Heavenly (10 page)

and put the bruised fruit in front of Abria. She picked it up and stared at it.

"Ba-nan-a," I said.
"You love
bananas."

Matthias chuckled. "That's obvious."

I cocked my head at him. "Why are you here again?" I teased. "Abria's home, with me. How much safer can she get?"

A taunting smile curled the corners of his mouth. "You were asleep, were you not?"

"Did... you... wake me? Or was it something else. Like..." I looked around. "You know something I don't, like there's a stranger in the house."

"No strangers, Zoe."

"That's good. So, explain to me one more time how this..
. you..
. thing works. If Abria's not in danger, then why are you here? Not to be rude and not that I mind—you're welcome here any time. In fact," I shifted, hemmed, "I like it when you're here. I just... I guess I still have questions."

"Understandable." He gave a sharp nod. "May I?" He gestured to one of the chairs surrounding the kitchen table.

"Of course! Jeez. Sorry. I'm such a flamer. I really do have manners." After he was seated, I sat across from him. He was a vision in his powdered blue shirt and creamy slacks.

"Flamer." He tilted his head in thought. "You've used that term before. I've never heard it."

"It's just one of my words."

"You have your own vocabulary?"

"Sometimes, yeah, usually when I'm frustrated or pissed."

His eyes shot wide. He sat back in the chair as if he'd been knocked by a gust of wind. His cheeks flushed to a

crimson hue. "So... pissed... doesn't mean a man urinating?"

I enjoyed a robust laugh. "No, Matthias. Well, yes, it does mean that, but it also means angry." I propped up an elbow, leaned my chin on my fist and stared. "You're... really not from around here, are you?"

"What's your impression of me?"

Whoa. Sweat popped under my armpits. I glanced at Abria, amazingly engrossed in her banana. "Um. I'm still trying

to figure that out, actually."

He sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "What have you got so far?"

I'm getting a huge crush on you,
I thought.
HUGE.
"So far? I think you're... different. There's something special about you. I can't put my finger on it, but I feel it. I feel it whenever you're near."

Thick silence stretched between us.

"What do you feel?"

Like I'm wrapped in a warm blanket, held and protected from every care and worry. No pain. No sorrow. Joy, sweet

and pure engulfs my soul.
I cleared my throat. "I feel good."

Was that understanding I read behind his crystal blue gaze? He gave a nod.

"I'm glad I make you feel good."

"Is that how Abria feels you think? I mean, are you here to make her feel that way?"

"I ensure her safety. How she feels? I've heard the feeling described in a similar fashion."

"How many times have you been a bodyguard?"

Amusement lit his face. "You think I'm a bodyguard?"

"Well..."
Bodyguard
didn't feel right. But it was the closest way to describe how I saw him.

He leaned forward, his clasped hands at his mouth, his piercing eyes unwavering. "What does your heart tell you?"

I swallowed the fluttering in my throat but it wouldn't go down. "I..." my voice trembled. "My heart tells me..." I closed my eyes, thinking if I wasn't looking at him, I'd be able to access lusty, raw reason. But the sweetness in the air seeped through my skin, into my senses, and I couldn't find anything but pure truth.

"Your heart, Zoe," his voice trickled into my conscience.

"Tells me you aren't real," I lied. "You can't be." I opened my eyes. His were focused tight on mine. I'd never had anyone look at me like that before— as if he saw through my soul and, even with its scars and imperfections, he cared about

what was there. "Who are you, really?"

"Someone who cares about Abria."

How I wanted someone to care tike that for me. Of course I had family who cared. But my eighteen-year-old heart

longed for someone more.

His unblinking gaze was too intense to endure any longer. I looked at Abria, finished with her banana and now

rubbing banana slime in patterns on top of the table.

"This is a record for her," I said.

"Because she ate the banana?" he asked.

"Because she's so calm." I met his gaze. "Whenever you're around her she's calm. She's more aware. It's like you carry a frequency she can tune into."

"Nicely put."

"I write for the newspaper at school."

"Then you come by your gift of vocabulary naturally."

"Are you trying to change the subject?"

He smiled and the room lit. "No. I imagine Abria feels what you said you feel and that eases every pathway inside

other."

That made sense. "I've heard about pathways in the brain. Some doctors told us that if we do certain kinds of exercises

with her, her broken pathways will mend. Do you think that's possible?"

"I'm sure of it."

Outside of my parents and a few zealous autism enthusiasts, I'd never heard anyone so convinced of something. Yet

his words, delivered with a powerful surety, convinced me deep inside that he truly believed that mending pathways was true.

"We've jumped on every wagon that's passed by promising a miracle cure and.. .1 know it sounds stupid, but when you're

desperate, you'll do just about anything. It's really hard to believe."

"Not a lot of young women would sacrifice all that you've given up for their family."

Tears threatened to fill my eyes and I looked away, ashamed that I was so easily stirred to self pity. But that he could

see, know, and understand that—yes—I had given up a lot, moved me.

"She's my sister." I watched Abria, quietly wiggling her fingers. She'd sat in the chair for at least five minutes. It was a miracle.

"Zoe,"
his tone was serious, "your kindness doesn't go unnoticed. Your parents, your brother, Abria, each of them whether they tell you or not, appreciate what you do."

"But... sometimes it's so hard. And I..." What would he think if I admitted my Jekyll and Hyde feelings for Abria?

What if he found me disgusting and never came back? The thought was quickly pushed aside as the tranquility in the room

worked its way into the recesses of my mind. "I feel guilty. Sometimes I don't know how I feel about her."

He nodded.

"I mean, at first, she was so much fun. She was the sweetest little baby. She's still sweet, don't get me wrong, but

when the autism happened, it took over. Whoever she was got locked away inside of her somewhere. It's so unfair." My voice scratched. "How can that happen? What did she ever do to anyone?"

His eyes glistened but he held my gaze steadily.

"I get really angry about it," I said. "What kind of person allows this kind of injustice? Wouldn't it be nicer—easier—

if everybody in the world was on an even playing field? Instead, there are tons of people at a disadvantage. How unfair is

that?"

He steepled his fingers at his mouth, thinking. "Easier for whom?"

"For everyone! People who can't deal with handicapped people would just go on their merry mean way tormenting

normal people who can at least defend themselves! Life's hard enough."

"Do you think Abria is bothered by these mean people?"

"Well... no... she doesn't really notice one way or the other, but don't throw that card at me, Matthias."

"But tormenting is okay between people who are not handicapped?" I clenched my fists on the table. "No, of course not. I can't believe you think that, either."

"I'm trying to help you understand your thoughts." "I understand my thoughts just fine, thanks. I'm angry!" I couldn't believe I was arguing with him. Oddly, the air around us was still peaceful, as if our words floated like clouds merely passing through the sky without the threat of a storm.

"Your anger is understandable." His tone was gentle. "Zoe, you've lived years with challenges that have aged you in maturity that your peers wouldn't understand. You've learned for yourself that the world is made up of opposites. How else

can we have gratitude for what's good if we don't experience what's bad?"

"That's fine for you and me, but can you really look at Abria and say that?" I ground out.

He looked at Abria. She flapped and giggled and he smiled. "Does she look unhappy to you?"

She was annoyingly happy, in fact. Totally free. "No. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"All right."

I wanted to feel good when he was around. I had enough darkness clouding my life when he wasn't there. "Do you

want more milk?" I asked hoping to lighten my mood and change the subject.

"I'm content, thank you."

Content.
I hadn't heard anyone use the word very much, but it brought a sigh of certainty out of my chest. "You have your own... interesting vocabulary, Matthias."

"Our words are an expression of the times in which we've lived, I think."

My stomach whirled.
Lived?
"Yeah, of course. Which brings me to another question."

"Fire away." He clasped his hands together.

"Why do you speak so... formally?"

He laughed. "Is this a nice way of saying 'stiff?"

"Just... formal. I'm not being rude. If I was, you'd know it."

"I'm sure I would. You're a very straightforward young woman."

"Like that—calling me a young woman."

His brows quirked. "What else would I call you? You're not a girl, and you're not a child."

"No, I like it. Guys today are so disrespectful. They call girls 'ho' and other names I wouldn't say because they're just nasty."

His eyes grew wide. "My..." his gaze wandered in thought. "I'd heard about the dissolution of society's language but I had no idea it had become so guttural."

I snickered. "It's guttural all right."

He let out a sigh. He shifted his attention to Abria and a slight smile lifted his lips. "Miss Abria will never have to

worry about the whims of life, will she?"

No. And she is better off for it.
I saw her in a different light now, and I was happy for her. "Kind of lucky, if you ask me," I murmured.

When I finally looked over at Matthias, he was studying me through undeviating eyes. "Yes."

I heard the front door shut and my heart jumped. Startled, I jerked around in that direction. Luke appeared, his mop of

hair bouncing along with his easy-going stride. When I looked back at where Matthias had been sitting,

my heart dropped. He was gone.

“Crap.”

Luke snickered. "Good to see you, too." "No, I didn't mean it like that." I looked under the table, then around the room on the off chance Matthias was perched in a cabinet or something. "Looking for something?" Luke asked, noticing my curious scan. "No... no." Abria jumped off the seat and ran out of the room. She'd have her slimy banana hands all over everything in two seconds. I took off after her.


SEVEN


I cleaned Abria's hands and left her to wander the house in search of the toys and books she liked to stuff in bags and

carry with her.

Luke sat at the kitchen counter, eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes.

Having never tried weed, I had no idea if Luke was still high some four hours after the fact. I grabbed a washcloth and

wiped the counter down, stealing glimpses of his lowered face. I knew better than to approach the topic with anger in my

blood and, strangely, I still carried some of Matthias's calm inside of me.

"So, what happened today?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Saturday and today? How often do you use?"

His shoulders lifted, he took another bite.

"You don't know how much you use?" Familiar frustration simmered.

"Why do you care?"

Because you're my brother, you're ruining yourself, killing your brain cells and risking у our future.
"I don't want you to hurt Mom and Dad."

"They don't even know."

"What if you get busted? It's only a matter of time, Luke. You know that."

"It won't last that long."

"Oh, yeah, right. Because you can stop at any time?"

"Yup."

"Everything I learned about drug addiction in health class says it's not that easy."

"Well, I'm not like everybody else." He still had a half bowl of cereal left, but he stood and carried it to the sink. He dumped the remaining cereal down the garbage disposal, turned and burped.

"Do you have a plan?"

His face twisted. "I don't need a plan. When I want to quit, I'll quit." He strode as if he was heading upstairs and I left the washcloth on the counter and followed him.

"So what you're saying is you
want
to kill your brain
off.
You don't care about your lungs or your health?"

"Leave me alone."

"You can't keep abusing yourself and not expect to pay for it—"

He whirled around. "How is this any different than your drinking? Last I checked alcohol abuse was just as bad."

"I do not abuse alcohol." But the truth sent a quake of guilt through my bones. He strode into his bedroom—a den of rock posters, hanging beads, old boogie boards and faded incense.

I stopped in the doorway. "How are your grades?"

"Who are you. Mom?"

"'Cause that'll be Mom and Dad's first clue."

"My grades are fine."

"For now."

He crashed on his bed, closed his eyes. A picture of him flashed through my head of when we were little and our

family had lived in a two-bedroom apartment. Luke and I had shared a bedroom then. At night, he'd lie in his bed, I'd lay in

mine, and he'd stare at me with those big blue eyes, his cherubic face innocent and sweet. He'd beg me to tell him a story.

A sudden rush of tears filled my eyes and I blinked them back. My heart turned to mush. I took a step into his room.

"I don't want this to get out of control, that's all."

“It won´t.