Authors: Julie Reece
“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, unless 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.”
“Why are you sorry?” His lips twitch, and I swear he’s trying not to laugh.
“I uh, well, I was pretty harsh last night and—”
“Relax Birdie, I’m just messin’ with you. Everyone knows it didn’t mean anything, except … well, my mom is pretty concerned, and Scud thinks we’re sleeping together.”
I jump to my feet.
What?
An invisible band tightens around my chest.
“My dad, you know … he was, like, way to go son. Kate hates you now, though. She thinks you’re a big, fat slut. Shame really, you were doing so well.”
I’m in shock his family is reacting this way, but as his façade breaks, and he laughs, the band on my lungs loosens.
He’s kidding?
“Big jerk.” I throw my pillow at his head.
Grey’s smiling again, but he has this wolfish look in his eye I haven’t seen before. I follow his gaze to my bare legs and shortie T-shirt and realize I’ve gone and exposed myself anyway. “Excuse me.” I scramble for my clothes and head for the bathroom to shower.
Hot water relaxes my tight muscles. As I stand under the hard spray, I calculate whether stress can trigger spontaneous combustion. Kate is a sweet kid. I don’t want to screw up a new friendship, so I hope Grey really was just joking, and no one cares about a meaningless, insignificant little smooch. I’d like to ask him about that, to make sure, but it seems lame to bring it up again.
So stupid.
Why did I kiss him … well, other than the fact he’s unbelievably hot … and he spilled water on me to be nice. It just happened.
I shampoo my hair in this stuff that smells like lavender and eucalyptus. As much as I hate to leave the soothing water, I force myself from the shower, dry myself off, and dress. With my hair still wrapped in a towel, I open the door.
Grey is lying on my bed and petting Fenris, who climbed up there with him. Despite Jeff’s assurance he’s no ordinary dog, I’ve seen nothing to convince me otherwise.
“Comfy, boys?”
“Look at the size of his paws.” Grey puts Fenris’ paw against his palm; it covers the entire space.
“Yeah, he’s a big monster, aren’t cha, boy?” Fenris leaps off the bed and comes over to lie beside me on the couch where I’ve seated myself with my bagel, coffee and newspaper, flopping his legs over my lap. I give him half my bagel and admire how he wolfs it down. “I thought Jeff would want me to have this big, horrible, guard dog, but actually, Fenris is a big baby.” I kiss the dog’s snout.
Grey rolls on his side and lifts an eyebrow. “I dunno, Bird. I mean, yeah, he acts all chill and stuff, but I bet if anybody ever, you know … tried anything, you might see a different dog.”
“Maybe.” I shrug and go back to my paper. A few lines in, I choke on my drink. Hot coffee goes down the wrong tube, up my nose, everywhere but where it’s supposed to. I set my cup on the end table and claw the air for breath.
In an instant, Grey is there, pushing Fenris out of the way. He sits next to me, lifts my hands over my head, and pounds my back, asking if that’s any better. My eyes are streaming water, but at least I can breathe.
“Grey,” I cough out. “Look at this.” I point to a picture of a man in the news. I tap the photo with my bright pink nails. “Read it.”
He takes the paper from me and begins. “ATLANTA—Daniel Vernon, 52, was shot during an alleged robbery on Dec. 4. Vernon, an investment analyst, was found murdered in his home at 427 Highway 155 in Druid Hills. Police investigators said the home had been ransacked, and they found evidence of a struggle inside, but they have not identified any suspects … Birdie, why am I reading this?”
I reach for the paper again. “The guy in the picture,” I say. “He was with us the day Jeff gave the money away. Seven of us took cash from Jeff, including those jerks that followed me to the bistro. I’d know Mr. Uptight Business Suit anywhere. That’s him, one of the people in the alley that day.”
“Wow that sucks. Guess he didn’t have long to spend his money, did he?”
“No.” An eerie feeling wriggles up me like a centipede. “But the article uses the words robbery, ransacked, struggle … I bet he told someone about the money, or someone found out and killed him for it.”
The newspaper starts trembling, and I realize my hands are the cause. Grey wraps his arm around me, but I move away, stand and pace. Fenris paces with me.
“I’m sorry for the guy, Birdie, but I’m not sure why you’re freakin’ out. This doesn’t affect you, right?” Grey sits forward, muscles tense, his muscular body dwarfing the Scandinavian couch he sits on in a satisfying way. “Did you tell anyone about your money? How much do you have? Where is it?” His voice grows louder with each question.
“Whoa, one at a time. No one knows but you and Jeff—
and the creepy thugs.
I don’t think the amount or where the money’s stashed matters right now.”
His face crumples. I’m afraid I’ve hurt him, but it’s not what he thinks. My reasons aren’t about trust; they’re about his safety. “Look, Sparky,” I say, “I don’t see any point in your knowing stuff that can be used against us. It doesn’t make sense tactically, right?” My explanation seems like pure logic to me, but Grey just glares.
He plops back against the sofa. “Well, if no one knows, I guess there’s no danger like there was for this guy.” He gestures to the paper. “Maybe nothing more happened than a random burglary went bad, and nobody knew about the extra cash. If he was an analyst or whatever, he probably had plenty of stuff to attract thieves.”
“Yeah, I guess.” My neck muscles relax. “Sorry I overreacted. I’m probably a little paranoid.”
“Ya think?” His voice is sarcastic, but the smile lighting his eyes stays playful. I’m forgiven.
I like being with him, something I hate to admit, but every moment we spend together makes the truth harder to ignore. The reasons I guard my heart are numerous. Jeff says no romance, and I’ll probably end up skewered like a hotdog on a Viking’s sword, anyway. Still, a girl can dream.
His eyes stay fixed in my direction. I can’t read his mind or take much more of the mysterious stare, so I turn away and shove my emotions in some remote drawer in the back of my brain.
“Better head out,” I say. “Somehow I doubt Sensei Jeff will be happy if we’re late.” I head to the closet to grab my shoes.
“Bird? About last night … I know what you were trying to do with your big speech.”
I turn around, a shoe dangling in one hand. “You do?”