Dreaming of Antigone (19 page)

CHAPTER 29

I dream of Iris. She's back in that dead forest, with the damp brown leaves covering the forest floor. She is walking away from me now through the trees. Into the shadows.

I try to follow her, but the forest grows thicker and fills with mist. She's moving farther and farther away. I hear a high-pitched buzzing in my ears, but can't find the source of the sound anywhere. I run farther into the forest toward the shadows, but my sister is gone.

I wake up drenched in sweat, disoriented. My heart is racing. The buzzing present, but fading away. It takes me a moment to remember where I am. In Iris's bedroom. I drag myself out of her bed and stumble to the bathroom to wash my face. The cold water wakes me up. The last of the dream is scrubbed away.

 

The girls leave late in the morning after Mom makes us whole-grain waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. Natalie leaves the remaining cupcakes. “Take one a day as needed. With Diet Coke. Repeat in six hours if no results.”

I roll my eyes. “What results?”

“Mom says cupcakes are the cure for unhappiness.”

I hug my best friend. “Tell your mom thank you. She is a wise woman. And a kick-ass baker.”

Trista hugs me too. “Hope things start to settle down soon. Are you going back to school Monday?”

“I think so.” I hope so. This week has dragged on forever.

The house grows quiet again after my friends leave. Mom, who's been getting as stir-crazy as me, decides we are going to brave the city and get some fresh air. She drags me out for lunch at the Mediterranean restaurant downtown.

“It was good to see you having fun with your friends,” she says, once we're settled at a table on the back deck. It's a little chilly, but we're bundled up warmly and the sun is shining. We share a plate of hummus and warm pita bread while we wait for our lunch.

“Thanks for letting me have them over.”

She squints at me, shading her eyes with her hand. “Andria, I still want to move. I don't think I can stay in our house anymore.”

“You want to move now? Before I finish school?”

“I'm sorry. But I think you might do better in a new environment. With new people.”

“That don't know our family.”

She doesn't have to answer. I see the relief on her face that I understand. She wants to put all of this behind us.

“I don't want to hide anymore, but I don't want to leave Athens,” I say. “We shouldn't have to.”

“Honey, I know that. But everyone knows now what happened. How do you think my employer is going to treat me? My clients? What about your teachers and the other students?”

Mom's job depends on her popularity, in a way. Athens's Top Real Estate Agent of 2014 and 2015 can't have an ex-husband who's a convicted sex offender.

“It hasn't been bad for me.” The hummus doesn't taste quite so yummy anymore.

She sighs. “I've had an offer of a position in Atlanta.”

“As a real estate agent?”

“I'd be property manager for a commercial office building, leasing out office space in the downtown area. Not really the same thing I've been used to, but I think I'd like to try something different.”

She's been planning to move all along. Even though she said she'd wait. She really wants to start over and forget everything about her life in Athens. Forget about Iris and everything that happened to her.

I tear a piece of pita bread in half and then in half again. “Did you already accept?”

“No. But I really want to, Andria.”

She's going to make me feel guilty about wanting to stay. I lose my appetite, even though I have a plate of chicken shawarma coming.

“I really think it's for the best.”

“I'd have to make new friends and explain my seizures all over again. And find a new doctor. And learn to drive in Atlanta.” All of these things terrify me.

The waitress brings our lunch platters and refills our drinks.

I wonder about the process of getting emancipated. I wonder what kind of job I could get that would allow me to remain in Athens.

“We could get a place with a pool. You've always said you wanted a pool.”

She's desperate, I realize. She has always been terrified of me swimming and having a seizure. “I don't want a pool. I want to stay here.” I don't know if throwing a tantrum is the best tactic for me to take, but I'm so close to tears, I'm afraid I'll start pounding and kicking the floor next. I hate her for waiting until we were out in public to spring this news on me.

Mom sighs, pushing her food around on her plate. “What if we went somewhere totally different? California? England? Australia?”

I blink. “Are you serious? You want to yank me out of Athens that badly?”

“What's keeping you here?” she asks.

Alex. “My life is here. Your life is here.”

“I don't want us to have this life anymore,” she says.

When the waitress comes back to check on us, I ask for a box. I can't eat now. I'm too upset.

Mom is silent, her lips pressed tightly together in a thin line, but nods when the waitress asks if we're ready for the check.

Neither one of us speaks the whole ride home. She's unhappy that I'm unhappy, but she's still going to go through with it anyway. She's made up her mind that this is the best thing to do. There's no way I can talk her out of it.

We pull into the driveway, and Alex is sitting on our front porch step.

Mom is not happy. Her hands grip the steering wheel. “Why is he here?”

“Not sure, but I would like to talk to him.”
I will talk to him, whether you like it or not.

“Andria, he was a bad influence on Iris. I don't want him getting your head messed up too.”

I glare at her. “I think Craig was the one messing with Iris's head.”

She closes her eyes. “Fine.” She turns off the engine and gets out with me. She tries to be polite. “Hello, Alex.”

He stands up. “Mrs. Williams.”

“Do y'all want to come inside? Where it's warm?” Mom says, unlocking the door. “I can make some hot chocolate.” She's not really being hospitable. She wants us in the kitchen, where she can keep an eye on us.

“No, we'll just sit right here, Mom.” I walk him over to the porch swing, giving her a smile.

She glares at me again and slams the door shut.

It's really not that cold.

Alex sits down on the porch swing with me. “I'm going to say I'm sorry one more time, but don't attack me.”

I shake my head. “I shouldn't have done that. That was wrong of me.”

He smiles, and it hurts my heart. “It's okay. I understand now how you felt. And I wanted to thank you for making me listen to you. I didn't deserve it.”

“Yes, you did. Don't think for a minute that you deserve to be treated any other way, Alex.”

His forehead wrinkles. I want to kiss his forehead until it's smooth and the weight of the world falls away from him. I want to hold his hand and squeeze it. I want to run my fingers through what's left of his hair.

I don't dare touch him, though.

“You're so different from her.”

I am not expecting him to say this. And yet it's a cold and brutal truth. It's what I think I've been afraid of all along. That he still wants her and I am a poor substitute.

“But I don't think she was ever really the person I thought she was,” he continues. “Obviously, she had her reasons, but the thing I think I mourn most about her death is the fact that I never got to really know Iris.”

He's leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, slowly pushing us back and forth on the swing. He's fidgeting with his hands. Cracking his knuckles and twisting my nebula ring around on his pinkie finger. But he turns his head to look up at me. “Of course I was a different person back then too. I never bothered trying to get to know her any better. Never entertained the possibility that she was hurting inside and needed more than what I was offering.”

I don't know if I want to hear this. This sounds too personal. Things Iris never shared with me, and didn't mention in her diary. But I remember Trista telling me Alex doesn't have anyone to open up with. There's nothing I can do but listen while my heart breaks silently.

“Anyway, I'm glad you're different.” He looks away again, staring at the porch floor. “And I'm glad I'm a different person from who I was back then. I want to be the kind of person who deserves someone like you.”

Wait. What? “Someone like me how?”

He looks back up at me. He reaches over and places his hand over mine, which has been gripping the edge of the seat. “Someone who's smart and kind and beautiful. Someone who knows what's going on in my head. Someone who's not afraid of my demons.”

I flex my fingers so that his can slide in between mine. “I'm not afraid if you're not afraid,” I whisper.

He pulls my hand away from the seat and turns it over, palm side up. He presses his lips against the heel of my hand and looks up at me with a wicked grin. “I'm terrified of you, Cupcake.”

A trail of heat scorches from my hand up my arm and down my spine. But I want to laugh at his endearment.

I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. He smells like cedar and sage.

“I brought you this,” he says, taking the nebula ring off his finger and sliding it on one of my own. “I finally figured out it must have been yours.”

I smile. “It took you long enough.” I wiggle my fingers and admire the pink and purple stardust of the Orion Nebula. I rest my head against his shoulder, happiness bubbling up inside my chest. Wait, I shouldn't feel this happy. Should I?

I know exactly how to ruin this perfect moment. “So my mom is planning on selling the house. She wants to move to Atlanta.”

Alex nods carefully. “I can understand. She wants to make a clean start. That could be a good thing.”

“But I want her to wait one more year, and let me finish high school,” I say. “I don't want to lose my friends.”

He's still holding my hand and gives it a squeeze. “You're not going to lose us. We'll be right here. Only an hour's drive away.”

“If only I could drive.” I start to pout.

“Well, I can drive. And I'll drive to your house every day to keep you from being lonely.”

It's ridiculous, but it makes me feel better to imagine seeing him every day. “I'd like that. But maybe she'll change her mind. I hope I get to stay.”

Alex smiles. “I hope so too. Otherwise I'd have to write poetry for some new mystery girl.”

“That could be awkward,” I say. “What if you wrote something like Pablo Neruda poetry on the desk and found out Hank sat in your seat in another period?”

He laughs at this, and I think how lucky I am to hear it. Somehow, we're both going to be okay.

“I know you were looking forward to being able to drive out and watch the Lyrid shower on your own, but would you mind some company? I happen to know a guy who has a driver's license and a truck for carting telescopes around.”

Now I know Alex is too good to be true. My life is supposed to be a Greek tragedy, not a Disney fairy tale. Not that I'm complaining.

I'm just suspicious.

“Can this guy be trusted?” I ask. “If so, I can bring blankets and pillows and a thermos of hot cocoa.”

“Just tell me where and when,” Alex says, and his blue eyes twinkle when he smiles.

CHAPTER 30

Turns out the best spot for viewing a meteor shower within the city limits is the cemetery. But they lock the gates at five in the evening. Alex and I have a plan. And he has an uncle who works as a security guard. He's willing to let us in the cemetery after hours if Calcifer will play at his high school reunion next month.

Caleb should be out of jail by then. But Alex and Hank haven't decided if they're willing to keep him in the band.

Trista has agreed to let me “spend the night” with her on Friday.

Even though the Lyrids' peak night for viewing was on Thursday, we still hope for a good show Friday night. Of course Mom is home, not attending any builders convention now. But it's okay.

She knows about the meteor shower, and helps me pack the blankets and cocoa, and reminds me and Trista to bundle up warmly.

She wraps a fuchsia and purple scarf around my neck. “Have fun,” she says.

Alex meets me at Trista's house, and we pack everything into his truck.

“You kids be careful out there,” Trista says, her arms around Hank's waist.

Hank grins. “Don't forget the birth control.”

Alex and I both blush as Trista slaps him on the arm. “Ignore him,” she says as Alex opens the passenger door for me.

Hank's outburst causes an awkward silence as we drive across town.

“Did you finish a project for Verla's poetry fair?” I hate that I can't think of anything else to say.

Alex nods. “I needed the extra grade. It helped a lot.”

“Which poet did you pick?”

His smile is shy, but he waggles his eyebrows. “Guess.”

“You're so adorable. Give me a hint. What century?”

“Nineteenth.”

“Male or female?”

“You only get one clue.”

“Fine. Edgar Allan Poe.”

“Nope.” He pulls up to the entrance of the cemetery, just after sunset, and his uncle lets us through the gates. “You're going to have to tell me where to go,” Alex tells me.

Oconee Hill stretches out over almost a hundred acres. The oldest graves in the front section date back to the eighteen hundreds. Iris is buried in one of the newer sections, across the river.

I haven't been back to see Iris since the funeral. Every time Mom came, I refused to accompany her. I was scared I would only remember her as lying in the ground. I want to remember her as she was, when she was alive.

Alex understands this. He missed the funeral, and, until now, hasn't had any desire to see her grave. I direct him across the narrow bridge and down winding lanes lined with headstones and ancient trees.

It's a beautiful and peaceful place.

He parks the truck along the side of the road, and I open my door. “Lord Byron,” I say, guessing again. Alex Hammond is mad, bad, and dangerous indeed.

“Nope.” Alex walks around to my side. He pins me against the door, his hands on my waist. I grab on to his shirt, and he bends his head down to mine. He hesitates, only for a moment, to give me a chance to push him away, but then his mouth meets mine and the world falls away.

His kisses are gentle, like a prayer, seeking and forgiving. The truck door is cold, but my heart is pounding and my skin is flushed. I don't mind the cold at all. All I know or feel or breathe is Alex.

“Robert Browning,” I whisper against his lips.

“How did you guess?”

I push his sleeve back and slide my fingertips along his arm, where he's written in blue ink,
What matter to me if their star is a world? Mine has opened her soul to me; therefore I love her.

I suck in a breath, remembering the lines in the book. “You changed a few words,” I say.

Alex's only reply is another heart-stopping kiss. My arms twist around his neck, pulling my body closer to his.

His hands move up the sides of my rib cage, and my shirt rides up, exposing my belly to cold air. I gasp in shock, then giggle.

His lips pull away from mine. “Should we be doing this here?” But he's grinning.

I glance out behind him at the landscape. “I don't think anyone here minds.”

He kisses me one more time, with more affection than heat, then drags me away from the truck. “Come on. We have stuff to do. Before we can do . . . more stuff.”

I sigh. Stuff. I count rows back from the end of the road and find the landmarks Mom had suggested. I shine the flashlight I've brought across the darkness. “See that river birch? And the pinkish-orange marble headstone right next to it?”

Alex looks where I'm pointing. “Yes. That's hers?”

“No, hers is the small gray one in front of that one.”

There are still a few bouquets of silk flowers and a memorial wreath. I feel bad for not thinking to stop and pick up a rose before we came out here.

Alex stands next to me in front of the headstone. He reaches for my hand, and neither of us says anything for several minutes.

The last dream I had of my sister, she was sitting in the kitchen, showing me postcards of my favorite astronomers. Carl Sagan. Caroline Herschel. Galileo. She was telling me how cool it was that she got to hang out with these people. In real life, Iris couldn't care less about dead astronomers. But I'd like to think the dream means something good. That she is somewhere much happier and she's finally found peace.

Alex bends down at a nearby grave and rights a small American flag that has been knocked over.

I slide the nebula ring off my finger and leave it on top of Iris's headstone. “Safe travels, Sis,” I whisper.

There aren't a whole lot of trees in this section, so we set the blanket out at the end of Iris's row, where there are no graves yet. Besides the hot cocoa, we've brought a minicooler packed with sandwiches and binoculars.

It gets very dark fast. There are no street lights and there is no game tonight, so the nearby stadium is dark. I look up at the stars and gasp. I can see twice as many as I usually see from my backyard.

Alex pulls me down onto the blanket with him. “Are you cold?” he asks, as his arms wrap around me.

Blazing stars streak across the sky above us.

I shake my head. Love keeps me warm.