Chapter Forty-six
~
I had been sittin’ with Mama for an hour, her sippin’ what had to be a stone-cold cup of tea, me my fourth cup of java, when Beky’s papa entered the kitchen. Mama jumped up and turned up four burners on the stove as the three of us exchanged quiet good mornin’s.
Both Naid and I studied Mama’s motions as she began pourin’ prepared ingredients into warmin’ pans.
“Some premium goblin ingredients you have there,” Naid said.
Mama beamed. “I’ve served my share of goblins,” she said. “Orcs, daemons, a few dwarves, and of course humans, ogres, and—” she pointed at her chest. “Understand you’re a chef too.”
I sensed my eyes rollin’ back, way back into my skull. They were gonna get into their world, excludin’ us normal folk. I might as well go back to bed. Naid was excited to share his thoughts on the culinary arts, as I expected, and was standin’ next to her in front of the twenty feet of stove-top before I could blink twice. They went blah blah blah, with way too much excitement. Save me, gods. I tilted to slide off my seat at the counter when Mama snapped at me to drag Hale’s butt out of bed. And to check to see if Melody was up.
I almost burst into laughter. Mama gave me a look which I hurried to get away from. How was Hale gonna tweek Alex’s mama’s name? Meldy? Moldy? The bull considered livin’ up North, where everyone has a name with five to seven syllables?
I hurried for our hallway, but veered. Hale would be in his studio. Oddly, the door was open. He likes his privacy, but I sensed his presence in there, somewhere. The greenish natural light filterin’ through the primordial pines shed an eerie glow across the huge space.
I stood in the doorway, eyes flittin’ from his favorite armchair, his desk, draftin’ table, sculptin’ pedestal—
“I’m over here.”
His voice made me jerk. I stepped into the room, to find him in the corner, next to the broad double-swings where he backed up his trailer to unload his larger blocks of granite. He sat on the floor, legs criss-cross-applesauce, forehead seemin’ly pressed against the glass.
“What are ya doin’?” I asked.
“Watchin’ the water meander in the creek, where it dives underground.”
“Uh. Why?”
“Ya ask stupid questions. Why are ya botherin’ me?”
~
Hale
~
“I do not ask stupid questions,” my stupid siblin’ sniped. “Ya’re stupid.”
“Ya open yar mouth ya’re sayin’ somethin’ stupid.”
“Whoa. Ya in a bad mood or somethin’?”
Was I? Not sure I have moods. Have to have emotions to have moods, surely.
“Why are ya angry?” she asked.
Angry? That’s a mood. “What business is it of yars what I’m doin’ anyway?”
“I really don’t care what ya’re doin’, actually. Just never saw ya sittin’ here, lookin’ like ya lost yar last friend.”
That was the stupid thin’ that came to her mind? Folk love my sculptures, but can’t say anyone likes me. Thankfully she allowed the air to soften between us while I considered what I wanted to say next. Bele has explained to me too many times that the social contract states a person talks, then the next person talks. But the contract assumes both parties are interested in a conversation. Am I? I don’t think so. So maybe that social contract is for naught. She’s in my realm of existence interruptin’ me, so maybe she doesn’t even deserve anythin’ more from me.
She was next to me now, lowerin’ herself to the floor, crossin’ her feet carefully under her butt, takin’ care not to touch me. I like that, the not touchin’ thin’, about Bele. It’s how she shows she cares.
The moments passed. Pretty sure Bele was about to reach her tolerance of quiet. So I’d share my thoughts with her. “If ya could carry a torch, follow the water as it sluices into the ground at the edge of the pond, what do ya think ya’d see down there?”
She snorted.
“About what I’d think ya’d think about that,” I said.
“Mama’s preparin’ breakfast.”
I sighed. “Beky and I prolly couldn’t, ya know, be mates.”
Bele choked a bit.
I waited.
“Well.” She paused a year or so. “Bein’ mates is more than just sex, I suppose.”
“Ewe.”
“Well, ya asked the question.”
“She seems to like me,” I said.
“Yes.”
I waited. Waited a bit more. Leaned away from the glass and studied the side of Bele’s head. Her gold dreads are pretty. But I don’t look back. Cuttin’ mine off was the right thin’, for me. “Just ’cause that silly human is crazy in lust with ya, doesn’t mean ya owe him anythin’.”
“We were talkin’ about ya and Beky,” she hissed.
A sigh escaped. I’m not really sure what sighs are supposed to mean, but Bele seems to use them at times like this, when she’s either confused and irritated, or at a loss to understand how stupid I can be.
“Papa was well into his forties,” I finally said. She’d understand I meant there’s prolly no hurry to make any life decisions.
“Ya really think Beky would hang around here and be a trail guide for the visitin’ humans?” she asked.
Not what I was expectin’ her to say. My mind floated. Yep. It was one of the gazillion thin’s Beky had blathered about last night. Hm. What was Bele’s point?
“Point bein’,” Bele said—she loves hangin’ out in my head, “she’s contemplatin’ hangin’ around. That she wouldn’t mind settlin’ here. If there was the right—” she paused. “Incentive.”
My head was goin’ up and down, more rockin forward and back, but I was thinkin’ about Alder now. I’d already figgered out what Bele suggested about Beky—just undecided what I thought about the possibility. I’m seventeen. Makes sense Beky’s more prepared to entertain life decisions. She’s twenty-four. “Ya’re gonna break Alder’s heart, aren’t ya?”
Did she sob or burp? Maybe I could share a weird thought that had been goin’ through my head.
“What thought?” Bele asked, and wiped at her nose.
“All this,” I said, swipin’ my hand about, “just as much a half-dream I was havin’ last night than serious—uh—plannin’. Not plannin’ at all.”
“Okay. Go ahead.”
“Not a plan. Just—uh—”
“Just say it. I got the picture.”
“Seems Meldy doesn’t have much to go home to.”
Bele ripped a harder look at me. Hope she wouldn’t hold it. “Her name’s Melody. That a bit of a leap on yar part.”
“Not the way ya repeated what she had to say to ya.”
Her mouth dropped open quick like she was ready to disagree with me, but held whatever thought bounced around inside her empty head.
“Don’t be mean,” she hissed. “Continue with yar blather.”
“Alder spendin’ a bunch of time, effort, gettin’ a master’s degree in art that’ll never pay him back,” I said slowly.
“Why ya say that?” she asked.
“Artists as a rule remain in obscurity and poverty. Unless they fit in a niche like me. Ya saw Alder’s work. Best he could hope for is to teach. And that ain’t gonna make him rich either.”
She sighed. “Ya’re gonna make a point, right, other than dismissin’ his life’s work.”
“I’m considerin’ not returnin’ to TIT. What do I need with an MBA?”
She sucked in her breath. I sensed a world of hurt strikin’ her. She’d miss me not bein’ there.
After clearin’ her throat, she said, “Be refreshin’ to have ya out from under.”
“Thinkin’ the same about ya,” I said. “But on the topic ya’re so concerned about. I could use a business manager. Someone who understands the art world.”
She held me in her glare now. Tried to ignore it. “Alder?” She was embarrassed she used my name for the human. She cleared her throat again.
Decided she’d finished whatever she wanted to say, so continued. “Since he’s gonna otherwise starve, as an artist. If he hung around here for a while, the two of ya might have a few years to figger thin’s out.”
“Assumin’ there’s anythin’ to figger out,” she said.
“A given. And Meldy—” I said.
“This oughta be good,” she mumbled.
“Opa, Papa’s caterer—”
“I know who Opa is, fool, and she does a lot more than manage Papa’s catering. She manages the entire goin’ons of the business wing.”
“Is gettin’ on in years.”
“She better not hear ya say that,” Bele whispered, as though afraid what Opa would do to the two of us if she heard us. “What! Ya suggestin’ Papa should fire Opa and hire Meldy? Are ya insane?”
“She’s in her nineties. Deserves to slow down. And of course I’d rather break my own arm than suggest anythin’ Opa would consider a negative. I love her as much as Papa does.” Of course, I’m a bit confused about the whole sense of love.
Bele did that sighin’ thin’ again. “So ya’re arrangin’ Beky, Alder, Opa, and Meldy’s lives, are ya? Mine too! Uncle Ike’s gonna be ticked if ya don’t go back to TIT!”
“Ya should lower yar voice,” I suggested.
She remained quiet for a long piece, but I could sense some silly thought wanted to bust out of her face. Mama might be expectin’ us, but I waited.
“Speakin’ of Uncle Ike—”
I waited. This was gonna be good.
“Ya should come up with a fix for Uncle and Aunt Nuel. They’re about as dysfunctional a pair as there is in the Range.”
She was bein’—couldn’t think of the right word. Disrespectful wasn’t just right. Could sense from her an intense desire for me to give her some stupid answer or another. So—“I’ll give it some thought.”
She snorted hard enough she had to wipe her chin.
~
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