Hawk (68 page)

There didn't seem to be much else in life. I'm confused at how fucking
irrational
I'm being. Love at first sight is not a real thing. Hell, I'm not convinced
love
is a real thing. Love of a parent for a child, maybe, but anything else? I haven't seen much of it, at least not in my direct experience. It seems like a distant thing, something that slides away in fog before I can reach it. It's something that happens to other people, something that happens in stories.

I'm being silly. It's just hormones.

I don't have to seduce her. I don't have to ruin her. I just have to get friendly with her, get the info I need and we can put this behind us. Whatever my father has gotten himself into, I have to trust that he can get himself out of it and we can move on. In a few months I'll be looking back on this and laughing, probably on the Riviera or Argentina or something. Take a break from work for a while and focus on wine, women, and song. Mostly women. It all makes perfect sense.

That doesn't do anything about the heavy feeling in my gut as I trudge into the house and slurp down a protein shake. The unease doesn't fade.

Can a fantasy be addictive? We barely know each other, I've only spent a few hours with her, but I can see myself in a place like this. I can see her in a place like this with a bump on her stomach. Magnets on the refrigerator. The refrigerator here is naked. I've never had fridge magnets. Out there is a future with World's Best Dad mugs, living in the same place for years, maybe forever, waking up next to the same person. If I imagine myself in that world all I can see is a stranger in a strange land.

It's already too late for me. I don't belong here.

Chapter 8: Diana

I end up carrying one of her bags. I've never known my mother to be nuts about the clothes, but here she is, carrying a bunch of stuff
 
out to the car. I can't believe this is happening. I want to say something, but I'm stuck in a daze. Worst of all, Apollo is here. As soon I lay eyes on him, the tension begins to build, like a distant swell of music. It's gotten hot all at once, and it's looking to be ninety this afternoon. Sweat prickles on my skin as I carry the bag out to the car, looking at all these people, my mother, her boyfriend, Apollo, trying to figure out what to say.

I'm dressed for the weather, so, shorts. Every time Apollo looks at me his eyes glide up and down my legs and a shiver rolls down my spine, and I suck in a little involuntary breath.

I had to wear the Daisy Dukes today.

He moves to my side and takes the bag I'm carrying, and his hands brush over mine as he pries my fingers loose. As he lowers it into the trunk, he tips back a bit, just enough to side-eye and look right at my ass, and worst of all he wants me to know he's doing it, he's checking me out. It makes my butt clench and I shiver again. Whenever he's around I feel like I'm sucked in his orbit, stuck to him. His arm brushes mine, and it's electric.

I have to get away from him. Not here, not now. I step away, to where Mom is waiting by the door. She leans over and kisses my cheek, to my surprise.

Her voice is very soft.

"Steven says he had a talk with Apollo about you. I don't want you two getting involved with each other that way."

A vicious part of me wants to bite back that it's none of her business what I do, or with who I do it. I think she senses it anyway. She can't have missed me looking over her shoulder at Apollo.

"Ready?" Steven says, taking her arm.

She smiles at him so brightly it's almost blinding.

The twist I feel in my chest makes me feel small and stupid. I fold my arms and step back as they get in the car. Apollo looks at me as he slides into the back seat and pulls his door closed. As the car rumbles to life and pulls away, he locks eyes with me and winks. Of course he wasn't staying, he just came to carry bags and, I guess, drive the car back from the airport. As they pull away, I'm suddenly aware of how alone I am. The whole house is empty. Charity is at work and I don't feel like sitting in the bookstore all day.

When I walk back into my room the acceptance letters are just sitting there on the desk, as though challenging me. Would it be a good idea to just get it over with now, while she's gone, or would that be stabbing her in the back?

I need some air. I grab a water bottle and some sunglasses, lock up, and head out. There's a path almost two miles long winding through the museum grounds, so I don't have to go somewhere. It goes past the house and up a hill, which is a bit of a strain to start. I'm puffing a little by the time I get to the top, stop, and swipe my hand across my forehead to wipe back the sweat. On top of the hill I can see the old house, the original museum building, the annex and the sculpture garden, a collection of classic and modern all jumbled up. The centerpiece is this huge red metal thing that's kind of like a windmill. On a breezy day the wind catches it and makes it move, and the cuts in the metal make it look like there's a man and a woman dancing inside. It's actually pretty clever. The wind picks up and cools me down a little, and the big sculpture starts creaking and turning, dancers cut out of the air by negative space.

I start walking again, with a purpose. The path goes down through the garden. I don't stop to take any looks. A few patrons are wandering here and there, appreciating the collection.

I've seen it.

Of course, I'm not the only walker. Admission to the grounds is free and lots of people have friends-of-the-museum passes, so quite a few people, mostly older folks, walk the path pretty regularly. I imagine there'd be more if we let people walk dogs.

What the hell am I going to do with myself?

I was almost jogging when I started but by the end of the sculpture garden path, I'm trudging forward with my hands in my pockets, eyes cast down to the ground. I need to make a decision and I need to do it soon.

This isn't just about where I want to go to school or what I want to do with my life. I want
 
her to be proud of me. I want her to be happy with something I've done. I want to live my life, not the one she wants to make with me.

That's when my day decides to go to hell, and Lucas shows up.

He looks out of place on the grounds of the museum. Scholarly pursuits and Lucas do not match. He
 
comes jogging down the path and catches up to me, moving that way he always does, shoulders hunched, a leer on his face as he checks me out. It's not like when Apollo looks at me. Lucas makes me feel naked in a
bad
way, like he's stealing something from me just by looking at me.

"Dee dee," he says, throwing his meaty arm over my shoulder.

I shrug out from under him. "Don't touch me."

"Your mom said she'd be away for the week. Thought I should stop by and check up on you."

"She told you?"

"Yeah. On Facebook."

I blink a few times. My mom is on Facebook? And she's been talking to Lucas?

"I don't need anybody checking up on me, least of all
you."

I break into a jog. Of course, he follows me. Suddenly I realize this might be a mistake. I'm moving away from all the people, towards a patch of preserved forest on the southeast corner of the grounds. Where the trees start up ahead, it's dark, the path shadowed and secluded. Lucas easily keeps pace, and I’m already winded from jogging this far. When I look back it feels like it's a million miles back to the museum or the garden or the house, and I'm stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with him.

Deep breaths. I'm being silly. He wouldn't try anything, would he?

Either way, I don't want to be out here, or anywhere else, alone with him. So I stop, turn without giving myself time to feel winded, and start jogging back.

He moves to block my path. When I try to cut around him he moves again, with surprising grace for his side.

"Where are you going?"

"Home. I'm tired. Excuse me."

Lucas' hand shoots out and clamps down on my arm.

"Hey, no rush."

I shake my arm, but he doesn't let go.

"Get off of me, Lucas," I warn, my voice rising. "I'm not joking. Don't
touch
me."

He yanks my arm and I stumble, drive my elbow into his stomach and try to shake loose. All I end up doing is sliding my arm in his grip, so he has me by the wrist.

"That hurt, you little bitch. Why don't you just-"

"What's going on here?"

It can't be.

Apollo comes jogging up the path, the heat-haze behind him shimmering. He slows as he approaches. His eyes fix on Lucas' hand on my wrist.

"She said let go, meathead."

"You again," Lucas growls, releasing me as he steps forward. "You need to learn to stay out of my business."

"Do I? I think you need to learn to stay out of
my
business."

"What?"

Apollo nods at me.

"She's my business."

Lucas summons all of his eloquence and growls, "Fuck off."

"I don't think so. Come on, Diana. I'll walk you home."

I move towards Apollo and Lucas blocks my way, turned sideways, one eye on Apollo.

"I don't know how you think this is going to go, but it's not going to be good for you," Apollo says, his voice jovial, almost joking.

Then, Lucas takes a swing at him.

Apollo just
folds
out of the way, twisting so smoothly I can barely
 
believe he kept his balance. Lucas stumbles right past him, but apparently that wasn't enough for him. He turns around, swinging his meaty fist in a backhanded blow that connects with nothing but air. Apollo ducks the blow like he saw it coming last week and isn't all that concerned about it. Lucas grabs at him and again, nothing.

"I know what you're going to do before you do it," Apollo sighs. "Just give up."

Lucas' face goes from red to purple as he tries another grab and again, Apollo just slips out of the way, like there's nothing to it at all.

"That's not going to work. I'm like water."

"What?" Lucas snorts. "You little shit."

Another grab, another miss. Apollo dances back, well out of snatching range.

"I'm warning you."

Lucas dives at him.

"Water can flow," Apollo sighs, "Or it can crash."

He spins on the ball of his foot and kicks, and his other foot connects with the side of Lucas' head. Lucas goes tumbling into the grass, clutching his ear, and curls into a ball. He tries to get up but just flounds and flops there, moaning and clutching his ear. The look on his face is shocking, somewhere between confusion and fear. Apollo takes my hand before I even realize he'd moved. His touch his soft, deceptively so considering what he just did. His fingers lace through mine.

"Come on," he says, very softly. "Let's go."

I walk back to the house with him in silence, leaving Lucas lie there. Apollo still has my hand.

I slip my fingers loose from his grip and stick my hand in my pocket. He does the same.

"What's up with him?"

"I'll be blunt. He wants to fuck me. My mother has been egging him on."

"Uh, why?"

"Because," I sigh, blinking back the burning in my eyes. "To her I'm just a little doll to play with as she likes. I have to do everything her way, no matter what. I guess she wants me to have a star football player boyfriend. It doesn't matter that he's a lecherous creep and I can't stand him. She doesn't see things the way they are. She sees the way she wants it to be, and if reality doesn't fit her vision, reality is what's broken."

"You've been arguing with her."

"Yeah. I have to reply to admission letters by the end of the month. She wants me to go where she went, do what she did. I don't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to be a museum whatever. I want to do something
different
. Besides, her life sucks. Why would I want to emulate it?"

"It can't suck that bad. She's got you."

I snort.

"Very smooth." I sigh. "We used to be closer but she's just seemed so bitter and controlling ever since I started high school, really. Lucas has been on me since I was a freshman. First year, it was grade school shit, and then he turned all the girls against me. There's these cliques…"

"Clicks?"

"Cliques. With a Q. Anyway Lucas has all the popular girls wrapped around his little finger. I don't even matter to him. It’s not
me
he wants, it's the girl that's always turning him down. It could be anybody. Mom doesn't see that. He's good at showing a different side to people when he wants to. I think he's a sociopath."

"Huh," Apollo says, a hint of a nervous tone in his voice. "Well, that's all over now, right? No more high school shit."

"I hope so. You can't imagine how disappointed I'll be if I start school in the fall and it's High School, Part II."

He snorts. "I guess so. Hey, look, house."

There it is.

"What are you doing today?"

"Me? Being a man about town, I guess. I had nothing planned."

"Why don't we…" I trail off.

Why don't we what? I can think of a few things. I have a hard time
not
thinking of those few things, point of fact, especially when I look at him. I almost have to grip the sides of my pockets to keep from touching him.

"I'm not sure. Diana, my father…"

"Had a talk with you about me, yeah, I know. Look, I know it makes it weird if our parents are… involved."

"Makes what weird?"

"Come inside. I need to take a shower."

"Uh, is that an invitation?"

"You're staying in the kitchen."

"Oh."

He deposits himself in the living room instead, and turns on the television while I head upstairs, my heart pounding. I could invite him to take a shower with me. I think I'd rather enjoy that.

Slow down, Diana. You met this guy what, three days ago? You hardly know anything about him and…

He's incredible. Call me what you will, that little show with Lucas got my motor going. He's so primal. I wonder if he's down there picturing me up here naked in the bathroom. I hang my robe on the hook and stuff my sweaty clothes in the hamper, and get under the water. It soaks hot into my hair and smooths it down my back, and the water flows between my legs. My eyes flutter open a little, then closed again as I think about Apollo moving the way he did, so lithe and graceful, almost like a dancer. There's a lot of power in his body.