ethan said.
“Uh huh,” I replied, “but coffee first.”
I watched the pot fill and inhaled. Gods, coffee always smelled splendid. I poured myself a cup and doctored it to my liking.
“Would you boys like any?”
“Mom, just come in here and tell us what’s up,” Sean called.
I curled my hands around my cup, took a sip, and then hobbled into the living room. Sitting down was more painful than walking, and I hissed as I settled into the armchair.
The boys exchanged glances. They looked as if they’d been caught in one of the escapades of their youth. Ethan clutched his hands together as if to still them. Sean sat quietly, more than he tended to be. But I could see the tension in the set of his shoulders and his jaw. I knew the delay was killing them; it was killing me too. I scrubbed at my face, trying to figure out how to start.
Ethan tried to still his hands a couple of times but failed. Dillon chuffed at him, as if chiding him to be still, and Ethan leaned forward, burying his hands in the dog’s fur and closing his eyes.
“What is it?!” Ethan asked into the silence, raising his head and looking at me.
I blew out a breath. “It’s about your dad.”
I’d been thinking, but it was more like my subconscious had been chewing on things and the realization had popped into my head, fully formed. And now I had to tell the boys.
According to Urd, I’d felt guilty because I was stronger than Jacob. But that wasn’t it at all. It was because I wasn’t strong enough. Gods, I’d carried so much shame. I had embraced my abilities and the life that came along with them. But it had b
een close for quite some time. I knew what insanity felt like. The terror and confusion. The pain involved with getting up and moving every day. How hard it was to put my feet on the floor every morning and face the day, not to mention being a mother, making sure we kept a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. Even the smallest things—grocery shopping and showering—exhausted me. I fell into bed at the end of every day wondering how I would do it the next day. And I wondered when what I thought were hallucinations would become unbearable; or maybe kill me.
He hadn’t escaped like I had. Insanity had gotten its claws into both of us, but it had let me go. It took him instead of me. And then I left him in that world. Not only that, I left him. With everything he was going through, I didn’t stand by him. I put the mere possibility for my own happiness above his health and well-being. And so, I paid for his care. And I visited him. And I brought him presents. Because I couldn’t be in that world with him. I wasn’t that strong.
Urd’s comment had made me reconsider what had happened. Insanity hadn’t simply let me go. I’d gotten help. From professionals and friends alike. And I’d fought. I continued to get up every morning, even the mornings when I wanted to lie there until I didn’t have to worry about eating anymore. Certainly, I had been lucky as well. My mind could have broken, despite my efforts. But I worked for it too.
I could have chosen to forego the chance at happiness and stayed married. I could have played the dutiful wife. But it would have been just that, playing. How fair would it have been to him to pretend? How fair would it have been to me?
If I’d chosen that role, I would have given up the chance at happiness, at a fulfilling life. We’re told that being married means just that. That any injustice or act of God or tragedy should be trod together. If that means that life will be one miserable moment after another with no reprieve, so be it. Does your spouse beat you? Too bad. Do you find that both of you have changed so significantly over time that neither of you want or enjoy the same things? You already made your bed, now lie in it.
I hadn’t considered that decisions can, and should, change. I’d only come partway down the path of understanding that we can choose happiness, choose life, and choose ourselves. I started out helping him and supporting him because I wanted to, but somewhere along the line it had become punishment. A way to make me pay for my disloyalty.
I was glad that I had made sure he was safe and cared for. And it still felt right that I continued to help him for a time. But I didn’t have to punish myself anymore. And I didn’t have to take responsibility for the horror that befell him, even if I’d escaped it. I could still make sure that his care transitioned smoothly and ensure there was someone for him to rely on. I could choose to pass that responsibility along.
“Mom.” Sean prompted me this time.
I sighed and blurted it out. “I’m going to tell your grandparents it’s time for them to take care of your father.”
They looked at me and I looked at their whirling emotions. Confusion. Fear. But no anger or frustration. I knew that could change once their emotions settled. Still, it was going to be easier if they weren’t angry about the change.
“How come?” Ethan said.
I held up a finger. “That means that eventually, his care will pass to you and your brother.”
Anxiety exploded out of them, and I reflexively strengthened my shields. “It won’t happen for quite some time, but he will probably outlive your grandparents. I can help you figure out what that means and how to go about it, but you need to be aware.”
Sean’s anxiety calmed somewhat, but Ethan’s remained strong, flowing out of him and covering the floor. His hands twisted again, and although Dillon watched him intently, the dog stayed quiet. He ran his hands over the dog again and tried to settle back in his chair. His attempt didn’t last long. He exploded off the couch, and pointed at the kitchen. “Coffee?”
I nodded. “Would you like me to get you some?”
He shook his head. “I need to move.”
Sean remained still, and I could almost see his thoughts putting his emotions in order. Gods, my boys were so different. How could I love them both so dearly when they were opposites?
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“When do you think we’d have to step up?”
“I’d guess not for another ten years or so.”
Ethan came in with a huge mug of coffee, his hands curled around the mug much like mine were. “Ten years?”
I nodded. “And you don’t necessarily have to do it alone. You’ll have each other and I’m here to help you both figure it out.”
Their anxiety lessened, but it was going to be some time before they could think about this calmly.
“Why?” Ethan said.
“I’ve taken care of him for a long time, and that was a good thing. But we’ve been divorced for years now and it’s time for me to pass that responsibility on.”
“Did you meet someone?” Sean said.
The question surprised me, more so because I didn’t quite know how to answer it. “No . . . Yes . . . Ah hellheim, I don’t know. But that doesn’t have anything to do with this decision.”
Sean nodded slowly as if adding that logic to the thoughts he was processing.
“Grandma and Grandpa are going to be pissed,” Ethan said.
I nodded. “Which is another reason I needed to tell you. I don’t know if they’ll want to call and talk to you about it.”
“What do we tell them?” Ethan said.
“Whatever you want.”
“What if we don’t want to say anything about it?” Sean said. They were tag teaming me like they had since they were little.
“Tell them it’s not any of their business.”
“Yeah, right.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “Like that’s going to work.”
“Then say you love all of us and believe we can work everything out without involving the two of you.”
“That might work,” Sean said.
Ethan ended up being right. I could almost see the anger boil out of the phone line the first time I spoke to George and Gina about my decision. We never did come to an agreement, so I opened an account in the Schaeffers’ name on which the hospital could draw funds for Jacob. I funded six months of his expenditures, taking my savings to a precarious level, and signed all the forms needed to remove myself from his care. I let Gina and George know my final plans by registered mail and refused to take any more phone calls from them.
George and Gina didn’t take the high road with Sean and Ethan either. I hadn’t expected them to, but I’d hoped they would.
The doctors suggested I not talk to Jacob about the change. They feared his state of mind would be compromised if we broached the subject directly. If he asked about me and they thought it best, I would talk to him about it then. I was relieved. Yeah, I know, that probably made me a bad person. But some would argue that passing his care on to his parents and then to our children wasn’t something a good person would do. Maybe being a good person wasn’t always good for a person.
Angie worked out a five-day interview with Barbara Walters. Each night’s show would feature the head of a different pantheon of deities. The network wanted to feature more than one pantheon at a time, but Angie and I talked them out of it. When we likened it to putting all the world leaders into a room to make them agree on which religious tradition was right, the network executives rubbed their hands together. Conflict sells, after all. They finally came to their senses after we let them know gods don’t throw words or even chairs—they throw lightning bolts.
It was up to me to talk to the head of the chosen pantheons. So much for avoiding the most powerful of the deities. I hoped it wouldn’t get me killed.
My workload has quadrupled. Dian Cecht is happy—there’s more than enough work for both he and Airmid. I must come up with a system soon to figure out which jobs I take and which ones I decline, or I’ll drown. I still work with vets and I still do it for free. It�
�s not a political statement—it’s just the right thing to do.
After our New York adventure, Miriam and I finally made it out for a night of drinking. But she wasn’t interested in meeting anyone. She mentioned Marcus Wesley on a few occasions and blushed when I asked her about him.
I don’t have an answer about the bits of Tosd Mor inside me or the ongoing effects of akasha or Urd’s bequest. I hope I get hit with inspiration about them soon.
Urd drops by for coffee about once a month. Her sisters don’t understand why she keeps drinking it. I hope she also visits because she misses me. I miss her.
I delivered the gun to Scáthach, but the damned gun safe is still in my spare room. If anyone needs one, contact me. It’s yours if you can get it out of my spare room without damaging the walls.
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I live a secret life playing with large data sets, caring for my four-legged, furry dragon, and answering questions for my adult children like: “How do taxes work,” “What’s a copay,” and “Should I opt out of my 401k plan?”
I also write speculative fiction and spend an inordinate amount of time in coffee and tea shops.
Power Play (Amanda Byrne Book 1) Page 34
