Mending the Past

by Avery June Ligon

  Mending the Past

  Avery June Ligon

  Copyright 2011 by Avery June Ligon

  Kindle Edition

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 Out the Window

  Chapter 2 Working Together

  Chapter 3 Unlikely Love

  Chapter 4 Job Offer

  Chapter 5 A Sign to Run

  Chapter 6 Pregnant and High

  Chapter 7 Breakdown

  Chapter 8 Jet to Rome

  Chapter 9 Lies, Thievery and Disconnection

  Chapter 10 Friend and Father

  Chapter 11 Mother Worries

  Chapter 12 Luisa

  Chapter 13 Sees the Slip

  Chapter 14 Uncertainty

  Chapter 15 Dracula

  Chapter 16 To Liverbrush

  Chapter 17 Generations

  Chapter 18 Mummified Cat

  Chapter 19 Witch and Drug Dealer or Ma and Pa

  Chapter 20 The Past Haunts

  Chapter 21 Ocean Phone

  Chapter 22 Eileen's Wedding

  Chapter 23 Prophetic

  Chapter 24 Struggling to be Good

  Chapter 25 Baby Talisman

  Chapter 26 Ms. Mae Considers Reconciliation

  Chapter 27 Efrem Runs Away

  Chapter 28 Luisa and KRS

  Chapter 29 Two Revealed and One Proposal

  Chapter 30 Loudly Disguised

  Chapter 31 Alive and Becoming Butt-Eye

  Chapter 32 A Gun and a Nude

  Chapter 33 Dismay

  Chapter 34 Jet and Baby to India

  Chapter 35 Sex and Deception

  Chapter 36 When Mom is the Bad Guy

  Chapter 37 Wanted Dead

  Chapter 38 Anger and a Hit Woman

  Chapter 39 To Khajuraho

  Chapter 1 Out the Window

  Steward lay on the floor watching dust motes course through streams of light. He swished his hand through the air and imagined flying within the eddy he’d created.

  “I knew I’d find you here,” Efrem said. “Mom and Dad are eating lunch downstairs.” He sat next to Steward and began emptying parachute men from his pockets. He was breathing hard from running up so many stairs. “Why do you come here, anyway? This is the only room in the whole house with nothing in it.”

  Steward didn’t answer, but he sat up to watch his brother divide the toys into two piles.

  When Efrem had finished, there was an odd man left over. “I brought an extra. We’ll drop him first to test the wind.” Steward nodded and held his shirt out to form a little sack. Efrem dropped half of the parachute guys in and stuffed the rest back into his pockets– except for the extra man, which he held as he took off up the stairs.

  Steward followed his brother, but took the time to look out each of the three arrow slits as he went. Mom and Dad had forbidden the shooting of arrows, but they hadn’t said anything about other toys. Steward looked at the trees below. He preferred the arrow slits. His brother liked to lean out the window to watch the parachute men fall.

  “Steward, come on. They won’t eat forever.”

  Steward finished climbing the stairs. The windows in the tower’s highest room began at his chest. He sidled up to his brother.

  “Okay,” Efrem said. “Hold this guy with me. Just stick your arm out. You won’t fall.”

  Steward didn’t move.

  “Fine, I’ll hold you.”

  Steward waited until he felt Efrem’s hand wrapped in the back of his shirt, then he reached out the window and pinched one arm of the extra guy.

  “On three.” Efrem glanced at Steward to make sure he was listening. “One…”

  “Two, three,” they said together. They let go. Since Efrem was holding him, Steward looked out the window too.

  “Light breeze coming from the west,” Efrem said.

  “The wind always comes from over the ocean,” Steward said.

  “Not always.”

  “Almost always.”

  “Almost isn’t always. Are you ready?”

  “You’ll hold me?”

  “I’ll hold you, but by the time you’re five I expect you to do this by yourself.”

  Steward felt the breeze tousle his curls. “Ef, remember when you got your hand stuck in my hair, and pulled me off the bed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you think the wind could catch my hair, and pull me out the window?”

  Efrem looked at his little brother’s fluffy brown hair. “No. If that was possible, people with really curly hair wouldn’t even need parachutes. They would just grow their hair long. Okay, wind from the west, trees over there. Whoever gets the most guys to the ground wins.”

  “But, Ef, you forgot to mark them again. How will I know which are mine?”

  Efrem shrugged. “I always win.”

  Steward took a parachute guy from his shirt. They did all look the same. And none of them had curly hair.

  * * * * *

  Steward had covered the arrow slits with portraits and now he sat searching the faces of the three men for a family resemblance. The men were grandfather, father, and son, and had lived in England some 500 years before Steward’s birth. Those three generations spanned the time when limnings had given way to more flowing, naturalistic portraits. There were days when Steward believed the nose on the man in the middle looked a bit like his own. Today was one of those.

  When the ruling class begins to issue naturalistic art, it’s almost always a sign that they’re oppressing, Steward thought. And indeed, the three men whose portraits he studied were influential when the well-armed English ships began siphoning the wealth of India. Now that I’m looking, I think that man is tilting his head just the way Ef would, if he were posing.

  Steward was not proud of the origins of his family’s wealth. Neither was he proud of the ways it had been used over the last five centuries. Not that his family was terrible. Really. They weren’t that bad at all. They just had different sensibilities than Steward. Nonetheless, he’d devoted much of his adult life to making up for their mistakes and shortcomings.

  Steward looked back into the faces of the men who had purchased his current project, and then he looked to the most exciting piece of the solution. KRS, seeing that Steward was busy, had set the box in a chair by the door and left. The box waited for him there. Steward reveled in the feeling of desire. He examined the pattern of the thick carpet, and the tapestries with which he’d furnished his room.

  He looked back to his forefathers. Each countenance seemed more stern than it had a moment before. Their frames seemed to cast darker-than-usual columns of shadow up the wall and onto the ceiling. An unfortunate effect of hanging flat portraits in a cylindrical room, Steward thought. He took the stem of his desk lamp and rocked it back and forth. He watched the shadows over his forefathers’ heads move across the uneven surface of the rough-cut stone. Then, he could not take it any longer. It was calling.

  Steward righted his lamp, and as he walked across the room his mass of grey and and white curls caught the light. He offered an apologetic glance to the men hanging over his head. He held the box for a moment before pushing his fingers through a seam, and opening it up. He pulled out a letter. Always read the card first. Mom would have insisted on that as the polite thing to do.

  Thank you for your purchase of the Magna Stealth Gecko Suit, and welcome to an elite group of users.

  The skin of your suit is composed of matte black extreme-four-way-stretch moisture-wicking heat-regulating fabric for stealth movement, ultimate flexibility, and peak performance. You’ll find temperature responsive expansion gills under the arms, across the chest, lower and upper back, and also along the inner thighs.

  A Flex-o-Skeleton, designed after the MRI you prov
ided, was melded with surgical precision to the skin of your suit. Your suit is tailored to respond to your body. Expect your Flex-o-Skeleton to increase your natural strength by 30 percent, and to eliminate skin-to-suit slippage and excess wind drag. Your Flex-o-Skeleton will activate after 10 seconds of pulse sensation in the gloves and feet. To de-activate hold your breath for ten seconds.

  The palms of your suit’s hands and the soles of your suit’s feet are enhanced with our unique Gecko Pad technology, which imitates the spatulas and setae on the hands and feet of the gecko. Whether your feet are cupped to a high speed train or your hands to a glass skyscraper on a stormy night, expect your Gecko Pads to maintain the contact you desire. Place the gecko rubber on any surface and compress gently. To release: relax.

  Included in our package, are the most shock absorbent running soles available. These will protect your joints against building-bounding impact. Before climbing, peel your running soles from your Gecko Foot Pads and adhere to your suit over the knees.

  Caution: Flex-o-Skeleton adjustments should be made at the gain or loss of 10 pounds.

  Enjoy, The Magna Wear Development Team

  Steward reached into the package and unfurled an enormous footed and gloved unitard. He blinked at it. It resembled a dull garbage bag with thick veins. As he searched for an opening the cloth slipped between his fingers. Silky. Feminine. Flaccid.

  He found one of the suit’s hands and poked at the Gecko Pad. It was mere millimeters thick and seemed benign. Steward’s disappointment turned down the corner of his mouth. He found the neck of the suit and searched for a glove. How can this have been designed after my MRI? I could use it as a tent. Though, when he found the glove, he had to push his hand into it. The fit was tight. He pressed his palm against the wall and cupped his hand, just a little. The palm stuck. He flattened his hand. It fell free.

  Steward pulled his hand out of the glove and dropped the suit into the chair. He tore off his shirt and pants and wondered if he should wear socks and underwear.

  He grabbed the suit, found the enormous neck, and started climbing in. Steward tugged at the slippery cloth, popping his feet into the shoes. He fit a hand into its glove. Steward rested the baggy suit on his shoulders while he worked on the other.

  He looked into the eyes of the ancestor from whom he’d received some percentage of his nose. “Must you always look so self assured?” Steward asked. “Now, I know it’s a matter of opinion, time, place, culture, but it’s not like your outfit is a lot better. Starched lace has been out for years.”

  I’m talking to a painting. Maybe this is the beginning of a midlife…

  Activation began at the toes and fingers and raced toward his neck. The air that had been taking up space in his suit pushed out the collar. Steward’s eyes closed against the blast. He felt his hair being lifted.

  When his eyes opened, he found a new version of himself. The suit was a second skin veined with power. He looked at his arms and hands. He clenched his fists. He felt different. Stronger. He punched the air. It might have been the first punch he’d ever thrown, he couldn’t remember. He looked at his legs. “Okay, maybe the socks were a mistake.” His once slouching socks were now plastered to him like swollen ankles.

  Steward walked to his desk where he set his glasses. He searched a drawer for a pair of prescription goggles. He put them on and they depressed his hair, pulling it down tight on the top of his head.

  He laughed and began a dance that sprang either from delirious childlike happiness, or the depths of a midlife crisis. It ended in his slipping on the discarded packaging. As he fell, he reached for the wall and cupped his hands. They stuck. Steward braced himself against the wall, legs spread, underused hamstrings stretched to their limit, and thought that he just might be the happiest man on earth.

  When he’d straightened himself out, he peeled the running soles from his feet and stuck them over the suit’s knees. He pasted his palms to the dusty stone, and experimented with adhering his feet. The soles wouldn’t work. Too awkward. If his knees bent backwards, maybe. In the end, he pressed the inside edge of the front of his foot to the wall. He curled his big toe a little. This seemed to be the best he could do. Steward held his breath as he shifted his weight onto what felt like nothing. The Gecko Pad gripped the wall, but Steward felt like falling was certain. Now, he told himself, don’t move, but do the same thing with your other foot.

  Steward pressed his cheek to the cool stone as though this iota of extra friction would keep him up. He stuck his other foot to the wall and was enjoying standing off the ground when his mind said, “Breathe.” Before he could respond, the suit had deactivated. The Flex-o-Skeleton released its grip on Steward’s body. His hands slid from the gloves. The gloves fell free of the wall, and Steward found himself looking at the portraits from the floor. “Oh, don’t look so happy. I’ll manage. It’s not so bad down here anyway. When I was a kid I’d lie here on purpose.”

  * * * * *

  Steward’s Magna Stealth Gecko Suit wrapped itself around his body. This was his 14th time climbing around his room in the last week. He’d put himself on a schedule. One hour of climbing in the morning and one in the evening. Now, it was time to climb to the outside. To climb without the floor beneath him.

  Steward looked to the top of the stairs. Instead of walking up, he traversed the wall. He climbed over the concealed arrow slits. Moved through the shadows cast by his forefathers, and then into the observation room.

  He opened a window and crouched on the sill. He looked down at the trees, and swallowed. The main roof was two stories below. He assessed the impact resistance of the Spanish tile as something close to bone splintering. The roof looked harder and steeper than he’d remembered. Steward clutched the sill and imagined hitting the roof and tumbling toward the edge.

  He compared the fall into the front yard with the fall to the back of the house. The fall behind the house was an extra story, but there were trees. Maybe he could grab a branch. Or, a branch might snag his suit, or an eye socket. Wait. Would that be better than falling? He pictured the landscape below the treetops. The ground was a mess of rock outcroppings and fallen branches. Yes, I’d rather take the chance of being snagged. And, if I hit the ground, well, KRS would find me.

  Having made his decision, Steward went back into the tower and closed the window. He opened another, this time over the half of the roof that would lead his tumbling body into the trees. He lay on his stomach along the window sill. He looked down once more and then turned so his legs were dangling out the window. He wiggled himself out until his feet touched the outer wall. He curled his big toes against the rough stone. Steward knew he was holding the window sill about a hundred times harder than necessary. It’s difficult to always act rationally, he thought. Then he closed his eyes and forced himself to stand. To stand on nothing. Every last bit of his body was shaking.

  Steward moved away from the window. Remember to breathe. Next, the careful compression and release of the Gecko Pads against the stone. He felt more comfortable climbing around and down than climbing straight down, so he circled the tower.

  Steward had circled to the southern side of the south tower when he heard the beating of wings. The sound was louder, more full of effort, than he would have expected. He turned to see the bird fly past. Its deep black punctuated the night. His eyes followed the bird through the air, over the trees. Through the air and over the trees, he thought. His breathing became shallow and rapid. He looked down. No roof. He had circled away from its protection. He looked up. He had climbed down about a floor. Four stories left to fall. He looked for the open window. His breathing headed toward rapid and wheezing. Steward, he commanded, calm down before you pass out. The roof and window are out of sight because you circled the tower. But, the windows go all the way around. There’s another just above you. Just above.

  Steward had pressed his cheek against the tower wall. It had been raining on and off all week. The dampness of the stone was disconcerting. Ste
ward imagined the water seeping into his Gecko pads, and somehow reducing the Van der Waals forces. He felt dizzy. He willed his body toward the closest window, one cautious release and compression at a time.

  After what seemed an eternity, he reached the window, suctioned his palm to the glass, and pulled. Nothing. It probably hasn’t been opened since Efrem and I tossed parachute guys out. That’s more than forty years. He pulled again. This time harder. Still nothing. Fine, fifty. Fifty years. It flew open. Steward’s hand and body swung away from the tower wall. He pictured himself splayed on the dirt and rocks below, as lifeless as the unretrieved parachute men around him. He stifled a shriek and released the window. He lunged at the tower, slapping the sill. Had it ever felt so good to hold something? The body of his first lover. Maybe. Steward tried to picture Melissa, but it had been too many years. Her eyes. He could remember her eyes. Huge, sparkling, green, and innocent. Melissa had eyes unlike any of the others he had ever encountered. Riveting. They’d made Melissa irresistible to him. And to Efrem. Steward pulled himself through the window, and lay on the floor.

  Chapter 2 Working Together

  “See that woman? Swerve. Like you’re going to hit her.”

  “What?” Luisa glanced at Mrs. Mae, who was offering her first smile during Luisa’s week of employment.

  “The woman pushing the stroller. Almost hit her. I’ll write a check for a month’s extra pay when we get home.”

  “What?”

  “Fine. Three months.”

  “Three months?”

  “How much more do you want?”

  “Mrs. Mae, she has a baby.”

  “Do not hit the baby. Don’t even hit the woman. You drive a hard bargain. Fine. Four months. Now, swerve.”

  Luisa scrunched up her face and aimed for the woman. You’re just going to scare her, Luisa thought, it won’t hurt her, and the baby won’t even notice. What am I doing? Luisa slammed on the brakes and watched the woman’s body tense in anticipation of being hit. Her arms were poised to push the stroller out of the car’s path. The woman glared at Luisa, then she looked at Mrs. Mae, and recognition swept across the woman’s face.