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“Yes, I did. Since I was a teenager, I’ve focused on trying to be a better person. To be the opposite of her. But she’s in me, like a virus with no cure. My gut reaction is not kindness or compassion or love. I’m not naturally good-hearted the way you are. I’m still learning to be a good person. Therapy really helped me get a grip on who I was and who I want to be.” She wraps her arm around me, cuddling me close. “Just think about going, okay? Not because I hope for anything between us or even for your parents’ sake. For yourself.”
“I’ll think about it.” Her eyes close when I drop a kiss on her forehead. “A bad person wouldn’t have tried so hard to fix the way they think. You’re beautiful, Calliope. Inside and out. And I’m completely capable of being a dick. You’ll see.”
Her giggles lighten the mood and we both fall silent, lost in our own thoughts. Minutes later, her breathing slows to a steady pace as she drifts off.
What I feel for her is terrifying. It’s been so long since I’ve let myself feel anything other than pain and guilt. A notion slips into my head. I’m not sure where it comes from, but it settles into my brain as if it belongs there.
Whatever shines in her may light my way back to myself. To who I was before.
My bed is empty when I wake and a wonderful smell wafts over me as I descend the stairs. The sound of Calli’s laughter is followed by my mother’s. They stand side by side, leaning against the counter while Mom shows Calli something on her phone.
“Oh my god. Look how adorable he was. How old was he?”
“This was sixth grade graduation so about twelve.”
“And already towering over everyone,” Calli replies, her grin growing when she looks up to see me watching them.
“He was always the tallest in his class,” Mom says.
“Ahem.” I draw Mom’s attention to where I stand in the doorway, my arms crossed over my chest. “Baby pictures, really?”
There’s not a scrap of regret on her face when she smiles at me. “We started with baby. Now we’re up to middle school.”
“Do you have a high school one?” Calli asks.
“Absolutely not,” I laugh, pulling her away. “Where’s Dad?”
Mom turns back to the stove as she replies. “He wanted to take a walk and see your beehives. Calli gave him one of thebeekeeper suits.” She glances at the time. “He’s been gone for a while.”
Calli looks up at me to see if I’m okay with that, and I give her a quick nod. I knew Dad would be out wandering around. He loves nature as much as I do. If it weren’t for my sister living next door to them, he probably would’ve talked Mom into moving somewhere rural by now. “I’ll go check on him.”
It’s freezing cold outside, but I don’t have to go far. Dad walks out of the graveyard, carrying the bee suit. “Well, look who woke up,” he teases. Dad may be an artist like me, but my night owl tendencies didn’t come from him. “I was checking on your bees.”
“How are they doing?” I ask, falling in step beside him.
“All holed up in the hive, vibrating like a son of a bitch.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s cold enough to snow.”
Dad pauses by my barn. “Will you show me what you’ve been working on? I’ve seen some of it online.”
“Sure.” I unlock the barn and take the bee suit from him, tucking it away inside.
“Calli seems like a nice young lady.”
“She is. We’ve become good friends since she moved in next door.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Your Mom and I were concerned you were spending all your time alone.” He rubs his hand over the graying scruff on his chin as we walk toward the camera rooms.
They had me pretty young, in their early twenties, but the signs of aging are beginning to show on them. It strikes me how the time has passed so quickly, how much I’m missing. “You don’t need to worry about me. I have friends. And my art. I’m not unhappy, Dad.”
His expression reveals he doesn’t quite believe me and that’s fair. After Melody, I withdrew completely. Moved away, kept to myself. They've never understood why, that it was for their sake as much as my own.
“I’m glad to hear it. Good luck getting your mom not to worry, though. You know how she is. She heard through her gossip grapevine that Chris Handleman has jumped parole and ran. I told her he’s probably in Mexico by now, not concerned with you.”
I’m grateful he looks away as he says it because I’m sure my expression would’ve said too much. He ran. That’s why he isn’t at his mother’s house. He could be anywhere. Including here, terrorizing us.
“Good lord, your skill only improves,” he exclaims when I uncover the drawing of the fallen log in the woods. It’s the same one I came across the first day I saw Calliope, when the creative block floated away and let me see again. “What did you use for the misty look around the moss?”
