“When did you start wearing glasses?” he asks me, his hair damp and curling from the heavy night air. He sounds slightly out of breath, like he just got done running.
I reach up, pulling the dark frames off of my face. “I just started,” I tell him. “I guess I’m getting old. All the computer work and reading has been making my eyes tired.” I glance at him as he kicks off a pair of muddy boots onto the mat near the door. “What are you doing?” I ask, replacing the frames and turning to save my work. I shut the computer down and leave the glasses on the small desk. Turning to receive Ian’s answer, I find him standing right next to me.
“Watching you work,” he says with an odd smile. I’ve seen this look on his face before: a mixture of sadness and tease. And I remember the last time I saw him look like this. It was after his parents died, and each anniversary after their deaths. He must be experiencing the same effects of the recent deaths as I am.
“Why?” I ask, standing.
“Because I like to,” his smile grows, but it’s odd, upturned on one end, and downturned on the other. A lock of light hair falls over his face and I want to reach up and swipe it away like I used to.
“Kind of like a creepy stalker?” I ask, trying to inject the sort of playful banter that we used to have into the conversation.
“Something like that.”
He searches my face and I watch as that look of remembering death melts away and a new one replaces it, still, a look I’ve seen before. He had it when we were married, and before we were married, the one that tells me he wants to kiss me and more. I realize in this moment I can be who I am supposed to be-his wife-or I can freeze and push him away just as I have been doing for so long. I weigh my options as he steps closer and that look in his brown eyes grows more intense.
He said that he wasn’t giving up on us. He begged me to try harder with us. And now with the recent deaths fresh in my memories, I find it hard to shy away from him as I’ve done for the past two years since he was released to me. This time, when he reaches out, cupping my cheek in his right hand and his left moving to my hip to pull me close, I don’t stop him. I don’t step away. Ian bends, pressing his lips to mine and I can smell the scent of lemons mixed with the night air. And with that kiss a million things seem to run through my mind. I can’t stop them. I can’t focus on him or the moment. I know I should be enjoying this. I used to enjoy this, a lot. And as though Ian senses my reluctance, his grip on my hip loosens, his hand leaves my cheek with a brush of his thumb across my jaw sending a sharp tingle down my neck.
Stop, I tell myself, stop thinking. Ian is here now. He is alive and well and his feelings for me are blatantly apparent, even after all that I’ve done. I let the guilt evaporate off of my conscience. I let my mind stop churning and simply enjoy. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and press myself to him. Again, as though he senses my resolve, his arms squeeze me tighter as though he’s afraid he might lose me. Soon the kiss turns into much more than a kiss. It’s an unquenchable angst. And in my unthinking state I barely notice that he is directing the both of us down the hall, towards his bedroom.
“Wait,” I tell him, trying to catch my breath as the back of my knees hit his bed frame. But he doesn’t wait. He pulls his shirt off and I stare, my words at a loss. This is not the body of my husband, or at least, not the one I remember. Ian has never been heavy by any means, nothing more than a few comfortable extra inches to him, but he has never been like this; firm and taut, all angles and planes. His pants hang low on his waist and I can see the hip bone there jutting out like never before, catching the waistline of his jeans. A chording of muscle stretches across his flank, and it continues, the perfectly smooth skin stretched across more muscle, muscle that was never there before. Ian’s chest and abdomen are now taut, and contract with each motion he makes. When he reaches out to pull me to him I notice his arm like I never have before: the now narrow wrist, the webbing of blue veins visible under his too pale skin. Pulling me to him now, I feel those jutting bones press into me. I was aware that he had lost weight since this began, but this, this was not the Ian I have known through years of marriage. This is not my fair-haired, soft-mannered Ian. And I worry Crane may be changing him into someone else. Or maybe I have. Maybe it’s the years of worry and change that have done this to him, that have turned him into this changed man.
“Have you been…” I choke out an awkward cough, “working out?” I ask, hoping it doesn’t sound like a stupid pick up line but a true question.
“Yeah,” he smiles, his eyes hooded and glazed.
“Why?” I lay my palms on his warm shoulders.
“Because I have a family to protect,” he replies in a mere hurried whisper.
And then he is back to kissing me, securing his hand in my hair, demanding more, tipping my mouth to meet his. I put my hands on his chest ready to push him away but my arms don’t seem to obey. They stay there intact with his warm skin, savoring the heat and feel of him. His hand untangles from my hair as he reaches for my shirt and begins unbuttoning it.
The gravity of our current situation hits me. “Wait,” I tell him, placing my hands over his and closing my eyes, trying to focus, breathing much faster than I should be.
“I’m tired of waiting,” he tells me, shaking my hands off of his.
I shake my head at him, reaching to cover his hands again. “It’s not like I don’t want to go further, we just… we just can’t.”
“Why?” he asks, his question pained. “Why not, Andie? I’ve been waiting for so long. Too long.”
I feel the flare of embarrassment rise in my cheeks. “There are risks to doing this without… without birth control.”
“We always wanted more kids,” he offers as his hands roam down my sides, grasping my shirt at the hem.
“Not now.” I shake my head at him and cover his hands again, holding the shirt in place. “Not like this.” I think to step away from him, but I’m trapped between the bed and his body so close to me.
“What’s wrong with this?” His hands make a quick return to my shirt buttons.
“The world is a disaster.” I grip my shirt closed, afraid for him to see what’s underneath, the scars from all of this. “I never want to bring another child into this world. Not the way it is now. Not with Crane or any of the Entities or what I have to do.”
“You might change your mind,” he tells me as he dips his head and resumes his onslaught, kissing my neck, his hands roaming to my back, pressing me to him. “After all,” he whispers in my ear, “I am your pair. It is expected of us now.”
Dear God, he must have been reading the Manifesto. Or Crane mentioned this to him. “I’m serious, Ian.” I push him away, hard, the thought of Crane ruining the moment and causing me to remember the trouble I’ve already gotten myself into. “I don’t want any more children. None. End of story. You have to know this. You can’t tell me that you don’t feel the same way.”
“So is this strictly platonic then?” he asks, dropping his hands at his sides.
“If it has to be,” I reply. He gives me a look of agitation and defeat. “I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what to do.”
“Sure,” he replies as he reaches for his discarded shirt at the end of the bed, still trapping me in his room.
“You don’t understand, Ian. Whoever I let close, Crane will use against me to get what he wants.”
“What does he want?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out.” He looks at me one last time before turning swiftly on his heel and walking out of the bedroom. “Where are you going?” I ask after him.
He doesn’t reply, he doesn’t turn around. And I watch as he walks towards the front door, steps into his muddy shoes, and pulls the door open with an angered force before closing it quietly behind him. He leaves, just like he does each night. Although, I’ve only ever heard him, I’ve never watched him walk away like this with my own eyes. It seems I have pushed him away again and I worry that one of these times
I’m going to push him so far that he may give up and never return.
This is not a step in the right direction. Dr. Akiyama will be quite dissatisfied.
chapter fourteen
“Good morning, Raven,” Blithe tells my son. “Are you going to speak today?”
He stares at her, twisting his cherub face before looking at me.
Something doesn’t seem right here. And it seems like Raven might actually be trying to tell me this. I remember what Crane said about him needing to meet his milestones; there is no other person to let on to Crane that there is anything wrong with Raven.
“Blithe,” I stop her as she leads the children indoors. “Do you have a second?” I ask her.
“Sure.” She closes the door and walks towards me.
“Do you know anything about Crane receiving reports on the children’s progress?”
She pauses, pondering whether or not she’s going to tell me the truth.
“Blithe?” I ask her.
She leans back to view the children through the window and turning back to me, she says, “I write reports on all the children and their progress. Those go directly to Crane.”
“You never thought to tell me?”
“I was instructed not to tell you,” she whispers to me.
“Why did you put in there that he isn’t meeting his milestones?”
“Because he isn’t. He’s almost two and a half and he doesn’t speak.” She says it so matter-of-factly, without the inclination that she used a bit of emotion in the report; it was just redacted facts about the children.
“He’s quiet, Blithe. He understands, he communicates in other ways.”
She opens her mouth as though she’s about to say something, but stops herself. This is not the Blithe I’ve known. She’s always been approachable, confident. Of course, I’ve never questioned her work before.
“I want you to change his report.” I demand before she says anything.
Blithe crosses her arms. “You want me to falsify his documents, the documents that sway Crane’s decision on the next generation of Sovereign?” In the moment of silence between us the spring breeze pulls loose a few locks of her blonde hair.
“I’ve trusted you, Blithe. What happened? You used to protect these children.”
“I have a job, like you have a job, and that is what ensures my safety here. And there have been other things on my mind.” Her eyes flick across the courtyard towards the barn.
“You know what Crane will do to Raven. He’s just a baby. He suggested euthanizing him or sending him outside the gates. I can’t let that happen. You can’t let that happen.”
Her eyes widen, then narrow the tiniest bit as she realizes the rocks I am stuck between. “Let’s make a deal,” she offers.
“What kind of deal?”
“I’m not getting any younger, Andie. I want a family.”
“A family? But you have all these children. The boys are your family now, and if more children come you will be responsible for them also.”
“No.” She shakes her head slightly. “A real family. A husband, children of my own.”
“What are you proposing?”
“You’re the District Matchmaker-”
“What are you getting at?” I interrupt.
“I want Sam.”
“What?” I reach out and grasp the post of the porch.
“You heard me.” She smiles and I have a hard time telling if it’s one of slight embarrassment or slyness. “I want Sam. I want us matched together.”
“I… I can’t do that.”
“You want Raven’s reports altered. I want Sam.”
“You are both Sovereign. I don’t decide for the Sovereign. You can choose whoever you want.”
“That’s what you think.” She leans back, checking on the children through the window again. “Make the data work, Andie. Make it gleam and glow. Make it match perfectly. Just like yours and Adam’s did. Then Crane will have no worries about the arrangement.”
I step back. “How do you know anything about our data?”
“Crane has a close eye on everything you do. I’ve managed to find a few things out.”
“I didn’t alter our data!” I snap at her.
“Sure, maybe you didn’t, but you could. You think Crane would allow anything but perfection from the Sovereign? If it doesn’t work, he won’t allow it. He’ll put an end to it, just like he wants to put an end to your son.”
“When did you turn into this?” I ask.
“This is just a side of me you’ve never seen. Crane, sometimes he brings out the best in us or the worst. Take it as whatever you want.”
Her eyes flick away for just the tiniest fraction of a second. And it’s in that movement I know she’s not telling me something.
“Blithe.”
“Andie.”
“There’s more. You’re hiding something. Tell me.”
She sighs while maintaining her tall, unwavering stature. “While Crane threatens your child’s existence, he threatens me for not adding to the Sovereign children’s gene pool.”
“Are you saying he wants you to have children?”
She nods stiffly.
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing, Andie. I looked at my prospects here. We have Alexander, Crane, and Elvis. I’d die long before selecting any of them. Sam’s my only choice.”
“He’s my brother. No,” I shake my head, “I can’t do this.”
“If he ships me out, Andie, just think of who could replace me. We know each other. We’ve been here since the beginning. I am willing to lie to Crane to save your son’s life.”
I take a deep breath as my options run through my head. Really, though, I have no options.
“And Sam,” I ask Blithe, “Does he even want you? I’m not forcing my little brother into a relationship he doesn’t want.”
“He’ll want me. I’ll make sure of that.”
“And you’ll alter Raven’s reports?”
“Yes.”
I give her a hard look before I respond. “Deal.”
“Thank you,” she tells me, letting out a breath of relief just before turning and walking into the schoolhouse.
I look after her, realizing what I’ve done: I just traded my brother for my son.
--
I stare at the three graves: Morris, Adam, and Stevie. I begin to realize that I may never enjoy the comforting knowledge that I could grow old, retire, mingle with the old bitties in the nursing home, sipping on my wine and slapping the asses of the young male nurses. No, I will most likely never make it to that age. I’m sure it won’t be long before Lina and Raven stand in this same place, staring at five headstones, mine and Ian’s added, maybe even Sam.
I sigh. I shouldn’t have come here. This is depressing.
A cluster of tall grass sways in the breeze in front of Adam’s stone. I’ve forgotten. I can barely remember what he looked like, the sound of his voice, the delicious way he smelled. I want to tear the grass up and find his shirt I buried there. I want to press it to my face and take a deep breath and remember. Even though I know it’s wrong and I need to move on, I don’t want to forget him. For some strange reason the heated evening with Ian just made me want to remember. I don’t know why, it seems so wrong, and if Ian knew what I was about to do, he’d be pissed. But I just can’t stop myself, even with all that has improved between me and Ian, the progress we’ve made in our relationship. We can hold conversations now; we’ve even kissed a few times.
Turning away from the graves, I run, the sound of the Guardians paws striking the ground as they follow me is the only thing I can hear. They know I’m going to do something stupid. Somehow they can sense it.
I take Elvis’s keys and drive, speeding towards town. The Guardians that pushed their way into the vehicle before I could close the door growl from the backseat. I drive past my old street, Grenadier Street. Adam told me his parents lived not far from my house. I circle the blocks,
driving slow and reading the mailboxes.
Most of the Residents are working now. I pass some as they sweep the sidewalks and tend to their spring gardens, turning the soil, getting the dirt ready for planting. The factions have been instructed to ensure all of the houses look tidy, even the empty ones, which we have a lot of here. A mother walks by with her children; two identical boys, the twins. I know them, the first twins born in the District. They should be almost four now. I drive the next block, stopping sharply when I see it, the mailbox with Waters written on it.
I park the SUV in the street. The Guardians follow me when I get out, headed for the front door. Through the windows I can see it’s dark inside, and I can tell from the layers of dust on the windowsills that no one lives here. I reach for the door handle, turning it; to my amazement it’s unlocked. I push my way inside.
There are coats by the door, shoes along the wall. I walk down the hallway, turning into the living room. I look at the pictures on the walls, in the living room and the dining room. There is a mother, father and daughter. No son. I scan the walls, the display cabinets, the shelves. I make my way to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking under my feet. There are dishes drying in the sink. They should be plenty dry for the years they’ve sat there. One of the bowls is bleached from the sun. There is a small table next to me, keys in a bowl, a wallet, mail. I pick up one of the letters. Mail, something we haven’t had here in so long. It’s addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Waters. I flip open the wallet. There is a driver’s license for James Waters. This has to be the right house. I wander, searching each wall for any indication of a son. I climb the stairs, a Guardian at my heels. This is eerie, walking through the house of people long dead, seeing their memories, their belongings.
I find two rooms, one glaringly obvious that it is a teenage girl’s room, painted a light purple color with pictures and magazine pages taped to the wall. There is a foam cutout of the high school mascot, the Phoenix Firebird, resting next to a pair of red and white pom-poms.
The Phoenix Project Series: Books 1-3: The Phoenix Project, The Reformation, and Revelation Page 69