Cornerstone (17 page)

“It’s true.” Sean adds. “The pizza last night was kind of a fluke. Happens every once in a while, but usually all you can get around here is health food. It’s pretty boring.”

“And I’d rather you sit where I can see you anyway.” Garrett murmurs to me. I smile at him as he unloads four whole chickens from the fridge and lays them on the wood chopping block. “Talk to me while I hack up birds.”

“No, I want to help.” I tell him, sliding off the stool. “Peeling’s fine with me.”

Except that it’s absolutely not fine.

I’ve never peeled a potato before in my life. Not in our house, where the stove is piled high with boxes of paper and the sink overflows with it too. I can work a can opener, bread tabs and microwaves. Beyond that, I’ve never had to cope much. Garrett hands me a small, sharp knife and puts a huge, silver pot next to the potato bag.

“Tonight’s mashed.” Garrett winks. My pulse winks too. I tell myself that potatoes are not brain surgery, they’re potatoes. I just have to get the peel off. I’m sure there is a trick to it, but since I don’t know it, I just do what makes sense. Garrett is right—it is awkward with the cast. I end up cutting the potatoes in wedges and then sawing off the skins, the same way I’d cut the rind off a watermelon.

I’m on the eighth one when Garrett glances over my shoulder and says, “Ahh. So you’re a health nut too, huh? Don’t want to lose all the vitamins in the peel? My parents would be proud.”

He’s teasing, but it is obvious that I’m doing it all wrong. I don’t know how to peel a stupid potato. Suddenly, I can’t force a smile out on my lips. I’m tired of being the person who knows nothing. But Garrett, hardly missing a beat, slips the knife out of my hand and murmurs to me, “Here ya go, Old School, step aside and let me show you how the pros do it.”

He elbows me where it tickles, pushing me away from the sink as I laugh. He picks up a spud and tosses it from hand to hand as if it’s either a weapon or a magic trick, I can’t figure out which. Then he stands in front of the sink, his hands outstretched and he shakes his hair away from his face dramatically. It’s pointless since the strands fall right back to where they were, curling into his cheekbones, as he tips his head over the sink.

“Watch and learn.” he says. He works the knife masterfully, moving the vegetable in his palm. His shirt sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and I can visually trace two veins in his forearms all the way to his wrists. I want to run my fingers over his arm and feel the ridges. I have to concentrate on keeping my hands at my sides and it doesn’t help when Garrett glances at me sideways, like he knows what I’m thinking. He lifts a perfect curl of skin off the white oval and dangles the spiral over my head like mistletoe.

“Ta da.” he says, glancing at my lips. I want him to kiss me.

“Steak fries are sounding really good.” Sean coughs.

Garrett smiles, dropping his eyes to the countertop. He flips the flawless potato curl into the sink. “I agree. Carry on, Nalena. You just saved us from a typical and boring dinner. You’re brilliant.”

I go back to hacking up the potatoes the way I was, but my mind trails off from the thrill of watching Garrett’s hands and I rewind to everything that happened this afternoon. Jen and Regina, Garrett’s attack, Contego, Cusp.

The weirdness of it all makes me want my mom. To lean against her and spill out everything that has happened today. I know that everything will be okay, if I can just hear my mom say that it will.

When the phone rings, I stop cutting to watch Sean pick up the phone. I wait for him to glance at me, to say something familiar that would mean it is my mom on the other end. Instead, there is a long pause after he says hello and then Sean grimaces.

“For Mark, press one.” he says and pauses. “For Brandon, press two.” Another pause. Then, he makes his voice as thick and silly as a talk show host. “For Sean, press three.” He does an extra long pause and then frowns. “For all other calls, hang up, because Garrett’s taken.” Pause. “Hello? Anyone? C’mon, Heavy Breather, if you’re going to call, you at least have to press a number if you’re not going to talk.”

Garrett laughs as Sean shrugs and puts the receiver back on the wall cradle. Sean smirks when he catches me watching him.

“It’s how we have to answer the phone around here.” he explains. “Why don’t you girls ever want to say your name when you call?”

The front door opens five minutes later, but it feels like a week has passed. Mr. and Mrs. Reese come in with my mom sandwiched between them as if they’re on a chain gang. My mom looks antsy. She twists out of her coat, her lips speeding silently through lists of names. Wherever she and the Reese’s were today, it took too long.

“We ran into traffic.” Mrs. Reese explains to no one in particular. She comes into the kitchen and takes one of the packages of paper off the counter that Garrett and I had brought home. She hands it to my mom like it is aspirin for a headache.

“Here, Evangeline. It looks like we’ve still got some time before dinner. You go ahead and get some of your writing done. I’m so sorry it took us so long getting home.”

In front of everyone, my mom tears into the paper like she’s a starving woman ripping into a candy bar. I want to hide under the sink. Her lips are moving and then I can hear her mumbling all the names and plots, in total loony mode. My mom sits down at the table and hunches over her paper, scribbling line after line as my heart sinks. Whatever I need—whether it is for her to look sane in front of Garrett and his family, or whether I need to tell her that I might be the reason the world is going to end at any minute—all of it has to wait now.

“Where were you?” I ask. Mrs. Reese answers instead of my mom.

“Oh, no place special.” she says. “Just the bank, some errands…you know, boring stuff. How about you guys? Anything new here?”

“New is an understatement.” Sean says. “Look at the mugs by the cookie jar.”

Mrs. Reese leans over the counter and picks up the two mugs, her eyes finding the tea blobs in the bottoms. I’m waiting for her face to register some type of horror, but her expression remains bland as she says. “Whose are these?”

“Garrett and Nalena’s.” Sean says. “From this morning.”

“Nalena’s?” Her face is surprised, not horrified, but the shock in her tone gets Mr. Reese on his feet beside her. She tips the mugs so he can see into the mouths of them too.

“Can you believe it?” Garrett says, as he dumps a wing on the pile of separated chicken pieces in front of him.

“Evangeline,” The sound in Mr. Reese’s voice does something my own voice has never been able to do. It stops her pen and raises her head. “You need to look at this. Nalena’s tea is formed in the sign of the Contego.”

There it is, out there, just like that. No fanfare, no easing into it. My mom’s face goes blank, as if her expression just slid off her chin. I have the urge to shout,
It’s just tea!
It’s no big deal!
at all the somber faces in the room. My mom puts down her pen and stands on shaky legs. Whatever this is, it is a bad enough joke to scare her.

“That can’t be.” she says.

Mrs. Reese hands my mother both mugs across the table. My mom looks into one and then the other, again and again, her face draining to a sickly shade of pale that feels contagious. The motion in the air evaporates, all of us suspended in our small pockets of space around the kitchen, as my mom continues her inspection of the mugs.

“This has to be a joke.” she says weakly.

“It’s not, Alo Evangeline.” Garrett says. “I swear it. I poured out Nalena’s tea myself.”

“You poured it? Then your touch must’ve affected it.” My mom’s tone is an odd mix of accusation and vulnerability. Garrett doesn’t waver, but his own voice softens.

“No, ma’am.” he says. “Nalena has received the sign of the Contego. I’ve seen proof of it twice today.”

“Impossible.” my mom whispers. She puts down the cups and grips the edge of the table. My stomach churns. All the comfort I felt from my mother’s presence is sucked from the room and the air that is left feels raw on my skin.

“What proof?” Mrs. Reese asks.

“Nalena was attacked in the bathroom at school today.” Garrett says. “A friend caught the whole incident on a cell phone. After playing back the video, I didn’t have any doubt of what she was. So, when we got home this afternoon, I tested the theory to be sure.”

“Tested how?” Mr. Reese asks narrowly.

“He attacked her.” Sean deadpans, making it sound like there were easier ways to prove it, but that maybe Garrett cut right to the chase. My mom’s mouth seals shut in a tight, straight line and her eyes cast down on the tabletop. I see her swallow. Her words come slow and deliberate.

“And what happened?”

“She was able to avoid me.” Garrett says, leaning both hands on the counter. “Until she was frightened, of course. She dropped out at the mention of fear, so I knew she hadn’t been trained.”

“Of course not.” my mother barely whispers. “She is a daughter of Alo. There was no reason for me to expect an alternate sign.”

She pinches the paling skin between her eyes. Whatever has happened to me, whatever I am or am becoming, it must be terrible. Her hand shakes over her face. Who I am has somehow become devastating to her. Tears flood my own vision, distorting her entirely.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” I say.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Nalena,” she hiccups beneath her hand. “I just…don’t… want you...tangled up in this. And now…you’ll have to choose…”

Her words evaporate into sobs and Mr. Reese goes to my mother, putting an arm around her. My mom turns into him, hiding her face in both hands against his chest. Her back bucks with her grief.

I feel a rootless shame. The floor begins to spin and then the whole kitchen is spinning, with everyone swirling around with it. Everyone but me. All eyes are on my mom. I am the only one left standing still. Mrs. Reese crosses the dining room to rub my mom’s back as she collapses into sobs in Mr. Reese’s arms. This is a thousand times worse than I expected. I must be a monster. I grasp the counter as it spins by me. I should’ve never been born. The room twirls until it is just a strobe of nauseating colors. I didn’t choose any of this but I am ensnared at its center. I’m going to be sick.

It is hard to describe how I feel him cut through the blur.

He is only a shape—an unmistakable outline against the color—walking easily into the swirling twister that envelops me. He reaches out and the color that glows all around him explodes toward me in a white hot heat. The swirl melts back from him and his warmth spreads out to encase me as his touch comes nearer. The moment we make contact, the colors implode in a pop and I am standing in the kitchen, Garrett’s hand clasping mine.

“You okay?” he whispers in my ear. I can still feel the heat surging from his hand. It pumps through my body like a medicine. I put my hand on his.

“I’m fine.” I say. He smiles like he knows that he is a power outlet. His palm pulses against my skin as his energy blooms into my veins and rejuvenates me. The dizziness subsides, but he keeps hold of my hand, as if he plans to stay until I move away. I look into the open sky of his eyes and what I see there hits me with a jolt. It is no longer my mom who can bring me my deepest comfort. It is Garrett.

Dinner is a funeral. Although my mom settles down, she asks Mr. and Mrs. Reese to wait until after we eat to discuss ‘this whole thing’. Which is me. Me, bringing the world down in flames. It makes it a little impossible to eat. I just push my food around and wait for everyone else to finish.

Garrett sits on one side of me, eating slowly, his leg close enough to mine that wiry sparks of heat are trapped between us. On the other side, my mom is a stone, not eating what’s in front of her either.

The only one that seems completely unaffected by any of this is Iris. She slurps her milk and tells jokes that don’t make sense, swallowing only if the food gets in the way of her talking. With every punch line, she laughs until her face turns magenta and it’s hard to tell if she’s wildly amused or choking. It must be pretty normal because the Reese’s don’t seem bothered by it. In fact, they ignore her even as she twists her head from side to side, looking for an admiring audience. The ponytail plume on her head dances with her gerbil-ish attention span.

“E-vanch-line,” she calls over the table to my mom. “What’d the chicken say to the potatoes?”

My mom, with puffy eyes, tries to smile. “I don’t know. What did it say, honey?”

“It says eat the greens beans!” Iris squeals and she stuffs her mouth full of beans, laughing. My mom pushes out a flat laugh and lets her weak smile fall into her lap. When Iris calls my mom’s name again, Mrs. Reese taps her daughter’s hand.

“Enough jokes, Iris.” she says. “Finish your dinner.”

The rest of the meal is quiet. When the Reese’s are finished, the four boys get to their feet and clear away their dishes.

“You didn’t eat nothing.” Iris says to my mother as she slides off her chair.

“You didn’t eat
anything
.” Mr. Reese corrects her, but then Iris shrugs and leaves. She was right. My mother’s plate is untouched, but Garrett carries it away without another word. My mom starts mumbling beside me.