Kristie Cook - Purpose

“Good night, Dad,” he said softly. “I love you.”

I inhaled a jagged breath, my lungs feeling heavy and thick, as if liquid grief filled them.

“He loves you, too, little man,” I whispered. “And so do I. Very much.”

I held him until he fell asleep. I knew I should let him fall asleep on his own at his age, but holding him like this was the closest thing I had to holding his father. I would probably keep doing this as long as he let me.

Exhausted from playing all afternoon, he fell asleep quickly. As I headed for the door, two small lights in the window caught my eye. At first, I thought I saw a reflection. No, they’re outside. Two little fires. The dream from the other night flashed in my mind—the vampire and his red eyes. A chill ran up my spine. Then my pendant suddenly heated against my skin. I picked it up between my thumb and forefinger and glanced at it, then back up. The lights were gone.

I stared at the window. I had closed the blinds earlier. I thought…. Had I done both windows? Surely, I had. So how was one open now? I rushed to the window, my heartbeat spiking. I peered outside. Nothing there, but Owen’s truck in the driveway. Not a creature stirred. No tree branches even waved in the air.

I let out the breath I’d been holding, checked the window’s lock and closed the blinds. I watched them for what felt like several minutes. They didn’t move, of course. You’re imagining things, is all. Of course, that was all. No big deal to be seeing things. That wasn’t weird at all. Not irrational or anything.

I shook my head to clear it. The lights were probably just a bizarre reflection of headlights ricocheting off Owen’s truck and other surfaces. The blinds…I probably just forgot to close them. I held onto those sane explanations, feeling Swirly trying to creep in.

“You shouldn’t tell him those things,” Mom said as I stepped into the hallway, making me jump.

“What?” I asked, confused.

“The stories about fighting. It only encourages him.”

“Oh,” I breathed as I shut Dorian’s door. “Well, he needs to know about his dad. It’s not like I have tons of stories to tell.”

I turned for my room, but Mom stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

“Owen and I need to talk to you. Can you come sit with us for a minute?”

I could hear a slight strain in her voice and I didn’t think it had anything to do with Dorian’s fighting. Something else bothered her. Probably my recent behavior.

I sighed. “Mom, I know I’ve been acting crazy. Crazier than usual, I mean. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I am really trying….”

She took my hand and tugged me down the hall toward the family room. “I know, honey, which is why we need to talk. It’s more important than you realize.”

Owen stood at the bank of windows in the family room, staring out at the darkness of the backyard. He seemed to be deep in thought—and not good thoughts. The corners of his mouth turned down and his brows pushed together, creating three vertical lines over his nose. When he looked at me, the frown disappeared, but the smile replacing it looked more like a grimace.

Mom led me to one end of the sectional sofa and pulled me down to sit next to her. Owen sat on the ottoman in front of us as Mom took my hands into hers and studied my face. Her own expression looked concerned as she seemed to struggle with what she had to say. This was so unlike her.

“Just say it, whatever it is,” I finally said.

She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Honey, the council is growing concerned.”

I nodded.

“Because I’m acting like a lunatic.” It wasn’t a question. I was well aware of my demented behavior and now, apparently, so was the Amadis council. “Did that kid at the store figure it out and go to the media?”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t heard anything.” Mom narrowed her eyes. “Did you do something?”

“Um…no. Not really. I was just a little rude….” I didn’t feel like giving a full account. I was embarrassed by my actions, but right now I felt too much on the defensive. Something about their attitudes and their expressions bothered me. “Then did you and Owen tell the council about my insanity being worse than usual?”

Mom shook her head. “No, honey. We haven’t said anything. Not even to Rina. We know you’re going through something right now, but like I said the other night, I can feel the truth that things will get better. Sometimes they have to get worse before they get better, though.”

I studied her face and knew then the expression she held. Owen had the same look. It wasn’t the usual concern or empathy. They pitied me! The poor woman who couldn’t get on with her life. What did I expect? I’d been wallowing in self-pity for years. I tore my eyes from hers and stared at the black windows.

“What is it then?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. “What has them so concerned?”

Neither of them answered at first. I finally looked back at them. Owen leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs.

“They’ve been asking about you,” he said. “How you’re doing…if there have been any improvements. They’re actually kind of…freaking out, really.”

“Why? What did you tell them?” Anger and a hint of hysteria edged my tone. I didn’t know much about the council—nothing, really—but knew they had no problem making decisions for us. Only Rina had the power to overrule them. Only the matriarch wasn’t controlled by them.

“Nothing. Nothing new, anyway,” Owen said quickly. “But…”

He looked at Mom and so did I. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, while taking a deep breath. She opened her eyes and looked into mine.

“Honey…it’s about the next daughter. They’re getting anxious.”

“Daughter…?” I asked, the word sounding strangely foreign because it wasn’t at all what I expected to hear.

“Yes. Your daughter.”

“What daughter? We don’t even know if I can have one.”

“Rina believes you will. I feel it, too. The council wants you to start trying.”

“What? Now?” I couldn’t believe what I heard. “But how? A daughter requires a father. Surely they know it takes two!”

“Of course they do, honey.”

“They’re hoping…” Owen cleared his throat, seeming to have a hard time spitting out what they hoped. “They’re, uh, hoping that you’re ready to…to move on.”

There came that phrase again, like a punch in the stomach. Move on. Which meant, let go. I flew to my feet and strode around the room. It was one thing to think about moving on myself. It was another to hear Mom voice the idea aloud. But hearing Owen say it…knowing the council had been discussing it…this was totally different. Who were they to decide when I needed to move on?

“Why the rush?” I demanded. “Why now?”

“We celebrated your twenty-seventh birthday last month,” Mom said.

I grunted. "Celebrate" wasn't exactly the word I'd use. More like "commiserated" another year gone by. Alone.

“The Ang’dora may only be fifteen or so years away,” Mom continued. “If you’re like me, though, it could be even sooner. In fact…”

She trailed off. I whirled on her.

“In fact what?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind. You just need to know that there really is a biological clock ticking and the council is getting anxious. Remember how even Solomon had been demanding about a daughter? And that was eight years ago. They would calm down if they at least knew something was being done.”

I threw my hands in the air. “Like what? What am I supposed to do? Do they have some kind of in vitro clinic set up? Because that’s the only way anything’s going to happen! I won’t be unfaithful!”