Into This River I Drown (11 page)

He catches my eye again, and for some reason, I can’t break away. For a moment, I can imagine him doing just as he said he would. That he’s reading my mind and in a moment he’ll tell me what I’m thinking. But even worse, he’ll be able to tell me the things I’m
not
thinking, the things buried so far down that dragging them into the light will break me in half. I hold my breath as his gaze bores into me.
Who are you?

The moment shatters as he sighs again and looks away. “Can’t do it,” he says, sounding frustrated. “Being down here isn’t the same as being up there looking down.”

I deflate, feeling strangely disappointed. I’m about to tell him that I can give him a few bucks if he’s looking to get something to eat since he’ll be on his way (I’m hoping), when he slams on the brakes in front of Big House, the headlights illuminating the front steps.

I follow his line of sight. “No,” I tell him, already struggling to open the door. “No, you don’t even touch her—”

“Nina Fisette,” he says happily, watching my aunt waiting patiently on the steps for me to come home. “Born September 14, 1964 at 3:34 in the afternoon under a sapphire sun. Sister Mary Fisette born thirty-four minutes later. Suffers from trisomy 21 caused by the presence of an extra partial twenty-first chromosome. Daughter to Michael and—”

I grab my dad’s coat from the floor of the truck and I’m out the door even as Nina rises from her spot on the steps. She looks hesitant as she sees me rushing toward her, but then her gaze flickers over me, back to the truck, and the smile that blossoms on her face causes me to stumble in its beauty. I’ve never seen her wearing the look she has on her face now, and it’s enough to cause the world to shift on its axis again. I stop as she walks past me, not even acknowledging my presence. I reach out to grab her, to stop her from whatever it is that she’s about to do, but she pulls away, never looking back. “Nina,” I say, but it comes out choked.

The man has gotten out of the Ford, and as she walks toward him, the rational world as I know it disappears like sand through my fingers.

Calliel stands in front of the truck, watching the small woman walk toward him. He’s changed. There are flashes of blue whirling around him, sparking off into the darkness. His eyes are alight with something I can’t place. Elation? Unbridled joy? Love? I don’t know. I’ve never had anyone look at me the way he’s watching her. I can hear a soft exhalation as she reaches him, a sigh of peace. The blue is brighter now, spinning faster. It molds around him, beginning to take shape. It only takes seconds when the lights make a faint outline, clinging to his back and rising up and down around him. The feather in my hand vibrates, heating until it’s almost too much to hold on to.

Before I can shout a warning, my aunt reaches up with her little hands that can’t quite reach what she’s trying to hold onto. Calliel lowers his head and she cups his face in her hands, rubbing her thumbs gently over his cheeks. He closes his eyes, and, remarkably, hums a contented sound that causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. The blues (Prussian and cobalt and azure and indigo and so many, many more) spin in tighter circles and the shapes behind his shoulders become more pronounced until I can no longer deny the outline of great wings that stretch around him.

The night has gone silent around us, as if we three are the only living things left on the planet. I’m aware of every breath I take, every beat of my heart, every thought that rushes through my head. It’s not as if my ears are plugged, no; it’s as if I can hear clearly for the first time and I’ve focused on every single little thing that ever was and ever will be. Bright flashes of light burst behind my eyes, but I can’t look away.

“Hello,” Nina says, her voice filled with awe.

“Hello, Nina Fisette,” the stranger says, turning his face in her hands so it rests against her left palm.

“You came,” she says. “I didn’t think you would. I didn’t think you
could
.”

“He called for me,” he tells her, never taking his gaze from hers. “He called for me and I would not say no. I made a promise. To him. To you. You know this, little one.”

“Promises are made to be broken,” she says, her voice breaking. My heart stutters in my chest. “Promises aren’t always kept, even if they’re meant to be.”

“Not mine,” he says, reaching up to his face to place his hand on top of hers. “Not to you. Never to him.”

“Does he know yet, you think? Does he realize?”

Calliel glances up at me, the blue dancing around him causing his eyes to spark. The feather in my hand grows hotter still, but I can’t look away. Much is said in his eyes, but I can’t decipher any of it. My breath hitches in my throat and my eyes start to burn, and all I can hear is my father in my head saying,
Wake up. Wake up, Benji. He’s come down from On High and you need to wake up. Open your eyes and see. Wake up.

“Not yet,” Calliel tells my aunt as he watches me. “But he will.”

“He’ll be difficult,” she warns him gently. “He won’t know what to do. You know this, yes?”

“I know,” he says, looking back down at her, the blues beginning to fade. “I’ve watched for a very long time. I can see the patterns. The shapes. The design that connects you all.”

She chuckles. “And are you in the design? Can you see yourself there?”

He shakes his head. “It’s hidden from me. I don’t remember much from up there. I remember knowing the call was coming, knowing it would be soon. I just don’t….” He squints his eyes shut. “There is much I don’t remember. Pieces. Large pieces disconnected because parts are missing. I think I knew this would happen. I think I didn’t care. I’ve been trying to put the pieces back together so the shapes make sense, but it’s still too soon. Little one, what if I don’t belong here?”

“Then we’ll deal with it as it comes,” she says, patting his face gently. “But you’ll never know unless you try. Your blue is so lovely. So warm and so beautiful. Lonely, but beautiful.”

He grins and preens under her hands.

The night is slowly returning, darkness filtering back in. Crickets are chirping. Wind is blowing through the trees. Off in the distance is the high-pitched yip of a coyote. My heartbeat slows. My breath evens out.

When the final blue fades into the night, Nina drops her hands and takes a step back from him. “There is much you can teach each other,” she tells him quietly. “But he is trapped too.”

He nods. “I know.”

“I think I shall call you Blue,” she announces, clapping her hands together. “But I still want to know your real name.”

“Calliel.”

“Calliel,” she repeats, tasting the word on her tongue. “Very pretty. And strong. It suits you. Can I still call you Blue?” She sounds like a little girl, shyly asking for what she thinks she’ll never get.

He smiles. “You can call me what you like, little one.”

She giggles and holds her arms out, spinning in circles, her laughter spilling out in all directions. When she stops, she’s facing me. “Hello, Benji,” she says. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“I don’t know,” I say hoarsely. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Soon,” Nina says. “I told you soon you will see. And you will. Soon, we all will.” She turns again and stands on her tiptoes, then reaches up and plants a kiss to Calliel’s red beard. She spins back around, a gentle blush rising on her cheeks, evident even in the dark. She rushes toward me, a determined look on her face. I open my arms and she collides with me, breathing heavily against my neck. “There is a point to grief,” she whispers fiercely. “But there is also a point to opening your eyes and living.”

I nod, not knowing what else to say. Disbelief washes over me again.

She lets me go and pushes past me. “Nina, wait. You can’t….” I stop.

She looks at me over her shoulder expectantly.

What do I tell her? That everything we’ve both just seen is a figment of our imaginations? That this man (
Blue
, I think;
Calliel
) isn’t what she thinks he is, whatever it is she’s thinking? I can’t say those words—they would sound false to the both of us. I don’t know
what
I’m thinking. I don’t know
what
he is.

“Just… don’t tell Mom, okay?” I say finally. “Or the rest of the Trio. Not until—”

“Nina? Benji? What’s going on out here?”

Oh fuck.

Without thinking, I turn and toss the coat at Cal. He stares at it for a second until I hiss at him to put it on so he doesn’t look like he’s ready to do battle in a gladiator coliseum. He does, smiling quietly to himself.

My mother opens the screen door to Big House and Mary and Christie pile out behind her. They’re looking at us curiously until one by one they see the gigantic man still standing next to the Ford. “Hello,” my mother says uncertainly.

Calliel takes a step and starts to smile, and we’re only seconds away from, “Greetings, Lola Green, born December 15, 1962 under a corporeal moon and take me to your leader” or some other fucking crazy bullshit.

“Uh,” I override him loudly. “This is just… a friend of mine. You know. Just… hanging out. And stuff.” He looks at me curiously, and I try to put as much murder in my gaze as I possibly can, but he seems amused, nothing more.

“A
friend
?” Mary says, starting to grin. “Well, he’s certainly quite the specimen for a
friend.
”

Oh goddammit.

“Yes,” Nina says, somehow picking up on the growing awkwardness. “I was just waiting for Benji to come home and he introduced me to his friend and nothing more. Nothing more at all is going on, so no nosy nellies.”

“What’s his name?” Christie asks.

“Blue,” Nina says, as he says, “Calliel,” while I say, “Cal.”

The three women on the patio stare at us.

I cough. “Calliel Blue,” I manage to say. “Everyone calls him Cal.”

“They do?” Calliel asks, sounding extraordinarily baffled. “I have not heard this before from—”

“What he means,” I say, interrupting him, “is that he has a lot of nicknames and Cal is just one of them. Or Blue. Or… whatever.”
Yeah.
That
should convince them.

“Really,” Mom says, sounding like she doesn’t believe a single word that’s falling from my mouth. “Hello, Cal. Or Blue. Or Calliel. I’m Lola, Benji’s mom. These are my sisters, Christie and Mary. I think you’ve already met Nina.”

He waves jovially at them (and everyone except for Mom starts waving right back), looking at me, begging with his eyes to speak. I shake my head quickly once and, unbelievably, he grunts at me, calling me ridiculous without saying the words.

“Cal Blue?” Mary whispers quite loudly, still waving. “That sounds like a porn name. He looks like he does porn too. Big bad ginger-man porn.”

“That’s not a porn name,” Christie scoffs. “Calliel sounds… Hispanic. Or Greek.”

I groan.

“I am not Hispanic,” Calliel assures her. “Or Greek.” Mary and Christie titter quietly at the sound of his voice, rough and wonderful.

He tries again. “I’m actually—”

“He’s actually Californian,” I say, as if that explains everything. To Mary and Christie, it seems to suffice; they nod as if that makes perfect sense. My mother is not buying a damn thing. Even worse, she’s starting to get that look on her face that means she’s going to start asking questions I have no idea how to answer. Making a decision, I walk over to him and take his hand in mine. Even though it can’t possibly be real, there’s a moment when our fingers connect, that feeling of skin against skin. An even brighter blue bursts across my vision. His palm feels calloused, his fingers soft and dry. My toes curl in my work boots. I look up at him and find him staring down at our intertwined fingers, wonder playing across his face. He raises his gaze to mine and smiles again. Fuck it all.

“Not what you’re thinking,” I say under my breath. “Don’t you say a damn word until I tell you to.” He nods, looking back down at our hands. He gives an experimental squeeze and then does it again.

Great. Fantastic.

I take a deep breath and look back to the porch. Mary and Christie watch us, dumbfounded. Nina looks like she wants to tackle us and kiss our faces off. Mom looks like there are at least four hundred more questions she must ask right at this moment. I need to end this now. “Cal’s going to be staying with me in Little House for a while.”
Uh, what?
He squeezes my hand again, harder.
“There’s some stuff he and I need to talk about, so… you know. Maybe we can do this whole thing later?” I direct this last at my mom, trying to put enough emphasis on my words that she feels no need to say anything else.

She can see right through my attempts, but small wonder. She nods tightly, pursing her lips. Mary and Christie stand behind her, waggling their eyebrows obscenely, but it’s wasted on my apparent new best friend, who is still looking down at our hands, squeezing again and again like he’s never held hands with another person.

Maybe on whatever planet he comes from this is frowned upon,
I think, trying to avoid going into hysterics.

“We’ll talk later,” my mom says finally, the tone in her voice letting me know in no uncertain terms that there
will
be a later. I almost want to tell her that I’m fucking twenty-one years old, but realize how that would sound and there’s no fucking way that’s going to happen. “Remember, you’ve… you’ve got the day off tomorrow, so….”

“So make sure you get plenty of
sleep
.” Mary giggles, sounding so much like her sister when she laughs.

“Yeah,
sleep
in,” Nina says, although I’m not sure she understands what she’s saying.

“Ladies,” Christie says, “into the house. Let’s leave Benji and Gigantor alone so they can do whatever it is two guys do when they are all by themselves in an empty house where no one can hear them scream.”

My mom shakes her head and turns and walks back into the house, followed by Christie and Mary. Mary asks her older sister if it looked like Cal was wearing a skirt, and Christie replies that it must be a Californian thing. Nina waits until they’re all inside before she looks back at us. “I promise I won’t say anything,” she whispers hurriedly. “But these things have a way of getting out all on their own. Be careful, Benji. And Blue?”