The first and last adven.., p.3
The First and Last Adventure of Kit Sawyer, page 3
Ohhh, he had my attention now. “Shut the fuck up, Paul,” I practically snarled.
“Did I hit a nerve?” His laugh was ugly. “I’m on my way up, Christopher. I should’ve known better than to try to do that with someone who’ll never amount to anything more than a shadow of his father.”
He’s a fucking liar, I chanted inside. You know that.
“So by all means, you do you. Keep writing your stupid little children’s books that will never see the light of day. And keep giving lectures as the university’s second—no, third—fucking choice.” He made a derisive sound. “I’m destined for better things, Christopher. With or without you.”
I gazed at his angry countenance. It was my turn to make a sound…this one of disbelief. He still thought there was a chance of a future together? After everything he’d done and said?
“Without,” I said, my voice scratchy with emotion. “Definitely without.”
I sighed and got on with all the normal after-work minutia. Trash and laundry and eating a quick, microwaved dinner standing by the sink. In a stroke of odd timing, Paul called at least three times by the time I headed to bed. I sent him to voicemail without a trace of regret.
I rolled on my back and stared up at the ceiling.
The whole thing was my fault. Life dealing with epilepsy meant I’d had other priorities while my peers were bedhopping. By the time I was ready to address that part of my life, it felt like it was too late. Everything was just so bloody awkward. After a while, I wanted to give up completely.
I tried confronting my condition head-on by being upfront. If you can’t handle me at my worst, yadda, yadda, yadda. That didn’t work out so well. I got smothered to death. Kit, don’t overexert yourself. Kit, you’ve been out in the sun too long. Kit, do you want me to bring the car around? We’ve parked far away and you look rather peaked.
That…wasn’t horrible. But there was so much in my life that reminded me I wasn’t a hundred percent. I didn’t need a partner who thought my epilepsy made me weak. I needed a partner who knew it actually made me strong. Fucking battle-tested.
So I tried to hide my condition. I learned the folly of that by dating a very nice, very outdoorsy guy named Jonathan. I’d pushed myself, resolved that I could be like everyone else if I just tried hard enough. I was tired of taking it easy and being cautious.
Yes, I could go for a Saturday bike ride. Hell yes, I enjoyed brisk walks through the park. And that worked…for about a month and three days. I had an episode, right there on the bike trail. I had a split second to realize what I thought was exertion was actually signs of an oncoming seizure, just in time to soften my tumble off my bike.
“Kit, babe, are you okay?” Jonathan’s anxious voice filtered in as the spasms started, but there wasn’t anything I could do but start flopping like a fish. Oh, and to think tartly that I’d already told him how much I hated the endearment babe. “What’s happening?”
And then I knew nothing as the seizure took over. By the time I could focus on anything again, I could only lick my dry lips and look about blearily. And I saw…legs. Several pairs of legs surrounded me of different textures, colors, and sizes. Oh, and the crotch of a concerned soul who’d stooped down to get way too close to my face. I could tell he was packing from my extremely good vantage point—I wasn’t too fond of him packing near my face.
I opened my mouth to tell him so, but I couldn’t quite manage words yet. I hated having a seizure around strangers. Being at their mercy.
But they weren’t all strangers, were they? I should feel safe because Jonathan was here and he knew what to do. Only…I hadn’t told him about it. I’d shut him out because I knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it. And suddenly, I felt close to tears.
Breathe, Kit.
“What’s wrong with him?” Another voice. “Does he usually do this?”
“I don’t know,” Jonathan again, sounding frantic.
He was a nice guy, I thought begrudgingly. I squinted. He also had very hairy legs...almost lupine, really. Maybe it was just as well that this would be it for us.
I was still trying to get my shit together when the paramedics arrived.
How embarrassing, I thought indignantly as they brought over that stupid gurney. I didn’t need a hospital, I needed rest. And I certainly didn’t want to go to the ER in bicycle shorts that—now that I got a better look at them from lying flat on my back—made my legs look spindly and pale as spaghetti noodles.
Jonathan offered to come with me to the hospital…after giving his specialty bike a couple of long glances. Like lovers, they were. I sighed and waved him off. I was pretty sure they weren’t going to let him cram his fancy-ass mountain bike in the ambulance bay. Or lash it on top like the ambulance was a Subaru.
To his credit, he dropped off my bike at my place and hid it away, tucked under…well, a welcome mat that did absolutely nothing to conceal it.
Hey, I didn’t say he was a thinker, I said he was nice.
He texted twice to see if I was okay and one tentative, “Maybe we should meet for coffee to talk.” I got the picture. Instead of him letting me down easily, I ended it. Clean break. I never darkened his healthy, robust doorstep again. And that was that.
I had a couple of dates with a guy Liam set me up with. Kyle. I should’ve known that was a non-starter. He was young and liked to go out and party a lot. He also saw my teetotalism as a challenge, which was fucking annoying.
“So, like, you don’t drink ever?” Kyle eyed me with disbelief.
“No,” I said for the fourteenth fucking time.
“Not even wine coolers?”
“No.”
“Were you an alcoholic?” He asked sagely.
Even my eyeballs sighed. “No.”
“Oh. That’s cool I guess. Probably why you’re so fucking uptight. But this thing….” He gave my ass a healthy squeeze. “Fuck, worth the price of admission, you know?”
I was very sorry then that I’d ever let him fuck me.
On a double date with some of his friends, Kyle decided I needed to “loosen up,” and slipped me a screwdriver. I’d thought it was orange juice for two glorious sips…which triggered a seizure that left me flopping on the floor of a very fine establishment. He and his friends left me there and I came to under the concerned watch of some panicked restaurant staff.
So anyway, after a litany of frogs, I met Paul at an event at a museum and we hit it off. He wasn’t embarrassed by my seizures. He wasn’t impressed by my family…or so I’d thought. And even if he wasn’t a prince, damn it, he wasn’t a frog and that wasn’t nothing.
Except he was a frog. A smart one. A frog who knew how to pretend he wasn’t a fucking frog. And I’d let him in my life instead of chucking his amphibian ass back into the pond.
My phone rang again and I blocked his number with a hum of satisfaction. Luckily, some mistakes could be rectified.
“No more frogs,” I murmured to myself as I fell asleep.
I woke up in the middle of the night, unsure of the cause and blinking up at the ceiling blearily. I gave the illuminated numbers on the bedside clock a glance. Three a.m. That was a good news, bad news situation. Yeah, my sleep was interrupted. But I didn’t have to get up for another four hours. I yawned and stretched, then turned on my side to get more comfortable. That was hard to do with a freaking crown on.
Holy fuck.
I sat up straight in bed…and then stumbled out of it. I got tangled up in my pile of clothes next to the bed and hit the floor. “Ow,” I groaned, rubbing my ass.
I took a few moments on the floor to contemplate my existence in its entirety.
When I was certain I was awake enough to move without causing myself bodily injury, I crawled to my feet. I stumbled to the bathroom, my hip already starting to ache. I flicked on the light and stared in the mirror. My hip was going to have to get in line, because I had bigger concerns right about now. I stared at the fucking crown on my head as my inner thoughts cycled between how, why, and Jesus Christ.
I needed it off. Right the fuck now.
I was almost afraid trying to remove it would be a repeat of earlier this afternoon, but it lifted easily. I set it on the counter with a gentle click. Then I hustled to the hall closet and pulled out a medium-sized Rubbermaid container full of assorted bandages. After I upended it, I shut the closet on the mess, vowing to make it right tomorrow, and hustled back to the bathroom.
I put the crown inside and secured the latches carefully. Then I waited, poised for flight if necessary. I didn’t even know what I was waiting for. Did I really think the thing was going to move on its own?
I stared at it some more. It didn’t move a wink, probably because it was…you know, inanimate and shit. “Try getting out of that,” I said quietly.
Then I put it in the trunk of my Audi.
Just in case.
4
I waited in my office at the museum, nervously tapping my fingers on my desk.
I’d woken to an irritable message from Thea about the crown…at least, that’s what I assumed it was about. Her voice had been clipped and angry as she requested my presence at the museum. First thing, she’d stressed, her voice like staccato beats.
So. Yeah. If I had to guess, I was about to get my ass chewed clean off.
I was just glad I hadn’t woken up with the crown on my head. When I checked, peeking in my trunk like it was a portal to another dimension, the crown was still stored safely in the Rubbermaid container. That was almost enough to make me think I’d imagined the whole thing…except I certainly hadn’t taken a priceless artifact home.
But what other explanation could there be? Mystical? Magical? Enchanted relics only existed in the movies and I was no Indiana Jones.
Well. I could be Indiana Jones if he was fine-boned and lean and a whole lot less rugged. And if he was dark-haired and gray-eyed with a dose of epilepsy. So…no? Maybe I could be Ohio Jones, his slightly less fantastic cousin.
Thea came in on a wave of blustery irritation, her ginger hair billowing out behind her like a cloud. Her eyes widened as she saw the crown and she stabbed a finger in my direction. “I knew it,” she exclaimed.
I had an explanation all prepared. I wanted to make sure my translation of the symbols was correct, so I took it home and worked through the night. It was a shifty explanation, yes, but all I could come up with at the last moment. Better to be shifty than crazy.
I opened my mouth to float my lie, but she didn’t even give me a chance. Instead, she read me the riot act backward and forward, barely pausing to take a breath.
“You can’t just take a relic home with you like it’s show-and-tell, Dr. Sawyer,” she fussed. “A relic! What were you thinking?”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“I mean, really. I would think that someone of your standing in the community would know better.”
“I do! I just—”
“What if something had happened to it? Or you got robbed?”
“I don’t think your average carjacker would be looking for an Aztec crown, Thea,” I said dryly. “And if you’ll give me a second, I can—”
“That’s even worse. The thief wouldn’t even know what he’d taken and toss it. A piece of history, right on top of a trash heap destined for the landfill!”
And on and on it went.
“Good grief, Thea,” I finally burst out. “I already apologized. Maybe we should get some sort of whip so you can do this properly.”
She had the good grace to look sheepish. “Sorry. I just…it’s a very special piece.”
“I know.”
“And I’m very grateful you took the time out of your schedule to help decipher the code.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” I said with a shrug. “I enjoyed it.”
She smiled tentatively. “So I can call you again?”
“Anytime you come across an Aztec relic, just lemme know,” I said with a wink.
She laughed. “Will do.”
She picked up the crown and I sighed with relief. A dull ache had started behind my eyes, and I gave them a weary rub. At her concerned look, I dropped my hand. “Are you—”
“I’m fine,” I said shortly.
I never had to worry about sharing my condition with people. All they had to do was look up the history of my family to find out about the youngest Sawyer and his “condition.”
But that was the old Kit.
Dr. Naveed had finally found the right cocktail of meds for me that kept me seizure-free. Two years and counting. It was the longest stretch I’d ever had. I planned to keep it that way. The fear never quite went away, though, that at any moment I could have an episode and be at the mercy of strangers.
I should be used to it by now. I’d had my focal onset seizures since I was nine, at least once a month. My episodes were fairly short at least. As my father described them to me, I’d just stare into space blankly for a few minutes, my mouth moving like I was working on a giant wad of chewing gum. But as a shitty chaser to that craptastic cocktail, I had a grand mal twice a year. The brain fog aftereffects would last for days. Sometimes weeks.
Medication and doctor visits just became part of my life. So did the occasional visit to the ER when I didn’t recognize the signs of an oncoming seizure and injured myself. I had months of happiness when the medication finally seemed to be working. During that time, I practically floated with the hope that the doctors had finally discovered the right cocktail. Then the seizures would return, like a shitty ex with an axe to grind, and that hope would be dashed to the ground.
Two years ago, things changed yet again. Determined to get to the root of my seizures, Dr. Naveed gave me an EEG. I’d had to stay in the overnight facility for three days until a seizure finally happened, but it was worth it…at least, according to the doctor. He’d discovered that my seizures were occurring in the left temporal lobe of the brain, and he seemed to think I was a candidate for a lobectomy.
He swore that was exciting news. Then he’d thrown a whole lot of medical jargon at me that I had trouble grasping. Maybe that was because my imagination had taken over. I’d been too busy imagining my brain in a mason jar surrounded by amber liquid to really listen to him prattle on. Ridiculous, I know, but…fuck. Brain surgery? Had it really come to that?
When I told him I needed to think about it, he’d only given me an understanding nod. I know it’s a big decision, Christopher, but you could be seizure-free. It should be a relatively straightforward procedure.
Should?
Not a word I liked to hear regarding surgery of my fucking brain. And I was seizure-free already. He’d changed my dosage yet again and it seemed to be working. He didn’t seem to think it would last, but I was living proof, wasn’t I?
I’m better now, I reminded myself again, gripping the desk so hard that my knuckles turned white. I am. And maybe if people would just stop reminding me of my condition, I’d believe it.
Still glancing at me uneasily, Thea left. I sat back in my chair. I wasn’t about to borrow trouble. Maybe my seizure-free state would last, maybe it wouldn’t. But I had a life to live. Things to do. This would probably be my last day at the museum, since I was done with that godforsaken crown.
Thank God.
I wondered what Remi would think about the relic. He’d certainly seen some odd things in his time. I gave him another call, frowning as I had to leave yet another voicemail. That was strange enough to give me pause. My grandfather always, always, always called me back, even when it shouldn’t be possible. For crying out loud, the man had once called me from a mountaintop in Tibet. Now he was too busy to even leave a message?
The tiny whispers of unease swirling around in my stomach weren’t full-blown shouts yet, but I could hear them well enough. Maybe it was time for a trip home to Indian Creek Island…just to see for myself that he was alright.
The timing couldn’t be worse. I had a couple of articles due and I’d already been away from the foundation for this crown business. I didn’t have time to jet off to Florida at the drop of a hat. But…it was for Remi. I couldn’t have asked for a better grandfather. He was the only person in my life who’d ever put me first. How could I do any less?
I opened my phone and pulled up the Delta app.
5
The clouds seemed so magical from below.
I sighed, my breath briefly fogging up the airplane window. From the ground, it almost seemed like there could be anything above them—birds, dancing unicorns, hell, a kingdom in the sky. But then you got up there and saw there was nothing at all.
Maybe that was just the fantastical part of my imagination which had been, I’ll admit, always a little overactive. Remi had always tried to convince me that was a good thing. “You need a good imagination to be an archaeologist,” he said. “The things no one has ever found are only in the places no one has ever thought to go.”
Oh, the fantastical tales he used to tell me. My favorite one had been about the lost city of Chipanya. To this day, I could practically recite it by heart. I smiled a little, sitting back in my seat. Remembering. When I saw him, I was going to make him tell it to me again, just for worrying me so.
“I want to tell you about a wonderful place,” he’d begin in that rich, deep voice. It was a voice made for storytelling and making people believe things they knew couldn’t be true. “A place where people deified jaguars and lived among them. The city was rich with gold and jewels and protected by the gods themselves.”
My eyes would be wide as coins. “Wouldn’t the jaguars eat the people, Grandpa?”
“An acceptable sacrifice for a deity, don’t you think?” His silvery eyes sparkled with mischief. “You just had to hope luck was on your side that day.”
I soaked up every word, allowing his voice to take me away, far beyond the confines of my room. When he was telling me those tales, I wasn’t sick. I wasn’t stuck in my bed surrounded by brain teasers, books, and puzzles. In his stories, I was an adventurer. A swashbuckler. I was anything and everything I wanted to be.
