Curse of the Sphinx (18 page)

HOPE SLEPT LATE
Saturday. She told herself she deserved it. In fact she deserved to spend the entire day in bed if she wanted to. But she was bored by noon.

After a long shower, she got into a clean pair of pajamas, and she spent the afternoon watching movies on the couch.

The knock at her door caused panic to flutter through her chest until she heard Athan’s voice.

She opened the door and noticed his hair was still damp and she could smell the citrus from his soap. His moss-colored T-shirt made his eyes seem bright.

He pulled an envelope from his back pocket. “My aunt asked me to give you this.”

Hope stepped aside to let him in. “Everything okay with her?” The disastrous dinner seemed ages ago.

Athan rolled his eyes. “Hades in hell. She’s been off her meds the last couple of weeks. I didn’t know. Usually she’s so . . . Anyway, she wanted to give you this, like an apology or something.” He handed her a thick cream envelope.

Inside was a golden coin. On one side was embossed with the figure of a woman holding a cornucopia and a set of old-fashioned scales.
One favor
was stamped on the other. The image reminded her of Athena, but neither the cornucopia nor the scales were Athena’s symbols.

“Is this for real?” She held it up.

His eyes widened, and then closed. He shook his head. “Gods. That is so embarrassing.” He offered a wan smile. “Do you want me to get rid of it?”

Maybe it was crazy, but intuition zinged, quick as lightning. “No, I’ll keep it.” She tucked the envelope under her arm.

“You better hope you never need it,” he muttered.

What was that supposed to mean? “It’s not like I could spend it anywhere.”

He shrugged. “Not in this realm.” He laughed, but it sounded forced. “Just in the Land of Make-Believe.”

But the weight of the coin, and its intricate detail spoke of value.

“Hey.” Athan leaned against the doorframe. “Do you want to go get dinner?”

“That sounds great.” She’d barely eaten all day and was starving. “Where do you want to go?”

“I know this place in Yakima.” He smiled. “Birchfield.”

“I’ve heard it’s good. Just let me get dressed.” She pulled at the front of her tank top.

“And get a jacket. It’s a little cool out.”

She went back to her bedroom and opened her closet. She put the envelope with the coin in the
Book of the Fates
. Then she slipped on jeans, and as she reached for a T-shirt, she thought better of it. Instead, she pulled on a black camisole and wrapped a sheer black blouse over it. She pulled her hair back into a messy knot and clipped in a couple of black gem bobby pins. A little bit of makeup, and she grabbed a pair of black heels.

“Sorry that took so long.” Her heels clicked on the floor.

He said nothing.

“If you think it’s too formal, I can go change.” She turned to go back to her room.

His hand grabbed her wrist. “No, no.” His voice was husky. “Don’t. I just . . .” His thumb stroked the inside of her palm, and his gaze travelled her. “By the gods, you are beautiful.” He shook his head. “I’m sure you hear that all the time.” A muscle in his jaw jumped, and he continued, “We’d better go or we’re going to miss our reservation.”

He’d made a reservation? Nice.

They chatted about school, music, and movies, and the drive passed quickly. They arrived at Birchfield just before six. Athan handed the keys to the valet and offered Hope his arm.

Inside, the maître d’ looked up at the young people with disdain.

“Can I help you?” His voice was barely civil.

Hope looked to Athan and was surprised at the change in his countenance. Gone was the relaxed young man. He stood tall and, looking down on the maître d’, spoke evenly. “I have a reservation for six o’clock. Mr. Michael. Is our table ready?”

The man staggered, almost as if he’d sustained a physical blow. He shook his head, then looked back up. “Yes, sir. Right this way, sir.” He fawned, and he led them to a secluded table marked
Private
. “I trust this will do.” When Athan nodded, he finished with, “Enjoy your evening” and practically bowed.

“What was that?”

“What?” His eyebrows raised.

“He had quite a change of heart.”

“Don’t you know the phrase ‘money talks’?”

He helped Hope into her seat, and then slid into his. The waiter was prompt with their drink order, and the service was consistently superb. The food was exquisite. The plates disappeared as they finished each course, only to be replaced with the next. The experience was unlike anything she’d had before.

As they made their way back out to the valet, she took a sidelong look at her date. While he was dressed casually, he carried himself with poise and confidence unlike anyone she’d ever met. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she froze. That wasn’t true. She
had
known confidence like his.

But she pushed the thought away.

Impossible.

As he helped her into the truck, she thanked him.

“Did you have a nice night? Wasn’t the food great?” He was grinning.

“Yeah. The food was fabulous, and I love not having to do clean up.” She laughed at the thought of the number of dishes that would be required to make such a meal. “Seriously, thank you.”

“No, no. It was my pleasure. Really. I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did. Very much so.”

On the stereo was a soft piano medley, and Hope stared out the window at the night sky. When they pulled off onto Highway 97, the lack of lights made the stars bright.

“What are you looking at?” His hand reached out and touched hers, drawing her attention to him.

“The stars.”

She rarely took the time to enjoy the night sky anymore. She used to love it, flying with her mom at the new moon. She closed her eyes, and with a deep breath made a decision to focus only on the present moment, the now. As she opened her eyes to the sky before her, she saw the waning moon was brilliant—only the brightest stars could compete. Still there were millions of them in the sky, and without city lights, it was breathtaking.

She turned and looked at him, but he was glancing up at the night sky, smiling, and then he turned back to the road.

“Do you know very much about astronomy?”

“Orion, Cassiopeia.” His finger traced constellations in the sky. “There’s Hercules, and Taurus. Over here is Gemini, and Ursa Major, and Ursa Minor.” As he traced the constellations, his voice grew wistful.

Hope shifted in her seat so she was nearly facing him. “Are you an astronomy whiz, or all-around nerd?”

He laughed. “I’m a nerd. Seriously. My dad, he loves astronomy. He would keep me up late pointing out the constellations. My mom would come outside and act put out, saying I should be in bed already. He’d just laugh and invite her to join us.”

He paused, but she had no intention of interrupting him.

“My dad said that if you knew the map of the constellations, you could never get lost.”

His reverie became soundless, and she waited in silence until he came back to the present.

“It sounds like he was a great father,” she finally said.

“He tries to be.”

There was momentary silence as he allowed her to digest the words.

“He’s still alive? But you said . . . he was gone. You had to come live with your aunt?” Her voice was tight with incredulity.

He accepted her scrutiny without interruption. “My father travels a lot and his schedule is not always his own. It’s easier to just say he’s gone than having to explain.” He averted his gaze as he spoke. There was tension in the muscles of his jaw, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “It sounds terrible, I know that, but I understand now. I didn’t when I was younger; it used to make me so mad. He takes me with him when he can.”

She could hear there was more. “What does he do?”

“He has a courier service, of sorts.”

“Like FedEx?”

“Kind of. Messages are part of it. He also does some guide work.”

“So he’s self-employed?”

He snorted. “I guess you could say that.”

“He doesn’t like it?”

“Oh, mostly he likes it. He complains sometimes, but I guess that’s probably true regardless of what your job is, huh?”

“So, what’s the name of his company? Maybe I could use them sometime.” She thought it would be amusing.

“He doesn’t really do local deliveries, it’s all long distance. Besides, he’s unbelievably expensive. The only reason he still has a business is because no one else will do what he does.”

“But you said he’s really busy, so he must have some good customers, right?”

Athan sighed. “Yes. He has a group of loyal customers, and then a lot of one-time clients.”

“I don't get it. They use the service once, but they don’t like it?”

“No, more like they only need his services just the one time.” She felt like he was talking in riddles.

She inhaled, ready to lob another question when he cut her off.

“It’s not that interesting. Really.”

With that, he closed the subject. She nodded. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to pry.”

“No worries.” He took her hand, and his thumb began to caress her palm gently.

“So you like to run?” Surely, this would be a safe topic.

“Hmm.” There was a brief pause. “You already know I like to run. Usually when I move, I join the track team, but it’s a little late in the year.”

“You like to compete?”

“Not really.” He laughed. “I know what I can and can’t do. I’m not really trying to prove it to anyone.”

“So then why join the team? Why not just run by yourself?”

“I guess I could, but track is a good way to get my running in, and get to know people. You know, new in the area, find people with common interests.”

She laughed. “I noticed you’re pretty friendly.”

“But you’re not so much.”

His tone was teasing, and even though there was no malice in the comment, it struck a chord. Her back stiffened and she attempted to pull away.

After a moment of hesitation, he released her hand. When he spoke, his voice was soft, conciliatory. “You seem to put a lot of effort into . . . not letting people in.”

She wavered. His touch was comforting and gentle. She flipped her palm up and wound her fingers back into his embrace.

“Hope?”

“Yeah.” Her whisper was an attempt to restrain the emotion bubbling in her heart.

“Why is that?” He looked sad.

“What?”

“Why do you work so hard to push people away?”

She was unprepared to answer his question; she’d never had to explain. She took a deep breath and sighed. “We moved a lot, my mom and me, for most of my life. I guess I already knew I’d be leaving soon, so it was easier to not get attached. I tried having friends once, but it . . . was . . . a disaster. It didn’t seem worth the effort.” But it was more than that. The reality was, she didn’t believe
she
was worth the effort.

“Besides,” she continued, shoving her dark thoughts deep into her soul, “it wasn’t like I was alone; my mom and I were really good friends.” Her eyes filled, threatening to overflow.

“What happened to your mom?”

“There was an accident.” She waited until she could swallow the lump in her throat before continuing, “I went to school one morning, but when I came home . . .” She shrugged, unable to say more.

But the lie felt horrible. Someone had
killed
her mom, and she wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

“I’m so sorry.” He was silent for a moment before continuing. “What about your dad? Isn’t he around?”

“No, he left before I was even born.” Hope shrugged it off. “I don’t think he’s even listed on the birth certificate.”

She told him how her lawyer had helped with the emancipation, her time in foster care, and the move to Goldendale. It felt good to share. Really good.