like the boat had
suddenly grown jet packs. Miles zoomed by. I reached my hand over the side and
felt the rush of warm water flow over it and knew that despite the unknowns, I'd
made the right choice. The only possible choice.
Now I
just needed to understand what I'd stupidly and blindly agreed to do. Just as I
opened my mouth to ask, Laume said, "You do like children, I expect."
Children?
What about me did she see as maternal? I doubt it was my carefully sculpted
eyebrow arches or my waist-length platinum blonde hair. I'm sure it wasn't my
skin-tight, red polka-dot swing dress that showed off my twenty-seven inch
waist. And I'm convinced that it wasn't my tattoos — the leopard print full-arm
sleeves, the blood-red heart over my breastbone, or the trail of stars running
up the back of each leg — that made her think I had a soft-spot for ankle
biters.
I'm the
drummer of a 'billy band at night and a pastry chef before the sun comes up. My
car, a chopped-and-channeled fifty-six Buick, doesn't have seat belts much less
tethers for a damn baby seat. In fact, on the streets of Austin, most parents herded
their children away from me when I walked down the sidewalks. And I'm talking
about downtown Austin, home of everything weird.
I
think there was enough moonlight that Laume could read the concern on my face.
"Oh
dear. Not very fond of children," Laume said. "That might make this
task a tad tricky for you, I'm afraid."
She was
afraid? I hyperventilated as I envisioned her sending me on a trip to an African
refugee camp to save hundreds of starving children or laying in for a stint as
a kindergarten teacher with thirty munchkins underfoot. Or worse, I paled at
the thought of magically becoming someone's evil step-mother.
"I
really don't know anything about kids," I said.
"But
you were one," Laume said. "Once upon a time."
A
sarcastic laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Sure I had once been a small
human, under the age of majority, too young to smoke or drink, legally. Not
that any of that had ever made me a child. No, my father, who loved reminding
me that he raised me all by himself , insisted that my behavior must, at
all times, rise to his expectations of a young adult. And he enforced that
mandate as soon as I was old enough to understand that my mother was years-gone
and never coming back. I think I was three, maybe four. Took a lot of
deprogramming at the Texas State Hospital during my teen years to get over
that.
Thinking
about my father and the couple of days at the hospital before I met Maria and
JoJo made my scalp crawl in anger. "Could you fucking be less cryptic and
just tell me what you want me to do?" I yelled.
Our
speed dropped until the little boat flattened out and coasted to a stop in the
dark water. Laume's eyes narrowed and I knew that had been exactly the wrong
thing to say. She pursed her perfectly stained lips and considered me for a few
moments over my sleeping friends before her face relaxed. "You are under a
great deal of strain," she said. "I will forgive your slip in
manners, this once."
I
fought the urge to thank her as a subject thanks a queen's mercy, or to
apologize like an employee caught with her hand in the register, but couldn't
stop the urge to bow my head and Laume took that to mean whatever she needed
from me and got the boat underway again.
"There
is a girl, Hannah Faye Williams, she's in trouble and she needs your help. She
also has daddy issues," Laume said, implying that she knew something — maybe
everything — about my relationship with my father. "You will go to the
northwest of your country, the city of Portland, and help her."
"Help
her how?"
Laume
raised her face to the sky as if to ask her fellow gods and goddesses why she'd
been burdened with the stupidest human on the planet. When she met my eyes
again she said, "I'm sure I have no clue what a child needs to grow up and
become what you might call well-adjusted. I'm relying on you to figure
suddenly grown jet packs. Miles zoomed by. I reached my hand over the side and
felt the rush of warm water flow over it and knew that despite the unknowns, I'd
made the right choice. The only possible choice.
Now I
just needed to understand what I'd stupidly and blindly agreed to do. Just as I
opened my mouth to ask, Laume said, "You do like children, I expect."
Children?
What about me did she see as maternal? I doubt it was my carefully sculpted
eyebrow arches or my waist-length platinum blonde hair. I'm sure it wasn't my
skin-tight, red polka-dot swing dress that showed off my twenty-seven inch
waist. And I'm convinced that it wasn't my tattoos — the leopard print full-arm
sleeves, the blood-red heart over my breastbone, or the trail of stars running
up the back of each leg — that made her think I had a soft-spot for ankle
biters.
I'm the
drummer of a 'billy band at night and a pastry chef before the sun comes up. My
car, a chopped-and-channeled fifty-six Buick, doesn't have seat belts much less
tethers for a damn baby seat. In fact, on the streets of Austin, most parents herded
their children away from me when I walked down the sidewalks. And I'm talking
about downtown Austin, home of everything weird.
I
think there was enough moonlight that Laume could read the concern on my face.
"Oh
dear. Not very fond of children," Laume said. "That might make this
task a tad tricky for you, I'm afraid."
She was
afraid? I hyperventilated as I envisioned her sending me on a trip to an African
refugee camp to save hundreds of starving children or laying in for a stint as
a kindergarten teacher with thirty munchkins underfoot. Or worse, I paled at
the thought of magically becoming someone's evil step-mother.
"I
really don't know anything about kids," I said.
"But
you were one," Laume said. "Once upon a time."
A
sarcastic laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Sure I had once been a small
human, under the age of majority, too young to smoke or drink, legally. Not
that any of that had ever made me a child. No, my father, who loved reminding
me that he raised me all by himself , insisted that my behavior must, at
all times, rise to his expectations of a young adult. And he enforced that
mandate as soon as I was old enough to understand that my mother was years-gone
and never coming back. I think I was three, maybe four. Took a lot of
deprogramming at the Texas State Hospital during my teen years to get over
that.
Thinking
about my father and the couple of days at the hospital before I met Maria and
JoJo made my scalp crawl in anger. "Could you fucking be less cryptic and
just tell me what you want me to do?" I yelled.
Our
speed dropped until the little boat flattened out and coasted to a stop in the
dark water. Laume's eyes narrowed and I knew that had been exactly the wrong
thing to say. She pursed her perfectly stained lips and considered me for a few
moments over my sleeping friends before her face relaxed. "You are under a
great deal of strain," she said. "I will forgive your slip in
manners, this once."
I
fought the urge to thank her as a subject thanks a queen's mercy, or to
apologize like an employee caught with her hand in the register, but couldn't
stop the urge to bow my head and Laume took that to mean whatever she needed
from me and got the boat underway again.
"There
is a girl, Hannah Faye Williams, she's in trouble and she needs your help. She
also has daddy issues," Laume said, implying that she knew something — maybe
everything — about my relationship with my father. "You will go to the
northwest of your country, the city of Portland, and help her."
"Help
her how?"
Laume
raised her face to the sky as if to ask her fellow gods and goddesses why she'd
been burdened with the stupidest human on the planet. When she met my eyes
again she said, "I'm sure I have no clue what a child needs to grow up and
become what you might call well-adjusted. I'm relying on you to figure
Similar Books
