Crux

by Julie Reece

  “What’re you thinking?”

  I decide to take the plunge and get my well-rehearsed speech over with. “What do you say to bowing out and letting me take things from here?” I pause, expecting him to interrupt, but when he doesn’t, I continue. “I really don’t want you involved. I never did. I was selfish to even consider connecting you with something so dangerous. It was a mistake letting things get this far.” Facing him, his expression is unreadable. “You have so much here, with your family.” I wave in the direction of the French doors. “You could get hurt; and honestly, I can’t have that on me, not again.”

  His jaw flexes. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  He doesn’t know about Shondra, and I’m sure as heck not going to tell him. “Look, I’m grateful for the invite tonight. I really am. So just say you’ll back off on the whole Jeff thing. We’ll hang tonight, and go our separate ways.”

  “And if I say no?”

  I was afraid he’d argue—make me do things the hard way. I take a deep breath, harden my heart, and narrow my eyes. “I’ll be forced to knock some sense into your thick, stupid, nice-guy skull.” My finger points toward the house. “Do you know what you have in there, Grey? The family you have, the opportunities, the safety and support? It’s like the whole freaking world most people would kill for. If you’re not smart enough to figure it out, I’ll help you. Jeff isn’t talking about playing some hologram paintball to liven up your dull, pampered, little rich boy life. He’s talking about making a permanent sacrifice. No offense, dude, but there are better, more expendable candidates than … than Richie Rich.”

  “Like who?” He leans forward. “You?”

  I glance away. “Maybe. Does it matter? I’m pretty good at looking out for myself, and I’m used to doing things alone. Quit trying to save me. It’s getting annoying. The rest, I’ll figure out.”

  Grey’s shoulders stiffen, he takes a couple deliberate steps toward me, and I back up. “Let’s get something straight once and for all, all right?” A line forms between his brows. “First of all, not everything’s about you, is it? You don’t know me, and you sure as hell don’t know my family. Got that? You think because we have money, we don’t have problems, or that we don’t know what pain is? You’ve got a lot to learn about people, Bird. Your arrogance amazes me.”

  My back bumps against the wall of the outdoor fireplace. Grey puts his palms flat against the brick on either side of my head. He lowers his face until its inches from mine, eyes are intense, mouth a grim line. “Do you think you are the only one who’s suffered?” His voice quiets, but the fierceness in his tone remains. “Money doesn’t keep you from bleeding. No one knows that better than I do.”

  I bite my lip and try to stare at the ground or the buttons on his shirt, but he’s too close. His breath hits my face, his gaze fixed on me, and there’s nowhere to look but back into his eyes.

  “What are you trying to prove?” I thought if I pushed hard enough, wounded his pride, he’d go. Most people do. Now, I’m not so sure. Grey’s different. It might be easier to dissuade a starving bear from the trash.

  “I could ask you the same question.” He talks to my lips as though he’s mad at them, and his hands explode off the wall as if someone shoved him.

  That went well.

  He stalks away as Kate tiptoes onto the porch, followed by Scud.

  As I walk over, Scud whistles low. “Yo, girl, what did you do to my man, Grey? I haven’t seen him that worked up since … oh, wait, never.”

  I shrug. “We just had a misunderstanding, I guess.”

  Kate’s brow wrinkles. “Don’t worry about him, Bird.” Her gaze moves from the gate her brother passed through to me. “My brother has always been …”

  “Intense?” Scud finishes as he rests his chin on Kate’s shoulder and grins.

  Kate elbows him. “Anyway, dinner is ready. Come inside. It’s too cold out here.”

  We head inside to the living room together. Warmth envelops me, defrosting my frozen fingers.

  “Birdie?” Kate says, “You want to spend the night tonight?”

  I love this girl, but there’s no way I’m sleeping under the same roof with Grey. “Aw, thanks, but I can’t. Proud dog owner now. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “No.”

  “Awesome.” Scud says. “Lemme guess. It’s a Mexican Hairless Chihuahua, right?”

  I laugh. “He’s more like a Shepherd mutt. A big, awkward, lazy dog that needs to walk at eleven and again in the morning, so staying here wouldn’t work. Maybe you could stay with me?” Images of the mess in my apartment come to mind, and I amend my invitation. “Like tomorrow night or the next?”

  “Okay, good.” Kate smiles.

  “Can I come?” Scud wiggles his eyebrows her direction. “C’mon, please? We can take a bubble bath, and then I’ll tuck you in.”

  “You’re just … wrong.” She chuckles when Scud wraps her in his arms and starts waltzing her around.

  He puts his forehead against hers and says, “You know you love me.”

  Love Scud? Yeah, I think. I’m pretty sure she does.

  • • •

  I stand next to Grey at the table, waiting for Mrs. Mathews. We don’t look at each other since there’s not much to say. Well, this is what I wanted, right? If he’s out of any future trouble, his hating me is worth it.

  Dylan stands across from me, his sandy-blond hair sweeping over his forehead. He’s not shy about staring and keeps giving me this I-know-something-you-don’t smile.

  What’s up with him?

  My body is tingling, and I realize my nerves are acting up again—the butterflies in my stomach hit with the strength of bats. It’s not the whole eating and manners thing that’s got my panties in a bunch; it’s the conversation. I’m new meat. People always ask those awkward questions: ‘Where are you from? Who is your family?’ Blah, blah, blah. Curiosity is natural, just not my favorite part of social gatherings.

  Isabel turns to me from time to time, the pinched expression on her face detracting from her beauty. Scud wolf whistles as Mr. Mathews sets a heavy platter on the table.

  Birdzilla makes a tantalizing centerpiece. I’ve never seen a turkey so big. When our hosts seat themselves, we follow suit. My mouth waters in anticipation of the intoxicating roasted meat scent and savory vegetables.

  I’m not demure about eating. Thanks to my hippie-chick, tofu eating, first foster mom, Mrs. Moon, I like veggies, but she never got me off meat entirely. Full on carnivore, I like my steak rare, still mooing, in fact.

  “Shall we pray?” asks Mr. Mathews.

  We all join hands—Mr. Bowen, on my right, squeezes my fingers as though offering support. I appreciate the gesture.

  “Dear Heavenly Father,” Mr. Mathews begins. “We thank you for your many blessings to us. Grateful for our health, we ask that you heal those that are ill. We thank you for our jobs, and remember those who struggle financially this year. We thank you for our families, and old friends, even as we welcome new ones. Please bless the troops that risk their lives to protect us, both here and abroad; return them to their families unharmed. Especially … the seals in Special Warfare Group Two.” Mr. Mathews clears his throat before he says, “We are mindful every day is a gift from You. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

  “Amen.” we repeat in unison.

  He lifts his glass and says, “To Sean!”

  I’m wondering who Sean is as everyone mirrors the action. “To Sean.”

  There’s the nod to the troops in Mr. Mathew’s prayer, the American flag ice sculpture, and the boy in the family portrait, whom I’ve never met. I’m getting a bad feeling.

  “Please pass the rolls. I’m hungry,” says Mr. Bowen, rubbing his tummy.

  “So, Birdie,” Mrs. Mathews says. “Kate tells us you will start school soon. What do you plan to study?”

  I hand the green bean casserole to Grey as I answer. “I’m not sure. I love art, but the degree has limitations outside of teaching. Oh, u
nless you’re Thomas Kinkade or Qi Baishi.”

  “Qi who?” says Scud, his mouth full of sweet potatoes.

  “He’s a Chinese painter …” My voice trails off as I realize the information’s not important.

  “Is your family in Atlanta?” asks Mrs. Bowen.

  “Uh, no, not really.” I start to sweat and wipe my hands on my napkin as I shift in my seat. Ugh. Can’t I be cool about this? It’s no big deal. Just answer their questions. “My parents are dead.” Even after all this time, the words still stick in my throat. “I graduated from high school and Georgia’s foster care system when I turned eighteen.”

  Silence. See? I’m not the only one who finds this uncomfortable.

  “I’m sorry about your parents, Birdie.” Mrs. Bowen’s tone is full of compassion.

  “It was a long time ago.” I smile to ease the awkwardness.

  Isabel plays with her cell as we talk. She bounces in her chair and addresses Kate as if I’m not there. “Train is coming to the Philips Arena on December first. Do you want me to get tickets for you, me, and the boys?” Her exclusion of me is both predictable and uncreative.

  “Train?” Scud asks. “I wouldn’t be caught dead—”

  “Where do you live now, Birdie?” asks Mrs. Mathews.

  Mrs. Bowen chimes in, “Do you have a job? Ooh, and what high school did you attend? We might know some of the same people.”

  The Mamas shoot their questions until I feel like a target board. My head swivels between the two, unsure who I’m supposed to answer first.

  Words are forming on my tongue when Grey gropes around for the stem of his goblet and spills the full glass of water in my lap. My body jerks rigid, the icy water soaking through to my underwear. I squeal like a twelve-year-old at a Justin Beiber concert and hop up, splashing both Grey and Mr. Bowen as the pooled water flies off my clothing.

  Grey wipes at the front of my dress with his napkin. “I’m so sorry, Birdie.” He dabs at me some more.

  His eyes sparkle, and he’s suppressing a smile. You did that on purpose? My cheeks blaze, and I’m as pissed off as I can remember being in a long time. I turn to unleash my wrath. Right before I slap him into next Tuesday, the truth dawns on me. He dumped my glass to interrupt the flow of questions from his mom and her best friend.

  My anger dies an early death. Even after I treated him so unfairly, he’s still protecting me. Sighing as I gaze into his gorgeous blue eyes, I lean over, and, right in front of God and everybody, I kiss him.

  10

  Trapped in the space between wakefulness and sleep, my body is weightless and free. I’m sure this is another dream, but, as usual, I can’t snap myself out of it.

  This time I sit alone on a red, velvet chair in the Fox Theatre. A glance down reveals I am naked, which is twelve kinds of awkward, not to mention cold. Lifting my eyes back up, I wait for the plush ruby curtains to rise. When they do, bilious clouds of white smoke roll off the stage onto the first row of empty seats in the auditorium. Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody starts playing in the background. It’s all so bizarre, I just go with it as purple light floods the stage and several figures emerge from the shadows.

  Vikings.

  Silver breastplates cover their enormous chests. Steer horns protrude from either side of each bronze hat, except for one guy who’s wearing a St. Louis Rams helmet. Two kings walk onto the stage and face each other. The paper Burger Barn crowns on their heads prove they’re in charge. Each Viking stands in line behind one of the kings until two distinct groups are formed. They squat like a football line-up before the snap. They raise swords and axes toward each other, ready for battle, but the smoke recedes.

  Imitating the actors from Monty Python’s Holy Grail, the burly men turn toward me and speak in squeaky, high-pitched voices. “The Knights Who Say ‘Ni’ demand a sacrifice! Ni! Ni! Ni! …”

  They glide around, twisting and twirling, and I realize they’re on ice skates. Moreover, they’re all wearing tutus in varying pastel colors.

  Bloody hell! I can’t help but stare.

  “We shall say ‘ni’ again to you if you do not appease us.”

  I assume they’re speaking to me, so I play along, “Well, hurry up. What do you want?”

  “You must destroy Alarr. You must not fail, or we shall dub thee a Ninny. You must not punk out as you have in the past, or you shall meet with … Tim.”

  Naturally.

  Vikings enter from a curtain on the left. They wheel a hospital gurney carrying two people onto the stage. The bed spins around once and stops. My mother sits up on the mattress, her arm dragging an IV, and she starts to sway. Her face is ashy white, and she sports purple bruises under both eyes.

  Another bulge wrapped in the sheet next to her rises. Shondra. Her complexion has the same, corpse-like sheen my mother’s does, but I’d know those blond dreads anywhere. They stand on the bed dressed in hospital gowns and furry bunny slippers. The duo breaks into song, a horrible operatic rendition of the bad eighties tune, ‘Faithful’.

  The women wrap an arm around each other’s waists and extend a free hand out to me. The Vikings skate around them performing camel spins and stag jumps.Don’t let me down … they sing. Don’t let me down … Their song gets louder.

  “I don’t want to let you down!” I yell. “I never wanted to let you down.” Jiminy Crickets, I can’t handle the pressure. “Help me, Mom. I can’t win without help.” I turn to Shondra, point an accusing finger, and whisper, “You know I can’t do this.”

  As the Vikings skate off stage, my mother burrows back under the sheets of her bed.

  Don’t let me down … Don’t let me down, down …. The stage goes dark except for one blue spotlight that settles on Shondra’s face. I haven’t left my seat, but I can see her as if I’m only a couple of feet away. The skin on her pale face is scaly and rotten. She opens her mouth and a chunk of flesh drops off her cheek, revealing her jaw bone and a few teeth.

  Dang. Repulsed and fascinated all at once, another place on the left side of her forehead peels away and exposes her skull.

  “Biiirdeee,” she moans in a deep, otherworldly voice. “Why did you leave me … ?”

  The temperature in the room drops twenty degrees. I’m freezing, and shaking, and scared, and guilty. “Shondra, I’m sorry.” Words explode from me in my fervor to explain to my zombie friend what I’d done. “I panicked. No cops came, and the men started chasing me. I just, like, freaked out, plus … plus you told me to run!” Tears leak from my yes. “You begged me to go. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Soooo …” She coughs, hacks like a cat barfing up a hairball, and her voice returns to normal. “So, you’re saying this is my fault? Nah, girl, you cra cra. Better figure sumthin’ out, too, if you’re goin’ to get it right for these Viking dudes. Shoot, child, I can’t believe you.” She puts her hand on her hip, and her pinkie falls off. “Pickin’ on a poor, old, dead girl, skin falling off, fingers popping out. I know that ain’t right.”

  “That’s not what I meant!”

  “Figure it out, girl. Why you run out on me?”

  The music starts up again.

  Don’t let me down, don’t let me down.

  Don’t let me down, don’t let me down.

  “I’m sorry!” I scream. “I take it back, I take it back!”

  “Can’t take it back, honey, just figure it out …”

  I have no idea what she’s taking about. “Figure what out? I don’t understand. No. No, no, no!”

  “Birdie, wake up!”

  Strong hands grip my shoulders, slip behind my back and lift. My body rises, and I’m enfolded against a firm chest. Hair tickles my face, and I rub my nose, inhaling a distinctive cologne.

  Grey?

  I open my eyes. Light filters in, sharpening the fuzzy outlines of my window, leather chair and front door. My ferocious dog is sprawled out on the floor. He rolls over on his back and yawns with zero interest in the young man who’s walked unannounced into my
apartment to hold me.

  I remember the kiss I’d planted on him the night before. Just a peck on the lips, really. No. That’s a lie. It was a full on kiss. Heat blossoms under my cheeks. What the heck got into me?

  At the stiffening of my shoulders, Grey releases me, easing me away. “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I had a bad dream.” I glance down, trying to slow my heart rate, and breathe a sigh of relief I’m not naked. I am, however, in a long sleeved T-shirt and underwear, so I sit still with the covers wrapped around me.

  “That’s an understatement. You were yelling your head off.” He ducks his head like he’s trying to get a glimpse of my eyes. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Nah, I … Hey, how did you get here, anyway?”

  “My car. I came to give you a ride to Jeff’s … and to bring you breakfast.” The mattress sighs as he rises and walks toward the kitchen counter where he sits on one of the two barstools I bought. He pulls a bagel out of a brown bag and opens the paper I assume he’d gotten off my doormat.

  Don’t mind me, I only live here. How can anyone be so charming and pushy at the same time? “Aw, thanks … and very funny, Mister, but I meant how did you get in my apartment?”

  He swallows his bite of bagel. “Key?” He lifts his coffee cup in the air and waves the drink around while he speaks. “You gave me your spare last night, after you decided to be all big about it and let me help you with the quest.”

  I cave. I cave every single time with him. “Oh, yeah. The key was for emergencies, ya know?”

  “When I got here, I heard you screaming through the door. What was I supposed to think?”

  “Well, you … never mind.”

  He’s right.

  His smile tells me he knows he’s won.

  “Grey, can you turn around? I need to get up, and I’m not, uh, ya know, decent?”

  “Now that you’ve kissed me, I’d say clothes are a mere formality, wouldn’t you?”

  I try to be glib, but my cheeks are scalding. “You’re just hilarious this morning, aren’t you? That wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t anything but a thank you, and a … I’m sorry and all.”