The Weight of the World (23 page)

“Hi,”
Devon said, pulling up the shoulder of her shirt. The t-shirt was an
OHSH Athletic shirt with the sleeves and collar cut out. It hung off
of her shoulder, exposing the red tank-top beneath. “Is Frank
home?”

“He
is,” she said, giving Devon a judgmental once-over. She shouted
back over her shoulder, “Francis!” Frank's aunt shouted back at
him in Spanish. Devon didn't know any Spanish outside the phrases in
Taco Bell commercials. The short and rather intimidating woman turned
her eyes back on Devon. “I'm on my way to work and Frank's mother
is already out for the evening.”

She
didn't have to tell Devon to behave, but the command was implied as
she stepped around her and headed out to her car. Devon stood in the
entryway after Frank's aunt left for work. Finally, she heard heavy
footsteps and Frank appeared across the kitchen, standing in the
opposite doorway. He filled the door frame and had to duck his head
to pass through.

“Hey,”
he said quietly.

Devon
shut the door behind her. She dug through her purse for only an
instant before pulling out a folded piece of paper. It was an
ultrasound. “I thought you might want to see,” she said. This
week had been a blessing in so much that the morning sickness had
faded, but Devon's temper had been in rare form. She had found a zit
two days ago and broken her hand mirror as a result.

Frank
crossed the room and took the image from Devon. He looked down at it
for a long time, not saying anything. Devon couldn't read his
expression.

After
what seemed like possibly five minutes, he gave it back to Devon and
turned away. “Do you want some water?”

“Yeah,”
she said, “Water sounds great. Or... do you have lemonade?”

“No.
We have water, milk, orange juice, beer.”

“Oh,
I'll have a beer.”

He
just stared at her.

“Kidding.
God, forgot you don't have a sense of humor.”

Frank
set about pouring a glass of water for Devon. Devon made herself
comfortable on the couch. It was blue with a little white pin-stripe.
The strips of blue were dotted with the occasional, staggered red
heart. Devon walked her fingers between the hearts. Frank set her
water on the coffee table.

“I
told my mom,” Frank said, straightening up. “She cried.”

Devon
didn't say anything to that.

“I
got a job,” he added, “At a car dealership. Mostly just washing
cars.”

“Oh.”
Devon wrinkled her nose. Manual labor was not for her.

“You
know, so I can help take care of the baby.”

“My
Dad's not going to let you give us any money.”

“It's
my kid,” Frank growled.

“They're
not going to let you be around at all.”

“Then
I'll use the money to pay a lawyer.”

Devon
closed her eyes. She was about ready to burst into a fit of tears and
she didn't want him to see it. A custody battle with Frank was not
anything she wanted, but she wasn't eighteen until February and she
didn't even know what his rights were until then.

Frank
had the sense to be quiet and let her calm down. When she opened her
eyes, she took a big sip of her water and smoothed the back of her
hair.

“Your
Dad let you out of the house?”

Devon
dabbed at the corners of her eyes to make sure her eyeliner didn't
smudge. “He's relaxed a lot since Evan's been around.”

“So
you're actually dating him? That wasn't just morons on the internet
making things up?”

“It's
on the internet?”

Frank
nodded.

“Yeah,”
Devon said, “I am.”

“And
you don't feel the least bit guilty?”

“Why
should I?”

“Because,”
Frank grunted, reaching forward. Devon was still holding the
ultrasound image in her left hand and Frank flicked it, causing it to
make a loud noise. “You're only broken up with me because your Dad
is a racist
culero,
and we're having a child.”

“But
we're broken up.”

“Technically.”

“Frank,
you haven't touched me since you broke my Dad's gun. We're broken up.
You took off, and I didn't hear from you outside of the Pantheon for
weeks.”

“Maybe
I was hoping you'd stick up for me. Did you ever try telling your Dad
that I was the virgin before you took me home this winter? Tell Dear
Daddy that the scary latino didn't corrupt his daughter?”

“Right,
so I can get kicked out of my house.”

“You
have shitty parents,” Frank snapped.

Devon
didn't argue with him.

“Do
you think it's really fair to Evan?” Frank asked, his tone far more
calm and quiet than it had been moments before.

Devon
just tilted her head, confused.

“That
you're here?”

“I'm
showing you an ultrasound.”

“Right,
and why did you make me meet you at the mall?”

“I
just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“It's
not fair to Evan,” he said, “Cheating.”

“I'm
not here to cheat on him,” Devon turned her head away.

“Right.”

“I'm
not!”

Frank
grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. He could have swung her
around his head and there was nothing Devon could have done to stop
it. He was too strong. “No?”

“Don't
flatter yourself,” she spat.

“You're
in love with me. Are you in love with him?”

“I'm
not in love with anyone, I'm seventeen.”

“You're
in love with me,” he said, sounding absolutely sure. Frank bent
down, making up the immense difference in their heights, and crushed
his lips against hers. Devon's reaction was muddled. She
instinctually began to reciprocate, but within half a second her
stubborn nature fought back and she pushed him off.

Frank
picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. Devon feebly slapped
his back and shouted at him. “Put me down!” He started carrying
her down the hall. “You're barbaric!”

“I
thought that was the appeal,” he said.

Frank's
bedroom didn't contain much except a beat-up metal writing desk, a
bed, and a poster of Michael Oher on his closet door. His hamper,
tucked away in the corner, had socks hanging over the side, but the
rest of his room was neat, organized, and hidden-away. Devon had been
here a few times before. Frank closed the hardwood door and set Devon
down on his bed.

“Honestly,”
she huffed, “You're a cave man.” Devon stood up. Frank grabbed
her again and pulled her tight against him. This time Devon didn't
push him away. Her protests had been a superficial fight, just to say
she had tried. Really she had wanted this since he'd stormed out of
her house that night nearly a month ago. Frank knew Devon too well to
be convinced by a few weak insults.

His
hands began roughly, but Frank remembered her condition, and he
reigned himself in. Devon was surprised. They had usually saved the
few tender moments for the minutes just before he would have to sneak
out of her room.

Devon
emerged from the house two hours later, her mood considerably
brighter. Frank, shirtless, poked his head out the front door for one
last kiss before she dashed to her little red Beamer. The engine
started, and the sudden blast of euro-pop from Devon's radio was
enough to drown out the shutter click from around the corner of the
hedge next door.

“
There
is no such thing as a lovers’ oath.”

-Plato

xviii.

When
he learned of his wife’s infidelity

and
confessed he was powerless to stop it,

he
vowed to put a curse on her lineage.

And
so he waited.

When,
Harmonia, her daughter with Ares,

had
grown into a beautiful young woman,

she
was betrothed to marry Cadmus of Thebes.

The
Smith set to work.

In
his forge, Hephaestus crafted a great gift

and
presented the girl with a jeweled necklace.

On
the gem was placed a curse of disaster

for
all who wore it.

“
It
is absurd to hold that a man ought to be ashamed of being unable to
defend himself with his limbs but not of being unable to defend
himself with speech and reason, when the use of reason is more
distinctive of a human being than the use of his limbs
.
”

-Aristotle

XVIII.

The
photograph was stuck in Evan's mind. He couldn't seem to clear the
image away. Frank, shirtless and far more monumental than Evan could
ever hope to be, was quite clearly kissing Devon. He had been sent
the link to the Discordia article from a message on Facebook. The
profile had been registered to a Discordia email address under the
name Natalie Portman, who was born in 1876 on The Moon.

Two
hours later, with the image still flashing hot in his memory, Evan
dismounted his oil-powered bicycle and left it lying on its side next
to the inflatable gorilla outside of Blick Luhrmann's dealership.

Frank
Guerrero was wearing a shirt now, as he washed the windshield of a
8-cylinder SUV without need for a step-ladder. He was wearing a red
polo with the dealership's logo. The shirt couldn't be buttoned to
the top because of the girth of Frank's massive neck.

Evan
ran off-balance with one leg stiff. Frank turned and looked at him,
eyebrows raised in confusion. The chamois on the windshield stopped
moving in circles. “Uh, hey Evan.”

“How
long has it been going on?” Evan asked, his voice raised.

Frank
knew immediately what he meant. He hadn't seen the article, but he
could only think of one thing he'd done in the past twenty-four hours
that would upset Evan. “Just last night,” he answered honestly.
“I assumed she'd call you.” Well now Frank felt bad. Frank had,
after-all, been the initiator, even if it was Devon's responsibility
to stop him.

“I
can't believe...” Evan trailed off, too frustrated to find words.

Frank
tugged on his bangs. He sighed. “Evan, I mean, come on, you had to
know...”

“Had
to know she'd cheat on me?”

“We're
having a baby, Evan. Did you think you were anything more than... a
distraction?”

That
stung. Evan had to look up at Frank. He was tall, dark, and powerful.
Evan was pasty, scarred, and pathetic. Frank was a warrior; Evan was
a maker. He knew it was unrealistic to expect Devon, a girl so driven
by passion, to choose him over Frank in the long run.

Still,
that didn't mean that he was ready to accept that fact. It was likely
the build up of years of bullying and disappointment. Evan unleashed
that fury on the nearest source of that frustration. He flew at
Frank, fists flailing. Frank saw him spring forward. Not a single
blow found him. He read Evan's movement in broken-down time and
caught his wrists before he could strike. Frank picked Evan up off
the ground by his wrists, holding him at arm's length while Evan
kicked and thrashed his legs.