“What is it, sweetie?” my mom asks, reaching over to stroke my forehead and smooth my hair out of my eyes. “You look so sad.”
I shake my head. I don’t know what to say.
“Are you worried about me?” she asks. “Because I’m telling you I’ll be fine, honey. I don’t know what came over me. Probably a 24-hour thing. But nothing for you to worry about, I promise. As you know, the Jane’s are a hardy lot.” She smiles and reaches over to squeeze my hand.
I smile back. True to form, my mom is both endlessly optimistic and worried about others more than herself. “Alexander and I had an argument,” I say.
She nods, quiet. “Was it over something big?”
“No,” I say, but my eyes get misty. I don’t want to admit it’s a big deal because she already witnessed two of our breakups over the past year and I don’t want her to think we’re breaking up yet again. Although won’t we have to? How can I be with someone I don’t trust?
She pats my hand. “Couples argue. It’s how you argue, and how you make up, that matters.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if you argue respectfully. If you approach an argument trying to see the other person’s perspective. If you both truly listen and take the time to understand each other’s side. That’s what matters. I read once that a show of contempt for your partner is a death knell for a marriage. If you love each other and you approach every argument truly looking for a solution, you’ll find one. The trick is to start with the belief that the other person is well intentioned—it makes it easier to listen when you’d rather slam the door in their stupid face.”
I choke out a laugh of surprise as tears spill over and my mom laughs with me and helps me wipe them away.
“Did you argue with dad a lot?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not about anything important. And trust me when I say that 99 percent of what feels important isn’t. At least not when you gain a little time and perspective. ‘People of good will can always find common ground,’ your father used to say. They used to call him the ‘wonder mediator’ at work because he was always able to get two parties with intractable differences to finally come together and find some space to agree. And somehow he and I always agreed in the end, too. Because we approached arguments with the same objective: to find a solution that worked for both of us so that we could move on to the business of spending the rest of our lives together, happily, which was always our ultimate goal.”
I smile. She makes it sound so easy. But what if the other person lied to you? Or at least kept something important from you. “I think I just need some time to myself,” I say quietly, “to mull things over for a while.”
“I should mention that apologizing is important, too,” she adds. “On both sides. Your father also used to say that people who refuse to ever admit they’re wrong or say they’re sorry have the most to be sorry for.” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “He always got a sad look in his eyes when he said that … I sometimes felt that he had a great sorrow in his past that he wanted to apologize for. Something he didn’t want to talk about.”
Wow. Maybe she understood him better than he realized. I feel like this could be a possible opening for me to find out what I want to know. “Did you ever think dad was an angel?” I ask. I don’t know how else to broach it other than to just blurt it out.
“Of course he was an angel,” she says with a soft smile. “He was an angel from the day we met. My angel.”
I watch her expression carefully. “But did he ever seem like more than that?”
She looks at me with confused humor in her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Did he ever tell you anything? Like a story of how he came to be?”
Her brow furrows with amusement. “How he came to be? I think he came to be just like the rest of us, sweetie. But if you mean his background, certainly, he told me how his parents died before we met, which was very sad, and where he came from, in Wisconsin.”
I search her eyes for any signs of covering or obfuscation. “So you never thought he was an angel,” I say, trying one last time. I watch her carefully as I say the word angel but all I witness is confusion.
“You mean like a real angel? With wings?” she asks. “I think he’s an angel now, sweetie, if that’s what you’re asking. In fact, I know he is. A man as kind and decent as your dad would continue to do good things in the afterlife. I know that in my heart.”
I nod. “You mean as a guardian angel,” I say slowly. Once again I watch her eyes as I emphasize the word guardian. Nothing.
She smiles. “Yes, I’m sure he’s watching over all of us. But what’s with all these questions, honey? Is it because I told you your dad spoke to me?”
I shake my head. “No, I just was asking,” I say. “The older I get, the more I wish I could have known dad as an adult, not just as a kid. So I could have understood him more. And asked him about things.”
My mom squeezes my hand and her eyes well up. “Me, too,” she says. “You were the light of his life, you know. He used to go on those long walks with you and he’d come back so happy and glowing inside. He told me once he never enjoyed talking with someone, and also being blissfully silent with someone, as much as he did with me and his little girl. He felt like you understood him. Even at that young age.”
I meet her eyes and mine well up, too. “Thanks, mom,” I say as I give her a hug. “I really miss those walks.”
She cradles my face in her hands and kisses me on the forehead. “I love you so much, sweetie,” she says. “Your dad would be so proud of the woman you grew up to be. Please know that.”
I nod silently as tears spill over once more and we continue to hug with my head on her chest. “I’ll let you rest now,” I say finally when I draw back and she gives me one last kiss on the cheek.
I go into my room and lie down on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I think for a long while about my dad, and about life, and about Alexander, and about the decisions he made, and the decisions my father made, and the decisions I’ve made, too.
And I think about the fact that my emotions are a jumble—a Gordian knot—and I have no idea how to feel about everything I’ve learned and what I’m going to do.
Alexander once said that trust is the most important thing. You can love someone deeply but if you don’t trust each other, implicitly, a relationship is never going to work.
How can I trust Alexander when he chose not to tell me something so important? After he promised me he would?
Something even a dark guardian like Avestan was willing to tell me?
Chapter Fifteen
This is depressing. I’m six and a half months pregnant and the future I had planned, and that of my baby, is uncertain. For two weeks now, I’ve been putting Alexander off, telling him I’m not ready to talk yet at length … telling him I’m still thinking. And I have been thinking … a lot. About how much I love Alexander and how happy I feel when I’m around him, and the way we “spark” together. And about how much we both love this baby I’m carrying inside me.
I’ve even done contortionist somersaults in my mind to fully inhabit his perspective and understand why he didn’t tell me: It was the holidays. It was bad news. It was bad news about my dad, in particular, which would be especially heart-wrenching to me, especially coming on the heels of me finding out my father was murdered only a few months before. And it was bad news not only about my dad, and not only while I was pregnant, but it connected me and my family, again, to Avestan and Malentus. To evil. I saw the torment in Alexander’s eyes when he told me. I hear it in his voice, still, every time we talk. I know he regrets it and I know why he tore himself up inside making the decision he did.
I know all these things and yet my mind still always settles on the matter of trust. In retrospect, I can see that there were times perhaps over the break that something was on his mind, but in those moments I had no idea. We continued on with our blissful lives together, unimpeded, full s
team ahead, with him harboring a secret and me none the wiser.
That’s what doesn’t sit right with me, and it’s what I’m having a hard time getting past: that he could look me in the eye all those times and not say anything.
“Are you and Alexander still in a funk?” asks Liz as we sit sipping our teas at A-plus Coffee.
“I just can’t get over the fact that he kept a secret from me,” I say.
“Are you ever going to tell me what this mysterious secret is?” Liz asks. “You’re starting to make me wonder if he’s in the witness protection program or something. Or maybe he’s a fugitive? Do we have an extradition treaty with Australia?”
I push her arm. “He’s not a fugitive.”
“Made you smile,” she says. “First time in weeks.”
“I’m fine. I just need more time to think this through I guess.”
“Well it’s not like you’re going to cancel the wedding.”
I don’t answer.
“It’s that serious?” she says.
“I don’t know, Liz. I don’t think so. I just need more time. To think.”
She puts her hand over mine and looks at me with worried eyes. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you know. I have no idea what’s going on with you and Alexander to make you feel this way, but one thing I do know is that he would never abandon you and the baby, no matter what you decide. Alexander’s one of the good ones. Believe me, I can spot bullshit from twenty paces, and somehow that guy got model looks and a heart of gold.”
I meet her eyes and nod softly. Of course she’s right.
“But don’t ever tell him I said that,” she adds. “I have to maintain my reputation as a hardass.”
I let out a small laugh. “Sorry to break it to you, but he knows about your hard candy shell and soft center,” I say, and she smiles. ‘But you’re right. I don’t have any worries about him not taking care of me and the baby.”
“Good. And remember, Finn and I can help, too. And your mom. We’ll all pitch in. I’m looking forward to being an auntie. The coolest auntie on the planet.”
I smile.
“The point is,” she says, “you’re not alone. That little guy or girl in there is going to be born into a world with a team of people who already love him. Or her. And you’ve got us, too. We’re all here to catch you, if you need it.”
I squeeze her hand. “You’d better stop now or I’m going to start crying,” I say, my eyes welling up. “It’s the pregnancy hormones.”
“Yeah, right,” she says. “As if you haven’t had a marshmallow heart your whole life through. But if you want to blame your misty eyes on pregnancy hormones during this nine-month stretch, I’ll play along.”
I laugh.
“Made you smile again,” she says.
I take a deep breath, feeling better. “Can we talk about something else other than me for a while? How did you do on that chemistry exam you were worried about?”
Liz fills me in and just like that we’re off and running on a thousand other topics—from school to Finn to nutty customers at Jack’s Burger Shack that make us laugh until we cry. Liz has, once again, like the true friend she is, diverted my mind from my troubles.
And it’s in that moment, when I’m relaxed and feeling happy again and at my most vulnerable, that I’m shaken back to reality.
The fear of what I’ve been facing all along is suddenly in front of me and it’s so jarring my whole body goes numb. Across the large expanse of grass beside the deck stands a man, watching me. I can’t say I would have even noticed him in the crowd, and perhaps that’s what’s most disturbing. But the one thing that made me notice—the thing that’s making every ounce of my blood pool at my feet—is that the man’s face is the face in the sketch Edwin drew. And those eyes, the eyes that Edwin captured so unnervingly, are even more dark and piercing than they were on the page. I can feel it, even from a distance.
“Can we go?” I say suddenly to Liz, standing up. My heart is racing and I feel faint.
“Why?” she asks, “I thought your next class didn’t start until two.”
“I have some work I want to get done first, in the library.” I look over to where Malentus was watching me but now, thankfully (and also very disturbingly), he’s gone.
Did I imagine it?
“Okay, I’ll walk over with you,” Liz says, as she stands up with me.
I grab my backpack and turn around to leave and that’s when my knees buckle and I wobble and nearly fall to the floor. Liz reaches over to hold me steady as I grab the seatback of the chair I was sitting in for support.
What she doesn’t understand—what she couldn’t possibly understand—is that I’m finding it hard to breathe because Malentus is standing directly in front of me.
“I couldn’t help noticing you’re pregnant,” he says, his voice dark and smooth with an undercurrent of threat as he reaches out his hand to touch my stomach. “How many months along are you?”
Chapter Sixteen
“Wow,” Liz says when we leave the coffee shop. “Talk about stranger danger, that guy had some serious balls. First of all, touching your stomach—you don’t touch someone’s freaking stomach, or, for that matter, any part of their body, without asking them first. And second of all, my mom always says unless you see a woman actually crowning in front of you, you should never, ever say anything about her being pregnant unless she brings it up first. I learned that the hard way when I asked my mom’s friend Margery when she was due and it turned out she’d had the baby six months earlier. How the hell was I supposed to know? But that woman has hated me ever since.” She shakes her head. “There’s no going back on a comment like that … absolutely no way to recover.”
I nod, not answering. I’m happy to let Liz fill the silence as we walk to the library because I’m still too shaken to speak.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “Don’t worry about that creeper. Maybe he’s one of those freaky weirdos who hits on pregnant women. He probably wanted to know how far along you are so he could make sure you fit his fetish profile.”
I shake my head. I was struggling to think and wasn’t really listening to Liz’s chatter too closely but I can’t help but react when she says the words fetish profile. I cough out a surprised laugh.
“Oh thank God, I was starting to get worried,” she says when she sees my hint of a smile.
“Fetish profile? Is that even a thing?”
“Of course it’s a thing,” she laughs. “Are you familiar with the contraption known as the internet? Spend a day exploring the weird things that auto-complete on Google and you’ll want to scrub your eyes out with bleach.”
I shake my head again with a smile.
“Listen, don’t worry about that guy. After the talking to I gave him, I doubt he’ll come within a thousand feet of either one of us ever again.”
Liz doesn’t realize it, but that’s one of the things that has me even more worried. I was frozen when Malentus spoke to me and put his hand on my stomach, and I couldn’t stop Liz from telling him how rude he was and to leave us alone. The girl has zero fear and she had no idea who she was messing with.
“It’s fine,” I say, as we reach the campus library. I can’t act too freaked out or Liz will worry about me. “I’m okay. And please don’t bother ever talking to that guy again if you see him. People are going to say things now that I’m starting to show. And I’ve heard some of the women complain in my childbirth class about strangers touching their stomachs. I need to get used to it and be prepared to step back.”
“You sure you’re okay?” she asks, meeting my eyes. “You were acting kinda funny.”
I nod. “I’m just gonna go inside to do some homework before class,” I say as I gesture to the glass doors at the library in front of us. “You don’t have to walk me in.”
“All right,” she says, pulling her phone out of her backpack and looking at the screen. “Finn just texted me anyway. He needs a ride.”
> “I wish he would go ahead and take that driving test,” I say.
She nods. “Seeing Zeno get hurt hit him hard. He said he never wants to drive now.”
“I know,” I say, “and I understand … it was awful … and scary.” I think back to Zeno lying in the street, whimpering and suffering, and Avestan staring smugly from the corner. “But I still think he should take the test. For his own sense of self-determination. He was ready. And to not drive because of such a sad day … I just want him to get past it. I’ve been talking with him about it a little. I hope he comes around.”
She nods. “I honestly don’t care if he ever drives, though, and I’ve told him so. Pretty soon the whole concept of human drivers will be obsolete anyway. Once the singularity happens and the evil robotic overlords take over with their driverless cars, they’ll steer all of us trusting humans straight into the ocean. Did you hear about that tourist last week who followed her maps program and drove straight off the pier?” She laughs. “It’s already happening! Anyway, I’ve gotta go. Call me later.”
I nod and can’t help but laugh back as we hug goodbye, but when I turn to go into the library my expression quickly changes. I walk directly through to the café inside on the first floor and keep going, out to the deck in the back. When I get there I find a deserted corner and pull out my cell phone to call Alexander.
“You’re sure it was Malentus?” Alexander asks. He came to the library to meet me and we’re sitting in a quiet corner of the deck, outside.
Revelation (The Guardian Series Book 3) Page 8
