Chasm, p.4
Chasm, page 4
As Taren and his parents were greeting Kat, my mother burst through the front door, holding a covered tray in her hands. She looked flustered.
“I’m late,” she said when she saw me, her face falling. “I wanted to get here before you did.”
“It’s OK Mom, we just got here now. You’re not late,” I said.
“I was supposed to be early,” she said, “so you wouldn’t see the cake.”
“Oh,” I said, “well, there’s a cover over it so I still can’t see it.”
The tension in her face softened. “Well, I guess it wasn’t much of a surprise that I’d be bringing one,” she said.
One of the waiters came to take the cake off her hands and Mom pulled me into a tight embrace.
“You look so beautiful, baby,” she said, her voice breaking. “Like a woman.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
I checked for signs that things were about to go south, but her breathing was even, her heartbeat steady. She wasn’t having an episode, just normal mom emotions. I led her over to our table.
“Rachel,” Gretchen said, “I’m so glad you could make it.”
Mom stiffened. “She’s my daughter. Where else would I be?”
Uh oh.
Gretchen’s cheeks colored. “Of course, I just meant... Taren told me you were having trouble getting off work on such short—”
“I worked it out,” Mom said. “I wouldn’t miss my baby’s birthday for the world.”
“Mom, sit next to me,” I said, patting the chair to my right.
I had to nip this in the bud before it went any further. Mom had grown touchy about my closeness with Gretchen. No matter how I tried to reassure her that no one could ever take her place, the tension was palpable when the two were in the same room—which thankfully wasn’t often. My only contact with my mother these past few months was by phone a few times a week, and the twice weekly visits she’d been granted by Annys. Mom knew the deal with the Institute and took it surprisingly well, but she didn’t like being separated from me, and she definitely didn’t like that I was being mentored by a woman slightly older than her. Were it not for me, the two might have bonded over their shared battles with mental illness (Mom’s due to bipolar disorder and Gretchen’s brought on by the demons) but adding me into the equation seemed to super-charge the situation. In truth, the animosity was more on Mom’s side than Gretchen’s. The tension Gretchen felt had more to do with being on the defensive all the time, fearing to say the wrong thing that might set my mother off. I could relate.
Mom gave a tight smile and took the chair beside me. As usual, Kat could be counted on the lighten the mood.
“Rachel, you look stunning. Is that dress new?” she asked.
Mom beamed. It wasn’t that she was only concerned with looks, but she had learned at a young age that looking good was her ticket to people being nice to her, and with a childhood as rough as hers she needed all the kindness she could get.
“Yes, Kat, thanks. It is.” Of course new to Mom meant a thrift store find, but Kat was right, she did look great; red was her color. She turned to me. “I tried to get them to let me take you on a shopping spree, but Annys wouldn’t allow it.”
She and Annys weren’t strangers to conflict, either.
“I tried, too,” Kat said, taking a seat beside my mother. “It was a definite no-go.”
“Well, that would have been great, but believe me, this is plenty. I love seeing you all outside of...outside of work,” I said, realizing that now that I was away from the Institute I had to watch what I said.
A tightness formed in my belly and I quickly scanned the restaurant. Was that guy wearing sunglasses a Red? Or just B-list actor pretending to want anonymity? I forced myself to relax. It was broad daylight and I was surrounded by Guardians. Even if he was a Red, he couldn’t get near me, and besides, he looked kind of like one of the guys from a past season of The Bachelor.
“So,” Richard said, eying his menu, “what’s good here?”
Mom snorted. “Boy did you just open the floodgates.”
She was right, but I couldn’t help it—I loved Indian food and this place was one of my favorites. It wasn’t long before we’d ordered a feast.
Moments later we were diving into appetizer plates filled with samosas, onion bhaji, and aloo tikki.
“So Kat,” Mom said between bites, “I haven’t seen you in weeks. What have you been up to?”
“Work,” she said, piling pumpkin chutney onto a lentil cracker called papadum. “And nothing but. There are so many new students. Between training and patrolling, I’m leading a pretty dull existence.”
It was true. The breach at the Gateway had been a wake-up call for the Institute. They couldn’t manufacture more Keepers—the Marked ones seemed to be born into random families at random times—but they had redoubled their efforts at finding them as well as admitting scores of new Guardians-in-Training. And now, what had been all theory—fighting actual demons—was a reality. It was imperative that the demons not get a foothold, and that meant opening wide the doors of the Institute, however much the Elders might go on about protocol.
“And you, Taren? The same?” Mom asked.
Mom’s tension with Gretchen didn’t extend to her son. She genuinely liked Taren. She saw that he was as protective of me as she was (or tried to be—it’s hard to be protective during a manic episode) and she knew he treated me well. For his part, Taren wasn’t quite as easy around her as Kat was, no doubt out of respect for his own mother, but he was trying. It helped that he had spent the past year since his eighteenth birthday in and out of mental hospitals. He was done with that now. As good as he was at going undercover and finding Marked ones, his skills were more needed on the front line in the fight against the demons. And once Gretchen and I hit the road for our around the world and back again Gateway tour, he’d be traveling with us.
“Yeah, work has been pretty all-consuming. It’s good, though. We need the new recruits and they’re a good lot overall—eager to learn, wanting to make a difference, willing to make sacrifices.”
I lowered my eyes to my plate. I’d seen firsthand the sacrifices the Guards were forced to make. Duty had been drilled into Taren since birth, making it second nature, but hearing him speak that way about such young kids made me cringe. Taren noticed. Had we not been at a table with our parents he might have reached across the table and taken my hand, but instead changed the subject.
“Enough about work. We finally have a day off, we should talk about anything but,” he said.
There was an awkward silence while we collectively racked our brains on what to talk about aside from the Institute. Other than my mother, our lives were consumed by it as of late. We were saved when the main course arrived.
Dish after dish was piled on the table, each one heaping with more deliciousness than the last. We spent the meal raving about the food and even once we’d each insisted we didn’t have room for another bite, stuffing in a few more. I was especially enthusiastic—the memory had to last me a while. Who knew when I’d get Saag Aloo next? Probably not until we went to the Gateway that was actually located in India.
As our plates were cleared I excused myself and headed to the restroom. As I waited my turn in the small hallway, Michael approached, pausing at the door to the men’s room.
“Happy birthday,” he said under his breath.
I gave him a tight smile; weren’t we supposed to be strangers?
“So, um, how is Crystle?” he said, just as quietly.
Was he being serious? He’d dumped her; now he was suddenly concerned with her feelings?
“What do you care?” I said, hoping my hushed tone didn’t dilute the heat of my words.
He blushed scarlet, which looked especially out of place on such a big man and hurried into the men’s room. I felt a flash of guilt, but really, what did he expect? He’d broken the heart of one of my closest friends.
I’d just retaken my seat when the cake arrived, candles blazing. The whole restaurant, which mostly included people who knew me even if they weren’t letting on, joined in singing, “Happy Birthday.” Mom had outdone herself with the cake. It was rich dark chocolate with a mocha layer in the middle and the creamiest frosting I’d ever tasted. It was a unanimous hit.
“Present time,” Kat said between bites of cake. “Mine first.”
I opened the package she slid me to find her brand of shampoo, conditioner and body wash. I was disappointed, knowing I’d never be able to pull off that strawberry scent, until I noticed the label.
“Zen Garden?” I said and took a sniff.
“Jasmine and green tea,” Kat said as the heavenly aroma filled my nostrils. “I thought even Master Dogan would approve.”
“Since when do you care about smelling good?” Mom asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise.
Her incredulity was warranted; I had always protested when she tried to douse me with her latest scent.
I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m evolving,” I said, then added, “I guess I’m your daughter after all.”
“You better believe it,” she said. Her tone was light, but I’d a feeling the statement was as much for Gretchen as for me.
“But I thought the day pass was the gift,” I said when Taren presented me with a small box.
“A gift,” he said, “not the gift.”
I opened the box and saw a silver pendant attached to a delicate chain. Etched into the pendant was a rudimentary arrow.
“It’s an ancient rune,” he explained. “It means Warrior. It’s so that you’ll always have a piece of me with you. And to remind you that I’m your Guardian—your warrior—which means there is nowhere you can go that I won’t follow.”
A small thrill shot up my spine and I blushed, suddenly aware that we weren’t alone. How did he always make me feel like I was the only one in the room?
I lifted the necklace from the box and clasped it around my neck. I had never been one for jewelry, but being a gift from Taren and what it represented made the cool metal felt natural against my skin.
“Thank you,” I said. “I love it.”
He smiled, pleased with himself at having chosen so well.
“Alright, mine next,” Mom said.
She handed me a bundle wrapped in newspaper comics; even when we could afford real wrapping paper we used the funnies—it was tradition.
I opened the package carefully—Mom would be disappointed if I didn’t save them to read later—and found a thick black unlined journal and a pocket moleskin version.
“I know you like to sketch everything you see,” she said. “I figured the smaller one could fit in your purse.”
“They’re perfect, Mom. Thanks.”
New journals always held the promise of what was to come, and I always got a small thrill at getting one. There was a Gateway in Italy, and I couldn’t wait to sketch Michelangelo’s David.
“We had a similar idea,” Gretchen said, placing a box on the table.
Inside was a high-end digital camera.
“No way,” I said. “This is awesome.”
“We thought that way you could take lots of pictures and send them back to your mother,” Richard said.
“That was very thoughtful,” my mother said, her jaw tight.
Right, the passport. Taren knew about the tense negotiations between my mother and the Institute but I’d asked him not to tell his parents. I had hoped it would work itself out, but here I was, supposed to ruin my birthday lunch by asking her for my passport. Damn Annys—she’d known. When she called me into her office the night before, of course she’d known—she was the one who’d given me permission to leave.
Gretchen’s smile had slipped a fraction and my thoughts spun, looking for something to break the tension. It was the waiter who saved me.
“Anything else for you?” he asked, approaching with the check.
“No, thank you. I’ll take that,” Mom said, reaching for both the check and her purse.
A moment later the waiter returned, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry, ma’am, your card has been declined. Do you have another?”
“Why don’t you let us take care of this?” Richard said, reaching for his wallet.
I stared at the floor, not wanting to see the heat blaze in my mother’s cheeks.
“Thank you, Richard,” my mom said as though spitting nails. “But I can pay for my daughter’s birthday lunch. Here, split it between these two.”
The waiter took the additional card, and we endured the awkward silence until the waiter returned and, thankfully, presented my mother with two slips to sign.
“We’ll meet you outside,” Mom said when we all stood to leave.
Taren looked apprehensive, but the presence of Guardians at a nearby table appeased him enough that he followed the rest of our party out the door.
Once they’d left, Mom pulled me into a tight embrace.
She released me enough to hold my face in her hands. “You know that woman is not your mother, right?”
“Of course I do, Mom.”
“The way both of them flaunt their money, and—”
“Mom, they’re good people. And they’re Taren’s parents so you need to learn to be nice. But you’re my mother.”
Her shoulders relaxed, but I still noticed a tightness in her eyes.
“I just worry,” she said. “They have so much more to offer, and Gretchen is part...you know...”
“Her being ‘you know’ doesn’t mean she could take your place. Ever. I admit, it’s nice to have someone else to talk with about...certain stuff. But that makes her a good co-worker. It doesn’t make her my mother. Besides, aren’t you glad I finally feel like less of a freak?”
She nodded, her eyes moist. “Yes, baby, I’m very glad. You’re become an amazing young woman and I’m so proud of you. I’m glad you have Taren and Kat to look out for you and even Gretchen to help you feel less alone.”
This time I hugged her. “Love you, Mom.”
When we released each other I gathered my courage. “So, um... Annys wants me to ask you about my passport...”
“I bet she does,” Mom said evenly.
I waited for her to say more, but when she didn’t I said, “So...can I have it?”
“It’s not fair that they ask so much of you,” she said.
“Maybe,” I said. She didn’t know the half of it. “But you know I have to go, right?”
She gave me a wry smile. “You know I have to hate it, right?”
She hesitated a moment longer, then opened her purse. She withdrew the passport slowly, as if she might reconsider before placing it in my hand.
“Thank you,” I said, unwilling to give her the chance. I closed my fingers around it greedily. “I mean it—thanks a lot.”
I stuffed the passport in my purse and felt the knot in my stomach unwind.
Outside we waited for the valet to bring the car around. Taren, though he resembled his mother, looked every inch his father’s son as they managed to survey our surroundings while simultaneously appearing nonchalant. I was reminded of a cat—eyes in slits—seemingly sleeping until you make a move toward the treat cupboard.
A few minutes later I gave Mom one final hug, and the Harts and I climbed into the SUV and began the drive back to the Institute.
I drank in the sights as we eased down Ventura Blvd. What a few short months ago had struck me as tacky and cliché, now stimulated my senses in a good way. Who’d have thought I’d miss the Valley? But a prisoner will miss any sort of home when it’s denied them. Did I really feel like that? It was the first time the word ‘prisoner’ had popped into my mind with regards to my confinement at the Institute, but I wondered. I believed in what we did there, and I knew they needed me. And I liked being needed—having a purpose that put my usual angst in perspective. In truth, I’m sure they’d let me leave if I demanded to. One call to my mother and she’d have the cops there busting me out, in fact. But then I’d be expelled. And there would be no more protection for my mother or me. And I would go back to regular high school. For that and countless other reasons, quitting wasn’t an option. Which meant I was resigned to be under guard for as long as the Elders deemed necessary. As confinement went, you couldn’t beat the view. Or the coffee, thanks to my friends. I looked over at Taren and thought the company wasn’t so bad, either.
“Did you have a nice time?” he asked, squeezing my hand.
“A great time,” I said. “That was the best present you could have gotten me.”
He smiled, pleased with himself.
“Oh, and get this,” I said, fishing out my passport, “Mom forked it over.”
“Now that’s a good present,” he said. “What made her change her mind? Did Annys beat her into submission?”
“I can’t think of any other reason,” I said. “Can you?”
Taren was about to reply when Richard slammed on the brakes, causing us all to be thrown forward then slammed back by our seat belts.
I looked up and my veins turned to ice. Two Hummers blocked the road in front of us.
“What the—”
Instead of finishing his question, Richard threw the car in reverse.
We careened backward for only seconds before two more Hummers barred our way.
“Dad...” Taren was scanning, looking for a way out.
Richard broke sharply to the left, jumped the median, and took off in the opposite direction.
“Jack!” Richard yelled. “Jack, where the hell are you? We’re under attack.”
The four Hummers were now in pursuit and gaining on us. Richard broke right, up a side street.
“Dad, comm is down!” Taren said, scrambling to get to the luggage area. “Mom, Ember, get down!”
We did as he commanded, flattening ourselves as much as possible. Squished as I was between the seats, I could no longer see what was happening, just felt the car careening from side to side.
