Dreaming of Antigone (13 page)

CHAPTER 20

 

The clock says 3:52 when I wake up. I know I was dreaming about Iris, but I can't remember what it was about. I'm tired of the dreams of her trying to tell me something when I can't hear her, or understand her, or see her. It's so frustrating. And maybe that's what the dreams mean. I'm frustrated that I didn't see or hear anything going on in her life until it was too late. I can't hear her in my dreams because I never heard her crying out for help in real life.

Worst sister ever.

I drag myself out of bed, automatically trying to avoid stepping on a sleeping dog that isn't there. My heart hurts. I won't be able to call and check on Sophie for another four hours.

I want to make coffee, but I don't want to argue with Mom again. So I settle for a can of Diet Coke. I know she's not sleeping very well either lately. Both with the absence of a body in the bed beside her, as well as the absence of the CPAP noise. Tonight I've learned all about trying to sleep with silence.

And sure enough. Moments after I pop my can open, she is shuffling into the kitchen.

She yawns as she ties her robe shut. “Andria? What are you doing?”

“Can't sleep. I thought I'd go outside with the telescope.”

She grabs a can of Diet Coke from the fridge and leans back against the counter. Her eyes look puffy. Either she drank more than the one glass of wine last night or she cried herself to sleep. I'm not sure which makes me unhappier.

She stares at me, and I know she is wondering, worrying.

I roll my eyes. “No, Craig never touched me.”

She looks relieved. “Baby, if he did, you can tell me.”

But would she really want to know? I think she would be equally relieved if I had been abused and just denied it.

“And no, Iris never said anything to me,” I add, before she opens her mouth to ask. “Or I would have just killed him and hidden the body.”

She sighs. “That's not funny.”

“We should tell the police about the diary,” I say.

“No. It won't bring her back, and the cops should already have enough evidence to keep that bastard in jail.”

“But it might be good for Kimber to know she wasn't alone,” I say.

Mom sets her can of Diet Coke down on the counter, hard. “No. I don't want to turn our lives inside out for everyone to see. You don't need to put up with that at school, and I don't need it at work either.”

Right. “Because it's bad enough that the house on Azalea Cove with the Garden of the Year was the residence of a pedophile. We don't want anyone to know what he was doing here behind closed doors.”

She glares at me, and I feel like a bitch. I know she's trying to protect us, but I believe she should do the right thing.

And I can't fathom how she's dealing with all of this.

“Anything pretty to look at tonight?” she asks me. This is how she deals. Changing the subject. She is trying to be Best Friend Mom now.

I shrug. “Just haven't looked in a while. The moon already set hours ago, so the sky should be dark.”

She looks me over from head to toe. “Just make sure you dress warmly. I'm going to try and get some more sleep.”

I'm wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt and fuzzy Hello Kitty pajama pants. I think I'll be fine. “I'll get my slippers.”

She shakes her head and takes her canned drink back to her bedroom. I leave mine beside the sink. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge instead.

After I get my slippers and throw on a hoodie just in case, I take the telescope into the front yard, down to the end of the driveway.

I tell myself it's to see the Pleiades better, even though they've already sunk too far into the west behind the trees. I tell myself I'm not hoping someone will come jogging down my dead-end street at four o'clock in the morning. I tell myself I put on strawberry lip gloss because it's very chilly outside and I don't want my lips to get chapped.

My cell phone is in my hoodie pocket, back on silent. I fight the urge to text Alex. If he's sleeping, then I don't want to wake him.

But while I'm turning my telescope toward the northeast, and finding the three stars of Orion's Belt, I hear footsteps and heavy, rhythmic breathing. Instead of being afraid, I feel relief. And excitement.

Of course it's him.

The street lights are sparse on Azalea Cove, so when he passes under the one three houses down, I can just make out his bare arms and legs. He's wearing a sleeveless black T-shirt and running shorts. Not his typical Alexwear.

But I recognize him by the short close-cropped hair. As he gets closer, I see he's wearing earbuds, but he looks up at me.

I step away from my telescope to protect it and stuff my hands in my front pockets. He slows down as he approaches, coming to a stop inches from me. I can smell his body heat, hear his heavy breathing as he bends over, hands on his knees, as he catches his breath. His hair and forehead are damp from sweat. His arms are slick.

“Aren't you cold out here?” I ask, shivering in sympathy even though I'm comfortable in my hoodie.

He shakes his head.

“Are you sure? I can go inside and get your jacket from my bedroom.”

He reaches out as if to grab my arm, to touch me, but then doesn't. “Stay. I'm fine.”

“Want some water?” I pick up the bottle I'd set down on the ground next to my telescope.

“Oh God, that would be wonderful.” He takes it from me, and I watch his throat in the dim light as he swallows. He wipes his forehead with his bare arm. But already the chilly air is drying the sweat from his skin.

Alex is here, in front of me. And I'm looking at him not like a villain but as some sort of hero. He's larger-than-life Alex again. I feel very small again. But not shy. I stare at him as he finishes the bottle.

“Couldn't sleep either?” I ask.

He grins and sets the empty bottle down on the ground. “No. You?”

I shake my head.

“I'm sorry you had to sleep alone last night,” he says.

It takes me a minute to realize he's talking about Sophie. “Your texts helped. Hopefully she'll get to come home today. Thank you again for everything you did last night.”

He looks away. His forehead wrinkles, and it looks like I've said the wrong thing.

“Want to see something beautiful?” I wave my hand belatedly toward the telescope. I don't want him to think I'm talking about myself.

He takes a step closer to me and is looking down at me. He's smiling again, and that makes me happy. “Show me what you've got.”

I take a peek to make sure Alnitak is still lined up. The Horse-head Nebula rises up from a glittery rainbow-colored cloud. I move to let Alex see.

He bends his head down to look. I forgot to adjust for his height. “Sorry, I can raise it up some,” I say.

He doesn't bother to move. “Don't worry about it.” He's silent for a moment, and I know he is seeing his first nebula. “Holy shit,” he whispers.

I smile up into the darkness. These are my stars. And I am sharing them with you, Alex Hammond.

He reaches out without looking away from the telescope. His fingers lace into mine, and I hold on for dear life. “Beautiful,” he whispers.

Baby stars being born fifteen hundred light-years away. I wish I could show Alex what the nebula looks like from a Hubble photograph. With my lens you can just make out the horse-head shape, but the pictures I've seen online are breathtaking.

“I guess it's worth a few sleepless nights when you get to see something like this?” he asks, finally turning away from the telescope.

I shrug. “I used to think so.”

His eyes grow sad again. “I understand. I don't look forward to running in the middle of the night when I can't sleep, but I figured I'd put my insomnia to good use.”

“No more nightmares?” I ask. “Just can't sleep?”

He still has my hand in his, and he leads me up the driveway to a bench under the oak tree. Here we're hidden from the neighbor's porch, as well as from my mother's bedroom window.

“No nightmares,” he whispers, his mouth very close to my ear. “I just couldn't get you out of my head.”

Before I can say anything, Alex turns my face to his and kisses me. The world starts to spin.

He's not larger than life anymore. He's my poet, my patron saint, a Greek demigod. But he's also just Alex, and he's kissing me like his life depends on it.

Like my life depends on it.

He shivers, and I think he's getting cold. My fingertips run up his arms and across his shoulders. “Are you sure you don't want your jacket?” I murmur. Not that I want to go anywhere right this moment.

He pulls me against him, and I don't resist. His lips brush the side of my neck, and I feel like purring. The sound I do make causes him to laugh as he nips my earlobe. His hands slide down to my hips and stay there, not sneaking down into my pants or up under my top. But he groans when I throw my legs around his hips and twist so I'm basically sitting in his lap, straddling him.

I'm not thinking about what I'm doing to him. I'm only trying to get closer. To close the distance between our bodies.

“God, woman,” he whispers, his forehead resting on mine. “When did you become such a wicked little minx?”

This makes me giggle, in a very un-wicked way. “I can't get you out of my head, either.”

With a sigh, he pulls back a little so I can see his eyes. “I shouldn't be here. I wish I could stay away from you.”

I put a hand on his chest. Over his thumping heart. “But I'm glad you're here. I don't want you to stay away.”

He's silent, but I can hear and feel his deep breathing. His hands are still on my hips, and I think as long as he holds on to me, we're okay.

“God, I'm such a bastard,” he finally says.

“What are you talking about?” He's still touching me, but I'm losing him. The fire in his eyes has dimmed.

“I don't deserve you. Not after everything I've done. All the mistakes I've made.”

I put my hand across his mouth. “Stop talking like that.”

He stares at me with pain in his eyes. His hand moves to take my hand, and he kisses my fingers before moving them away from his mouth.

“Why couldn't we have gotten together two years ago? Our lives would have turned out so differently.”

Before he started dating Iris. I pull my hand out of his.

He sighs. “We can't be together, Andria. It's not fair to you. Or to me.”

Oh God. A cold black hole opens up in my stomach. It sucks the last traces of warmth and fuzzy happiness from my body. This has been too good to be true. I was dreaming to think he could care about me.

“You still love her,” I manage to whisper. I don't want him to know how close I am to crying. Even dead, my sister still has everything I've ever wanted. I am so close to hating Iris right now.

“What? God, no.” Alex frowns as he realizes what is going through my head. He grabs my hips again and picks me up off him, setting me down gently on the bench. “Listen to me. You deserve someone much better than me. Someone less fucked-up. Someone who never caused the pain I've caused you.”

He leans over me and presses his lips against my forehead. But the warmth and fuzziness doesn't come back. This kiss feels final. A good-bye.

“No matter what you think right this moment, Andria, you'll never be able to forgive me for Iris's death. It will always be between us.”

He takes off jogging again, without another glance back. I stare at him until he disappears into the shadows under the oak trees at the end of the street. Pride keeps me from running after him. And my shock and grief begin to turn into anger.

I grab the empty water bottle off the driveway and crumple it, but resist the urge to throw it across the yard. How dare he be so self-sacrificing? It's not up to him whether I can forgive him or not. And maybe I already have, I realize furiously, and I haven't had the chance to tell him.

I stomp over to my telescope to start packing things up. What if he is right? Will I always harbor resentment for the things he used to do? Will I always worry that he'll relapse? Will I be able to trust him? He's changed so much since he came back from rehab, but what if he hasn't changed enough? Was he telling the truth when he said he wasn't still in love with Iris?

Any tears that threatened to fall earlier are long gone. I should be weeping for this beautiful boy who keeps pushing me away, but instead I'm pissed. He has no right to decide what I deserve or what I don't deserve. What I should want or not want.

I take one last look up into the sky before carrying my stuff inside. The three stars of Orion's Belt twinkle on, oblivious to what's going on down here below. And I know fifteen hundred light-years away, stars are still being born and stars are still dying. The universe doesn't give a damn about what I want. But dear God, Alex, all I want is you.

CHAPTER 21

 

WR 136 is a dying star. It's 4.5 million years old and is at the center of the Crescent Nebula. This nebula was created by the stellar wind of the star exploding into a red supergiant hundreds of thousands of years ago. It is believed that WR 136 will end its final days as a supernova, sometime in the next million years.

I'm reading about the Crescent Nebula in a new astropho-tography magazine that Verla ordered for me. A photo of this star explosion won an observatory photo-of-the-year contest in England. It looks like a giant heart. A heart that is twenty five light-years across.

“That is absolutely gorgeous,” Verla says, leaning over my shoulder. “Have you ever submitted photos for contests like this?”

I laugh. “My telescope would never be able to see something like that. I'd have to use one of the big ones, like at a university.”

She looks at me over her glasses. “Are you going to UGA?”

I shrug. “They do have a pretty good observatory. I'd love to go to Cornell or maybe somewhere out in California, but my mother's afraid of me going too far away.” And now with Craig gone, I don't want to go too far away from her either.

Verla smiles. “You are very smart, Andria. You hit some bumps this year, but you've managed to pull yourself out of the hole you dug. You could get into any college you wanted.”

But I didn't dig that hole all by myself. And what I always thought I wanted might not be what I want now. And what if the things I'd always wanted are all wrong for me?

I stare at the giant exploding heart in its flurry of glorious colors. Turquoise and pink. I love the fact that something so beautiful was caused by something so violent as a suicidal star.

I'm hiding in the library before school. I dread seeing Trista and Natalie this morning in chemistry. And I dread seeing Alex. I don't want my friends knowing Alex and I are doing . . . whatever it is we're doing. Or were doing. That we were doing something and now we aren't doing anything.

I don't even want to think about it anymore.

I slink into class at the last minute, but I'm still ambushed. Natalie grabs my med alert bracelet the moment I sit down in my seat in first block. She's so excited she almost snaps the bracelet off my wrist.

“Ouch,” I say, rubbing my skin.

“Sorry! Last week of license-less-ness!”

“That is not even a word. But hopefully,” I say. I've grown superstitious over the past few months. I don't want anything to screw this up. I might have gone a little overboard with the caffeine, but I've been diligent about taking my pills. I've even studied the driving handbook a few extra times. I'm so close now, I don't know what I'll do if something happens and I can't get my license.

I'll have Sophie back at home with me this evening. Mom told me this morning she'd pick her up from the vet's before she went in to work.

She's still planning to go to the office in the afternoon, when no one else is there, but soon she's going to have to start dealing with other people. She's going to have to deal with Craig's contractors. And show houses to people. Eventually Craig's trial will go to trial and he'll be sentenced and people will forget about him. And she'll forget that she ever had to sleep with the sound of his CPAP machine droning in her ears. And I think she'll be okay. Eventually.

Natalie and Trista are sticking close to me, but I notice none of the other soccer girls talk to me, or even look at me if they can help it. I'm not upset about it. But I wonder how soon the trial will begin. If Kimber will have to testify.

I know Mom's been on the phone with Craig's attorney, because she refused to let Craig return to our house when he was released on bail. Not even to get any of his things. She stuffed all of his clothes in garbage bags and dumped them off at his office. All photographs of him and her have been taken down. All of his soccer things have been put into totes and placed in the garage. I'm sure he'll want that stuff one day.

Mom sold his motorcycle to pay for her divorce attorney. She thinks the divorce will be finalized before his case goes to trial. She says that could take over a year. By then, will Kimber still remember what happened to her? Will her story change? Will anyone besides Kimber and her family care?

Mom did not want to turn over Iris's diary to the police. She does not want our family being dragged into this any more if possible. She doesn't want to have to talk to anyone else about Iris's death. It would be like losing my sister all over again. And Mom does not like airing family dirty laundry. Craig has been cut off from our family. Clean, like a surgeon's slice. To bring Iris's confessions out into the open would show the world just how fucked-up our family really was. Mom can't have that. Better to let people believe that Craig only had sex with someone else's teenage daughter and let him go to jail for that.

But it makes me sick to my stomach to hear several girls at school defend the asshole, while they think Kimber is making the story up. Why would she?

There's something scribbled in pencil across the top of my desk in algebra. My heart thumps out of control so suddenly it's embarrassing. Stupid flopping thing. I know realistically no one else can hear it, but I feel self-conscious anyway.

I copy the lines along the side of the homework Mrs. Davis has just handed back. My handwriting stretches across the 76 written on the top of the page in red ink. Does he really think we're both standing in darkness? Or is he still thinking about Iris?

Sadness creeps into my chest cavity. No, that's not right. It's always there, lurking. But at the moment I'm unable to hold it back. It breaches the dam, flooding everything and destroying everything in its path.

Dammit. I squeeze my eyes shut, determined not to let anyone else see this storm surge.

As soon as class is over, I take the paper to the library to borrow a computer and look up the lines.

The library is full of project boards, entries into Athens High School's First Annual Poetry Fair. Verla is giggling as she wanders out from the forest of cardboard. “Isn't this great? I'm so excited we got so many participants! Where is yours?”

“I'm kinda poetried out right now,” I say. “I'll do one next year.”

Verla shakes her head. “One can never overdose on poetry.”

She doesn't notice me flinch at the word “overdose.”

“Hey, could a project give me extra credit in algebra?” I ask.

“Ha. Do you know the begging and pleading involved in getting the English department to okay extra credit? Why aren't you doing well in algebra? Do you need a tutor?”

I shake my head as I find my way to a free computer. I pass by large boards with images of Shakespeare and Maya Angelou and Robert Frost. “I'll be fine. Just need to put more effort into my homework.” I Google the lines that Alex left me. They're by Stephen Crane. “Places Among the Stars.”

I remember Alex cataloging Crane's book last week. I pull my phone out of my bag and send him a message.

Verla bursts out laughing somewhere among the poetry fair projects.

“Are you okay?” I ask, gathering my stuff back up.

“Come here!” she says. “I love this one. Too bad I have to disqualify it.”

“What?” I follow the sound of her voice and find her in front of a black tri-board, covered with words in metallic silver Sharpie. I cock my head sideways to read all the lines. “It's a U2 song.”

Verla shrugs. “I mean, I get that this student wants us to think of Bono as a modern poet. But the rules specifically said no song lyrics. I love the handwriting. And I love that song,” she says with a sigh.

I'm still staring at the board when the library doors open. I glance down at my phone, but there's been no reply from Alex.

“Excuse me? Hello?” A man is making his way through the displays, and I see boards wobble in his wake.

Verla waves her hands in the air. “This way,” she calls out.

When he reaches us, I see he's younger than I first thought. A college student, maybe. His black hair is shoulder length, and I notice Verla checking him out. That makes me smile.

“Hi, I was told I could find Andria Webb here?”

Verla takes a protective step in front of me. Is he a cop? Someone from the media? Mom warned me that reporters might try to talk to me, but so far I've been ignored.

“My name is Collin Coleman. I'm Alex Hammond's AA sponsor, and I was wondering if I could talk with Andria about Alex.”

All of a sudden I know where I've seen him before. He was coming out of the church with Alex that day I saw him. “That's me,” I say.

Collin fidgets with something in his hand, then moves his hands to his pockets. “He's been skipping meetings lately and I'm worried about him. You know, relationships are usually frowned upon during the first twelve months of sobriety, because it puts an added stress on the recovering addict.”

I shake my head. “We don't have a relationship. You have nothing to worry about there.”

Collin crosses his arms. It's like he just doesn't know what to do with his hands. “I know the two of you have grown close. He's told me about your sister, Iris. My condolences.”

I cross my arms too. So does Verla. “Does Alex know you're here?” she asks.

“I asked him if he wanted to invite you to an AA meeting, Andria. I think it might help you understand his struggle better. It might help you understand your sister better as well.”

He holds out a business card. “Here's a list of the times of our open meetings. Maybe Alex will come back if you offer to come with him.”

I take the card. It lists the address of the Lutheran church on Broad. “I don't know how much of an influence I can be.”

Collin smiles, but it's halfhearted. “Much greater than you think.” He really seems troubled. I don't see him as the type of wise old sponsor bestowing calm nuggets of wisdom to anyone. “Hope to see both you and Alex soon,” he says as he turns to go.

Collin leaves, and Verla looks at me, her arms still crossed. “Want to talk?”

I roll my eyes. “Thank you, but no. There's nothing to talk about. Unless you have any more books that need cataloging?”

She doesn't move. “Are you going to go with Alex to a meeting? They have another group specifically for family members of addicts.”

“I don't have any addicts in my family.” I scowl. Not anymore.

Verla sighs and throws her arm around me. “I know, hon. But you still have to deal with the feelings your sister caused. She's gone, but those feelings are still there.”

“I've already dealt with them.”

“Did your mom ever let you talk to a counselor?”

I want to laugh. “Of course not.” That would have been the same as admitting emotional weakness or instability. Mom believes we as a family mourned for an appropriate amount of time and then we all moved on.

“And that guy was right. They really do frown upon new relationships when an addict's recovery is still fragile. But I think you and Alex might help each other heal.”

I stare at my librarian. “You're such a romantic.”

She shrugs. “And I'm no therapist, so take my advice with a grain of salt. Or a whole salt shaker.”

“Will do.” My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, expecting a text from Mom. It's from Alex instead.
I'm waiting for you to wake up and find someone better. You're the type of girl who deserves someone who makes you happy.

I don't think that it's up to you to decide what or who makes me happy,
I text back. I want to ask where he is, but I don't want to sound like a stalker.
I miss you,
I type, and my finger pauses over the “Send” button. It's only been two days since that morning we talked in my yard, but I go ahead and send the text, holding my breath.

There's no reply.

Dammit. I shouldn't have told him that. He already thinks I'm emotionally needy.

I stare at the phone for another minute.

Still no reply.

Dammit.

Verla turns out the lights, blanketing the library in late-afternoon darkness. “Are you coming?” she asks from the door. “I need to lock up.”

“Be right there.” I put my phone in my hoodie pocket and grab my backpack. The weight of the phone hits me over and over as I follow Verla out into the school parking lot.

“Need a ride?” she asks, her key ring spinning around her finger.

“Nope, my mom is parked over there,” I say, pointing to the silver Lexus.

“Are you going to ask her about going to the AA meeting?”

I shrug. That is not a conversation that would go well. “We'll see.”

“See you tomorrow then,” she says, turning away.

I watch her walk away, unhappy knowing that I'm disappointing her. She wants me to heal, and do the fuzzy, warm healing stuff with a counselor so I can be better and help fix Alex.

Mom's frowning over her phone when I get into the car. “What's wrong?” I ask.