Continuum (28 page)

“That's an understatement,” I mutter under my breath as I set the trophy back on his bookshelf.  We hear his mom calling us from downstairs, so he takes my hand and leads the way.

His mom meets us in the dining room, wearing a festive orange apron over a pristine white linen tunic with turquoise embroidery and tan, slim cut corduroys.  Thin gold and coral bangles jingle on her wrists and long gold tear drop earrings dangle from her earlobes.  Her wavy blonde hair is put up in a messy chignon and her eyes are the exact shade of blue as Ethan's.  Her eyes crinkle when she smiles.  This immediately puts me at ease with her. 

My smile feels tentative, “You have a very beautiful home, Ms. Walsh.”

“Thank you.  But please call me Julia.  Come, sit down, let's eat.”

Ethan and I sit on one of the benches and Julia sits across from us.  Laid out in front of us is a stack of white square plates of varying sizes and a square shaped bowl.  The sheer number of cutlery on either side would have been overwhelming, but luckily I had the foresight to look up dining etiquette online.  I untie the twine around my oatmeal colored, linen napkin and place it on my lap.  Ethan gives my knee a squeeze of encouragement.  My hands start sweating before the first course is out.  Julia serves us an arugula and endive salad with walnuts and blue cheese which Ethan picks through unenthusiastically.

Between bites, Julia directs all her attention to me, “So, Fallon.  Ethan tells me you're  a brilliant artist.  You'll have to bring us something, my walls are much too bare.  I'm always looking for young new talent.”

“Oh, I didn't know you were a curator too,” I respond, genuinely surprised.  Ethan had been so busy keeping my nervous break down at bay that I now realize I know very little about his mom.

Her laughter is tinkling as she sets down her wine glass.  “No, not at all.  I consider myself more of an interior designer/art director/tastemaker.”

“Well, you have impeccable taste.  That statue over there, what's the story behind it?  The image isn’t familiar but I feel like I know it from somewhere.”

“It's from Greek mythology.  Apollo and Daphne--a story of love not meant to be.  Have you heard it?”

“Yes, but tell me again.  It's been years.”  Ethan looks at me pointedly and I shrug. 
Anything to avoid having to talk about myself. 

“Apollo was very arrogant and insulted Eros, the god of love.   As revenge, Eros shot Apollo with a golden arrow which made him fall in love with the nymph Daphne.  Eros, in turn, shot Daphne with a lead arrow which made her hate Apollo.  She refused to marry him but he was relentless.  When she tired of running from her unwavering suitor, she asked her father to transform her so that she would no longer have to run from him.  So her father transformed her into a laurel tree.  I bought this bust from a very talented sculptor in Paris right before Ethan was born.  You know Ethan is a very talented sculptor himself, did he take you to see his studio downstairs?”

“Not yet.  But there's still plenty of time after dinner.”  I turn to face Ethan and he shrugs, smiling innocently.  “Your son is entirely too modest about his various talents.  I didn't know Ethan was so athletically gifted.”

“I encouraged him to tryout for some sports teams when we moved here.  But Ethan wouldn't hear of it, he wanted his senior year to be carefree not so rigorously scheduled like previous years, give him time to make friends.  I'm glad his efforts paid off...”

Ethan interrupts her, “Hey mom, I think the timer just went off.  Don't you need to check on dinner?”  She quickly excuses herself and disappears into the kitchen.  He reaches over and tickles my side playfully, “Sneaky, huh?  Digging for intel from my mom.”

“I have to take advantage of my new resource.”

“I'll take you downstairs after dinner.  And then you use me all you want,” Ethan winks and smiles deviously as he pops a walnut into his mouth.  My mouth drops open and my brain can’t seem to remember how to shut it.

Julia reappears with a huge white platter of Bolognese and with some effort, I rearrange my expression.  Ethan smacks his hands together and tucks his napkin into the collar of his shirt and places another one on his lap.  “My favorite,” his stomach rumbles, emphasizing his statement and Julia laughs as she takes our salad bowls away.

We spend the rest of dinner discussing the how much Everest Heights has changed since Julia grew up here.  They reminisce about past Thanksgivings spent in other countries.  One Thanksgiving spent in Japan where she attempted to make turkey sushi rolls with cranberry mayonnaise.  One spent in Spain where she made a decent seafood and turkey sausage paella.  One spent in Tennessee where she attempted a deep fried turkey that ended with a visit from the local fire department.  After dinner, we help clear the table and Julia excuses herself to give us some alone time.

Despite devouring two thirds of the Bolognese, Ethan springs up lightly from the bench, “Come on, let's go downstairs.”  I hoist myself up and follow him downstairs into a finished basement.  On one end is a treadmill with a weight bench and other metal contraptions next to a rack of weights.  On the opposite end is a potter's wheel and built in shelves holding various tubs of clay.  The table next to the wheel holds various metal tools for shaping the clay and a plastic spray bottle of water.  The sculpture itself is covered with a damp cloth and a sheet of plastic.  Whatever it is, it’s much larger than anything I’ve seen him work on at school.

“Secret project.  So are you going to show me what you're working on?”

“I'm making a mold that I want to cast in bronze,” he slowly begins unwrapping the plastic sheeting.  “You want to do the honors?”

I step forward and carefully lift off the damp cloth.  Underneath is an intricately carved angel kneeling on a platform of jagged rocks with expansive curved wings shielding her from the world.  “It's absolutely breathtaking, Ethan.”

He places his hand under my chin and gently tilts my face up to meet his eyes, “I've been having a hard time carving the face so I thought maybe you would model for me tonight.” 

I should be exhausted, but I lay awake replaying the events of the evening.  Watching Ethan sculpt was mesmerizing, I could sit still and watch his beautiful hands work for hours.  His attention to detail is tirelessly obsessive.  Neither of us had realized how much time had passed.  When we finally emerged from the basement, the kitchen as spotless and Julia was already asleep.  

I finally drift off with images of flying in the inky black sky with Ethan at my side, our hands intertwined.  For once, I am not afraid of falling.

Ethan

The short weeks between Thanksgiving and winter break are filled with midterms, exams, and projects.  Fallon and I spend evenings studying or writing papers on her kitchen table.  But December also brings the frenzy of college application deadlines.  I pour over brochures and course catalogs, analyzing everything from their dorm rooms to the number of cafes on campus.  

Fallon is a lot less enthusiastic when we talk about college despite her near perfect academic record.  It’s a constant and painful reminder that we are on very different paths.

“Fallon, I know your father wants you to jump into this leadership thing.  But don't you think a college education would supplement your ruling of a planet?  Gaining your independence.  Finding yourself.  All that good stuff that comes with going away to college.”

“There’s not really a time liner per se.  But I don’t know if I want to commit myself to anything.  I gave him my word...”

“You can apply now and convince him later.  You can be very persuasive when you want to be.”

“I don't even know where I would apply.  I haven't really thought about that stuff.”

“Did you take the SATs?”

“Yes, we were required to.” 

“Perfect.  Luckily for you, your boyfriend is an uber prepared, super genius who took the liberty of cataloging your work onto a CD to send out to some art schools.  So many choices.  Rhode Island School of Design.  Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design in London.  Or somewhere closer?  The Art Institute of Chicago.  We just have to get together your writing example and order transcripts and get letters of recommendation...”

Finally, I see a small smile form on her lips as she picks up a catalog, “I have always loved Chicago in the fall.”

Friday before winter break rolls around and we have sent out twelve application packets between us.  I leave for London tonight.  My mom is picking me up early today and dropping me off at the train station to catch the 2:00PM train into the city.  From there, I would have to catch another train to get to the airport.  Fallon would not be joining me until the second week of break.

We’re waiting for my mom in front of the school parking lot.  I have hate saying goodbye, but at least I knew this one was only temporary.  

She looks forlorn at the prospect of me leaving and I feel the same way.  I brush her face with a gloved hand and she smiles up at me, “Fallon, since we aren't going to see each other Christmas day, I wanted to give you your present before I left.”

“Ethan, we agreed we weren't exchanging gifts!”  She pouts and it’s so adorable I have to chuckle just a bit.

From the depths of my book bag, I take out the flat small box I had spent an hour wrapping in matte silver paper and tied simply with a white ribbon.  I place it delicately in her hands, “I know.  But when I saw it, I couldn't resist.”

She carefully peels off the wrapping paper revealing a navy velvet box.  Inside, laying on an off-white satin cushion is a carved silver wing on a dainty silver chain.  She traces the feathered edge with her gloved finger, “Thank you, Ethan.  It's beautiful.”  

Her green eyes are bright with tears and I have to turn away to collect myself.  She has become so much a part of my life--of me--these last few months, I was really going to miss her .  Sure, we had Skype and e-mail but it wasn’t the same as having her in my arms.

“Here, let me help you put it on.”  Fallon pulls her hair away from her neck and I yank my gloves off.  I take the necklace from the box and step closer to fasten it.  I brush a stray lock of her dark hair away from the delicate line of her collarbone and I can feel her trembling underneath my hands as I secure the necklace.  I let go of the clasp and kiss the side of her neck, my cold lips making her gasp, “You are simply exquisite.”

Fallon surprises me by throwing her arms around my neck and pulling my lips against hers.  My arms snake around her waist pulling her closer and I start feeling very warm despite the biting cold.  She pulls away first, pressing her forehead against mine, white puffs streaming in front of us as we try to steady our breathing.  My mom’s car pulls up to the curb and she waits patiently.

I kiss her softly on the lips, “Merry Christmas, Fallon.  I can’t wait to pick you up from Heathrow on the 26th.”

She gives me one of her shy smiles, “Merry Christmas, Ethan.  I look forward to it.  Thank you again for the wonderful gift.”

I fold her against my chest once more and kiss the top of her head, inhaling her scent one last time before hopping in the car.  I wave at her as we drive away and she gives me a small wave, looking forlorn again as snow starts drifting lazily from the sky.

Fallon

The day is going to be excruciatingly slow without Ethan to distract me.  When the final bell rings, everyone rushes out of the classroom.  A cheerful buzz blankets the school as everyone exchanges their goodbyes until next year.  I load up my book bag with my winter break assignments and escape the building.  The flurries from earlier have turned into a thin layer of snow on the ground.  I check my watch with a sigh.  Ethan wouldn't be landing at Heathrow until the next day.  

I walk home slowly, my boots leaving twin marks in the perfect layer of fluffy snow.  I dig around my jacket pocket for my house key as I walk up the driveway.  Once I step inside, I freeze with my hand still on the doorknob.  My eyes dart around the room, immediately sensing something is off--the corner of the entry rug is flipped over like someone accidentally kicked it up on their way inside the house.

Holding out the pepper spray attached to my keychain, I call out, “Whose there?”

A disembodied voice floats in from the kitchen, “Izic sent me.  Do not be alarmed.”  A tall, heavily muscled man with a long streak of black hair hanging in his steel gray eyes steps out into the living room.  He holds his hands up to show that he is unarmed.  His left arm is tattooed with three thin black lines encircling the circumference of his forearm.  Even weaponless, he looks lethal.

As he steps into the light, I can see a scar running along the right side of his jaw.  Alarms go off in my head and my breathing is sharp as adrenaline floods my system.  My finger doesn’t relax from the trigger like he expected when he uttered the name Izic.  My voice is impassive, “And who the hell are you?”  

“My name is Zefa Aleania.  Izic has sent me here to protect you,” he explains.  He starts to cross the room with his hands still raised, his long legs eating up half the length of the living room before I can open my mouth.  

“Stop right there.  Don't come any closer.”  I hold the pepper spray steady as he stops a few feet away, “Why did my father send you?”

“There is much to explain.  If you would allow, I could show you.  It is my gift.”  He reaches out his hand toward me, offering me his open palm but not moving from his spot.

I step back, “Do you expect me to just trust you?”

He chuckles softly, “There is much to fear in this universe, Fallon Pierce.  I am not someone you need to fear.  Your father sent me to protect you.  Much has changed since you last saw him.  It would be easier if you allowed me to show you.  I am able to project memories and thoughts into the minds of others.  But by touch only,”  Zefa stays perfectly still and makes no move to reach for me, his palm still outstretched.

My curiosity gets the best of me.  Hesitantly, I step forward and then place my hand in his.  I gasp as my surroundings suddenly change and I’m temporarily blinded.  And then just as suddenly, I can see
everything
.