Powerful: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by Kathleen Kelly

  “Shall we go into the dining room?” asks Dad as he opens the door.

  This was my mother’s favorite room. Apart from cleaning it, we never used it.

  “Sounds delightful,” says Sophia.

  I grab her by the elbow, stopping her.

  “We don’t have to,” I say to my father, knowing that it brings up sad memories for him.

  “It’s okay, son, your mother would have approved of us using it.”

  I nod and follow Sophia into the room. The carpet in here looks brand new. Everything in here looks that way. Sophia sits at the dining table, the dark wood gleaming. It’s a traditional rectangle table with ornate legs and ten chairs with white padded seats around it. It was my mother’s pride and joy, she loved to entertain. It all stopped the day she died. Sophia takes everything in, and I say nothing as I wait for my father to come back with coffee.

  “This room is exquisite.”

  I look down at Sophia. I wonder if my mother would have approved of her? Probably not, all flash and no substance.

  “My mom had good taste.”

  “Is that you?” Sophia asks, pointing at a picture on the wall.

  I nod. It’s a family portrait. I’m sitting in a chair with Mom and Dad standing either side of it, all of us smiling. It was a different time. Less than twelve months after it was taken, our worlds were torn apart.

  Dad walks into the room holding two coffee cups. “Kris, could you get the coasters?”

  I walk to the matching sideboard, it too gleams in the light. Opening the drawer, I pull out three coasters. I bet without looking, I could tell you what is in every drawer in this room. It’s like a shrine to her. I would sometimes come in here when Dad was at work, just to feel close to her again. It was the only room that seemed to have her in it. Placing the coasters on the table, I look at my father, and he smiles.

  “I’ll be right back.” He puts our coffees down and hurries back out of the room.

  I sit opposite Sophia, leaving the head of the table for Dad.

  “Make sure you use the coaster. Dad probably hasn’t used this room since I left.”

  “Why?”

  I shake my head, partly not wanting her to know and not wanting to talk about it. Dad rushes back in with his coffee and a plate of cookies. I immediately stand, open a drawer on the sideboard, and place a lace doily down so the plate doesn’t mark the table.

  “Thank you, son.”

  “This is a lovely room, Mr. Livingston.”

  Dad’s smile falters, he nods once and sits.

  “Kris’ mother,” he says by way of an explanation without looking at either of us. “How long are you in town for?”

  “We leave Monday after the wedding.” I take a sip of the coffee that he’s put sugar in. I haven’t had sugar in my coffee for years. I grimace at the taste but say nothing.

  “Maybe we could spend some time together?”

  Staring into his eyes, I don’t see the man who would tan my hide for a sideways glance but a lonely old man. He was forty-five when he married my mom. I came along three years later, which makes Dad seventy-five. I don’t think he ever wanted children, but he couldn’t say no to Mom. Growing up, he often made me feel like an intruder as he wanted her all to himself. Mom was fifteen years younger than him. He adored her, and I know she loved him. She loved us both.

  “I’ll try, but TB has got lots planned with the wedding.”

  Sophia scoffs. “Really? It’s the first I’ve heard about it. From what you’ve told me, it’s not much of a wedding. Not by our standards, anyway.”

  I can feel the blood in my veins begin to boil. Sophia is a selfish brat and has no concept of how I’m feeling.

  “I’m sure we can make time for you, Mr. Livingston.”

  Sophia looks at me and blanches. Whatever I’m feeling is clearly projected on my face.

  Dad looks at me then back at Sophia.

  “I understand if you’re busy, son, I don’t want to impose.”

  Turning my head toward him, I put on my best actor’s face and smile. “I’m sure we can make time, Dad. TB will understand.”

  “Ares Boswell will probably have you pretty busy.”

  “Ares?” asks Sophia.

  “TB,” I reply. “I’ll make time, Dad. You’re not working today?”

  Dad chuckles. “No, son. Petey lets me out on the boat once a week if the weather is good. I’m retired. I still help out around the docks most days.”

  “Petey Route?”

  “Yeah, I sold him the boat three years ago. I got old.”

  The boat.

  The boat I was supposed to take on after he retired.

  The boat I fucking hated.

  I loathed being on it and detested the work even more.

  He never understood.

  Dad was always at me to follow in his footsteps like he did and his father before him. The sea was not the life I wanted. Dad would make me go out with him every chance he got, and it only made me hate him and the boat more.

  “Well, they say you’re only as old as you feel,” interjects Sophia.

  “I feel about a hundred.”

  Laughing, I nod. “Yep, there are days I feel the same, Dad.”

  He clears his throat. “I’ve seen all of your movies. Athena takes me. She’s also bought all of them for me as gifts. She’s a good girl.”

  “You’ve seen all of them?” I ask incredulously.

  “Of course, you’re my son, and I’m proud of you.” Dad shifts uncomfortably in his seat as though this admission is a sign of guilt. “Have you seen Athena?”

  “Yeah, we got in late yesterday. Mrs. Boswell invited us to dinner.”

  “Pfft! Is that what it was?”

  “Sophia, I’ve apologized for that.” I look back at Dad. “She was there with a Deputy Todd something?”

  Dad laughs. “Ahh, yes, Deputy Roth. He’s nice enough, I guess if you like that kind of man.”

  Before I can ask him what he means, Sophia cuts me off.

  “Are you invited to the wedding, Mr. Livingston?”

  “Yeah, I am. I wasn’t going to go, but with you two here, I think I will. Ares invited most of the town. Biggest event we’ve had all year.”

  “Why do you call him Ares?” asks Sophia.

  “It’s his God-given name, not the one this guy here christened him with,” says Dad with a grin.

  “Dad’s a purist.”

  “Not really, I just always liked his name. It’s a strong name, and it suits him. And Athena, with everything she’s gone through, well, Dean Boswell chose well for her, too.”

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat, thinking he’s referring to me leaving.

  “What do you mean by that?” asks Sophia.

  I frown at her and shake my head slightly. Dad is oblivious to my discomfort. He puffs out his cheeks, takes a sip of coffee, and looks at Sophia.

  “Athena went off to college, got a degree in journalism, and we all thought she’d go onto bigger and better things. She always had a way about her, she was fearless when she was younger, but after she was attacked, well, it was like she withdrew from the world. I know talking to Dean that she’s done well for herself as an author, not that she’d tell me that, she’s humble. But Athena lost some of her spark after that.”

  I lean forward, my hands gripping the mug in my hands with a ferocity I didn’t know I possessed.

  “Athena was attacked?”

  Dad raises his eyebrows and nods. “Yeah, happened about three years ago. I don’t know all the details, I just know she came home, bought old Mrs. Hume’s home, and she’s never left.”

  “How badly was she hurt?”

  “Kris, it was years ago. What does it matter?” asks Sophia.

  “It matters because I’ve known Athena my whole life. She’s family. Why wasn’t I told?”

  “Kris, you,” Dad glances at Sophia and shrugs. “Well, son, you left. And you didn’t exactly keep in touch.”

  I stand
. “Yeah, but I talk to TB every month, and he never said anything.”

  Dad looks up at me. “I guess he figured you didn’t care. From what Dean told me, you didn’t so much as say goodbye to her. You just never came back.”

  He’s right.

  I left Athena.

  I left this town, and I didn’t look back.

  “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’m down at the docks tomorrow helping Petey out.”

  I shrug. “I’ll come help out, too.”

  Dad reaches for one of my hands, turns it over, and shakes his head. “These are soft. Dock work will chew them up.”

  “I’ll wear gloves. What time?”

  “And what am I supposed to do tomorrow while you’re off working?” asks Sophia.

  “Go shopping, do a tour of the town, you’ll be fine.” I look back at Dad and repeat myself, “What time.”

  “I’m normally down there at six.”

  “You’re slipping, it used to be five.”

  “I told you, I got old.”

  Dad stands and embraces me, pats my back once, then steps back with his hands in his pockets.

  “See you at six. Come on, Sophia, I need to get to the hardware store and get some gloves.”

  Dad chuckles, and I smile at him.

  “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Livingston.” Sophia rises and holds out her hand.

  “Ahh, yeah, you, too.” He glances at me, disapproval written all over his face.

  Well, he was always a good judge of character, except where I was concerned. With me, he had blinders on and couldn’t see me for the person I was becoming. Maybe with time and wisdom, he can now see I’m exactly how I should be, how I was meant to be.

  Chapter Eight

  Athena

  There’s a walled garden to the right of my home. The wind from the ocean can cut right through you in winter, so the wall helps prevent it, and in summer it provides shade from the sun. I love it. It’s my oasis away from the world. I even have an old wrought iron gate that makes a loud creaking sound whenever I enter. I always feel like I’m stepping back in time. Not that anything out here is old. I have an outdoor lounge and table in white that I spend many hours sitting at when I write. The ground is old cobblestone pavers with moss growing in the crevices, and the plants in pots out here are lush with most of them flowering, scenting the air with their blooms.

  I’m lost in my writing. This one is a thriller, and I’m about to kill off the bad guy. When I write, I’m able to shut out the world. I have the radio on, but I don’t hear it. The only thing I hear are the voices in my head. Sometimes they are loud, and right now, the bad guy is about to get what’s coming to him.

  “Athena?”

  I jump, startled by his voice.

  “Kris?”

  “Yeah. Can I come in?”

  He’s looking through the gate, taking everything in. I stand and pull on my sheer, long white coat. I’m wearing shorts and a tank top, and although it’s see-through, it will make me feel like I have more clothes on than I actually do.

  As I move toward him, Kris smiles, and then I hear Todd’s voice in my head, ‘you are precious.’ Opening the gate, I usher him into my sanctuary.

  “What brings you here?”

  Kris moves past me and looks around. “Was this always here?”

  “No, I had it built when I bought the place.”

  “Smart, the wind must howl through here.” He touches one of my plants. “Must have made it hard to grow things.”

  Sitting back at the table, I close the lid on my laptop. I’ll kill off the bad guy later.

  “It used to. The walls keep the wind out and make it easy to grow things.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Kris looks around my sanctuary. “You have a gap in your wall?”

  “Yes, it’s so I can go out and stand at the bluff. I like to go out there and watch the storms come in.”

  “Can you show me?”

  “Sure.”

  I walk barefoot between my walls with Kris close behind. The cobblestones give way to grass, and when we get to the bluff, I have a wooden bench cemented into the ground with a fire pit a few feet away.

  Kris squats in front of my firepit. “Do you use this often?”

  “Yeah, it’s nice to sit out here. Only I’m out of wood at the moment.”

  Kris stands and looks out over the ocean. “The water here is so clear. It’s not like that back home.”

  “LA is home now?”

  Kris smiles and nods. “Yeah.” Closing his eyes, he tilts his head back as though he’s soaking up the sun.

  “What brings you out here?”

  The smile fades, and Kris looks back at me, those piercing blue eyes pinning me on the spot.

  “I caught up with my dad today. He’s different.”

  I sit on my bench. “Not really. He misses you, he’s damn proud of you. Whenever you have a new movie out, he rings and asks me if I’d like to see it.”

  Kris grins and sits beside me, his arm going across the top of the bench and resting on my shoulder.

  “So, you’ve seen all of my movies?”

  I laugh. “Yes.”

  Kris picks up a length of my hair and twists it between his fingers.

  “Athena, I—” Abruptly, he stands, and one hand goes to the back of his neck, betraying his nervousness. “I owe you an apology.”

  Yes, he does.

  I cross my legs and look out at the ocean, desperately wishing I could avoid this conversation, but at the same time, knowing there is a lot to be said.

  “Athena?”

  I look up at him and realize I’ve been waiting, waiting for him to come back. And now he has, but with a brand-new girlfriend.

  Is there really anything left to say?

  Puffing out my cheeks, I let the air out of my lungs and smile up at him. “I need a tea. Do you want a drink?”

  Without waiting for an answer, I stand and walk back into my house, going straight to the kitchen. I pull mugs out of the cupboard, fill up the kettle, and stare out the window. I know he’s followed me inside. There’s part of me that wants to rage at him, but it’s been seven years, and a lot has happened in that time.

  “Athena, I’m sorry. The way I left, it wasn’t right. Hell, TB punched me in the jaw for it. I wish he’d done worse.”

  Slowly, I turn and face him. Kris is standing near my kitchen island staring at a picture on the wall. It’s of him, TB, and me. We’re laughing, both of them have their arms slung over my shoulders. It was a million years ago.

  “TB hit you? He never told me that.”

  Kris gives me a lopsided smile. “Yeah, he drove all the way to LA, punched me, and got back in his car. He tried to drive away, but his car died. It was like divine intervention.” Kris laughs more to himself as he moves closer toward the photograph. “This was taken the summer before I left.”

  I nod. “Yeah, down at Pemaquid Beach.”

  His smile broadens, and his gaze comes to me. “That was the summer TB was chasing Tracey Hennessy.”

  I burst out laughing. “Yes! The queen of free dinners, lunches, and twisting TB around her little finger.”

  Kris puts both his hands on the counter and leans forward. “Did he ever close the deal?”

  Laughing harder, I shake my head. “No. He caught her with Tommy Baker, and that was that.”

  Kris is laughing now too. “Tommy Baker? The guy who I was always beating off you with a stick?”

  My laughter ceases, the smile falls from my face, and I turn and go back to the kettle.

  “Tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee, black.”

  I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched. Kris kept all the boys away, not just Tommy. He made me believe we’d last forever. The bright lights, big city, and his desire to succeed killed all of that. I make his coffee and my tea, then turn back around to find him studying me.

  “Do you want to sit on the sofa or go back outside?” />
  “How about we enjoy the sunshine?”

  “If you’ll open the door?”

  Kris moves ahead of me and swings the door wide, allowing me to pass through but not before I brush up against him. Tingles travel from my arm to my most sensitive regions, and I stumble, spilling the hot drinks.

  “You okay?”

  I laugh nervously. “Yes, just clumsy.”

  The gate to my walled garden is open, so I go back to the original spot I was in when Kris arrived. I put the mugs on the table and move my laptop well away from them. The last thing I need is to spill something on it, especially since I haven’t backed it up in ages.

  Kris sits opposite me and eyes the laptop. “What are you working on?”

  “My latest book. It’s a thriller with a romantic twist.”

  “Could I read it?”

  I shake my head. “Strictly for women.”

  “Why?”

  I smile. “Because the hero falls madly in love with the heroine at first sight and does everything in his power to stay with her.” I take a sip of my tea. “It’s fiction. Not real life. It’s an escape for every woman out there who’s life isn’t exactly the way she planned it.”

  Kris goes silent, sips his coffee, and nods.

  “Like my movies.”

  “Yeah. What’s the new one you’re about to start?”

  “It’s called Powerful, directed by Andy Westin.”

  “Ahh, the man who took you away from Boothbay Harbor.”

  Kris nods. “I owe him a lot. If it weren’t for Andy, I wouldn’t be where I am today. He opened a lot of doors for me.”

  “I’m not surprised, you’re a very good actor.”

  “High praise from Miss New York Times best-selling author.” I shrug at him and feel my face burn up. “What happened to journalism, uncovering the truth, and setting the world on fire?”

  I stare intently at my mug and shrug again. “Didn’t you know true journalism is dead? No one cares about the truth. I prefer my made-up worlds and the comfort of my home.”

  “Dad said you were attacked.”

  My throat closes up as those words hang in the air. I’ve put the pain of what happened to me walled off in my mind, and I have no desire to talk about it or bring any of those walls down. Damn Leonard Livingston for telling his son. I made TB promise never to tell Kris.