The Children of Wisdom Trilogy Page 5

  “So, do you want to tell us what happened to you?” Cody ventures.

  “It’s not a matter of wanting to tell you. It’s a matter of not being sure of the rules. And if those rules are broken, I don’t want you and your family to get caught in it.” That’s the truth of it. I stare down at my wine, swirling it in the glass. I like that they offered a glass to me; it’s a sign of welcome and companionship for these people.

  I feel Aida’s eyes on me. I know she’s not judging me. Her expression tells me she’s merely curious.

  “What is your plan then? If I asked you to leave right now, where would you go?” she asks.

  “Well, I…” I hesitate, knowing if I tell her the truth—that I will just go walk around, maybe sleep in an alley until morning when I can find a way to make some money to grab a bus to New York, she will scoff, and it will only make her feel more guilty for wanting such an odd stranger away from her children.

  “Listen, maybe it’s best if you don’t know more about me. That way there’s no guilt when we part ways, even if it’s right this moment. You don’t know me, and I don’t—” I find myself unable to finish the sentence. I do know them, probably better than they know themselves. “At any rate, maybe less is more in this case. Don’t worry about me. You’ve already been more than generous. In fact, I think I’ll just finish my wine and go, if that’s all right.”

  I look at Cody. “You’ve built a fine life.” I know a little pride is coming through in my voice, but I can’t help myself. “Keep on keeping on, my friend.” I set my half-full glass on the coffee table between us and reach out my hand to Cody as he stands.

  But the man only looks at it and frowns. “Sit down. Your wine isn’t even gone.” He and his wife share a look. “Are you a criminal?” he asks point blank.

  I smile at the thought. “No.” At least not in the sense he thinks.

  “Is that only because you haven’t been caught?” Cody persists.

  That makes me laugh. “No.”

  “Have you ever killed anyone or hurt small children?” Aida asks.

  This statement doesn’t make me laugh or smile. I’m sad that she feels she has to ask it. But she does. How can Webber be right? How can the world need more dark threads to “make things interesting”? It needs more threads like Kismet’s if you ask me. Beautiful families like this one shouldn’t have to worry that their future might be entangled in a mass of black thread. “No,” I finally answer, but as the word leaves my mouth, I think of the stillborn. No, I didn’t kill him, but his ill fate was my fault. My frown grows even deeper at the thought.

  “Fine then. You can come back to New York with us. We’re leaving first thing in the morning, and I trust you won’t delay us any more than the children?” Aida asks with a bit of a twinkle in her eyes.

  I chuckle. “I’ll do my best. It’s not like I have a lot to pack up.”

  It’s their turn to laugh. Cody nods toward the bathroom. “You know, if you want to get cleaned up, by all means, take advantage. I’ll set out some clean clothes for you.” He smiles as he emphasizes that the clothes he has to offer are clean this time around.

  “Truly, I don’t know how to thank you both.”

  They laugh again. “Don’t thank us until we get to New York. You’re about to embark on three days trapped in a car with three kids. Perhaps we should be apologizing to you.”

  Laughter fills their room, and as I make my way to the shower, I know I landed right where I was supposed to be. But who wrote my fate? Did God have a hand in it? Is this kind family His last nod to a job well done while I was in the heavens? Or did one of my sisters take control once I fell? But how? It’s hard to admit it, even to myself, but I’m happier than I ever was spinning threads, save for Kismet’s. Sure, the work was rewarding, but meeting the people I’ve helped create, seeing the lives they’ve made for themselves… well, it’s a magic I never could have imagined.

  I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror as steam from the shower fills the room. My face is covered in dirt, and some of the swamp still resides in my curly, blond hair.

  Shaking my head as I pick the dried leaves from my locks, I think, Some banishment this is turning out to be.

  The water on my pale skin feels wondrous as it runs all over my body. Showers aren’t something we have in the heavens. We just never needed them. There isn’t any dirt or filth in heaven, nor do we sweat.

  I marvel at the way my skin changes as the hot water beats down on it, transforming it to red. All the bottles in the shower are a total mystery, but I use them anyway, building up soap bubbles from head to toe.

  By the time I’m done experimenting, everyone has gone to bed. Someone—Cody, I assume—made up the couch for me to sleep on. It isn’t much, just a blanket and a pillow, probably off their bed, but the sight is almost enough to bring me to tears. It’s as if by letting in one human emotion, I opened the floodgates to them all.

  I’ve never been in a bed before. But while I’m not tired—I don’t know how to be—my body aches in a way it never has before. The makeshift bed calls to me. Normally, my days follow an eminently predictable routine, and today has been anything but. Sinking down onto the couch, I pull the covers over me and find myself thinking not of my sisters, or the kind Michaela, or the Keeper, or Webber, but of Kismet. Her face fills my mind as my body relaxes, and I pass the night daydreaming of her.

  6.

  In the morning, the kids are thrilled to see me still in their suite. They all had starry-eyed hopes of being entertained by my tales of adventure while we make the long drive from Florida to New York. But I know I can’t tell them anything about my life back home. Then I remember all the human legends, fairy tales, and mythologies I’ve learned over the years from watching the humans in the tapestry. How much of myself can I give to them by using these stories as a guise?

  I wait until the children start getting restless before I pull out the big guns. “You know, I can’t tell you much about who I am, but I can tell you some of the legends about my family. Would you like that?” I say as we cross over the Georgia line.

  The kids all turn around in unison and stare at me wide-eyed. I chuckle. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I debate for a moment and then look right at Columbus. “I have two sisters too. Did you know that?” The three kids shake their heads so hard that the girls’ hair slaps the sides of their faces.

  “I do. One of them is quiet and thoughtful. The other is a bit more brazen. Do you know what that means?” The description makes Aida chuckle.

  “Like Aunt Amedia,” she fills in. The three kids nod seriously.

  I continue my story. “My sisters and I used to make up stories about people who lived in other places, almost like they lived on another planet. Do you guys do that?”

  “Sometimes, I make up stories about my dolls,” Eve offers.

  “You create a whole life for them, don’t you?” She nods, and I smile at her earnest expression.

  “That’s what we used to do. We did it so much, that some people said we were like the three Fates. Do you know that story?”

  They shake their heads no, and I spy Aida watching me closely, trying to put the pieces together. That’s okay, though—even if I were to tell her the truth flat out, she would never believe my story.

  “The three Fates are said to create the lives of people on Earth. One is a Spinner, making the threads of life carefully from the dust of the universe.” A quiet gasp spreads throughout the car. “The second is the Timekeeper. She decides how long that person will get to live. She cuts the Spinner’s thread at just the right place, taking care to leave the person’s life long or short, as she sees fit. The third decides how that life will end.”

  “How they die?” Eve says, barely above a whisper.

  “Yes. How they die. Together, they are said to bring life to this world. A tapestry is woven from the threads of life, and it creates beauty and order from the chaos life can bring.”

  Aida smiles. “It’s a
wonderful thought.” She turns around and looks wistfully out the car’s windshield as she reaches for Cody’s hand. I smile as he gives it a squeeze before releasing it. Kismet will have that kind of love, even if it isn’t with me. And that makes me happy. At least I tell myself it does.

  My smile must have faded with that thought because Eve asks, “What’s wrong? Did the Fates die?”

  I bring myself out of my daydream. “What? No. Fates are said to be immortal. So I’m sure they’re still working away.”

  The kids think about that for a moment, and then I pose a question. “If you could create anyone in this world, who would it be? What would they be like?”

  That subject keeps them busy until we stop for dinner. They debate about creating good people and bad ones, painters and sports stars, boys and girls. It reminds me of the game I used to play with the others.

  By the time we stop for the night, everyone besides me is exhausted. Aida and Cody thank me for keeping the kids distracted and happy. The hotel room they’ve found is not nearly as nice as the room in Orlando, but it’s only one night, and it’s a heck of a lot better than a swamp.

  The kids crowd in one bed, Aida and Cody share the other, and I get set up on the floor. As I listen to the sound of the five other people in the small room sleeping, I can’t help but marvel at how well everything is coming together for me here on Earth. I’m going to find Kismet. Is this my purpose after all? I can’t help but wonder. But I can’t let myself forget that she’s fated for another man. A man I created for her.

  I roll over, thinking of my sisters, my home, and the story I told the three kids. I miss Horatia and Galenia. We haven’t been apart this long for centuries, and even though I am still fascinated by this new world, my fingers ache to create, to spin. But I have nothing. Absently, I pull at a thread in the blanket they gave me. I pull and pull until I have quite a length of it. Staring at it, I wonder what I can do with it. I don’t have a needle, a loom, or even a crochet hook, but I work at it anyway, tying it here, looping it there. By morning, I have a small piece that looks something like a doily.

  The youngest is the first to wake up. She pads over to me quietly and watches me tie the last loop. I worked a huge hole in my blanket, but I’m quite proud of what I made.

  “That’s pretty,” Kareena says, admiring it.

  I hold it out to her, and she takes it, handing me her doll in exchange. I hold it still for her while she puts the doily on the doll’s head and ties it under her chin. It fits perfectly as a tiny hat.

  “There,” she says quietly, quite satisfied with herself.

  “Oh, she looks beautiful.” I didn’t hear Aida come up behind us, but her words are genuine. “Where did you get that hat, honey?”

  Kareena hugs her mother’s leg and points at me.

  “I don’t understand,” Aida said, her brow furrowed. “I didn’t think you had anything.”

  “I didn’t.” I hold up my ruined blanket. “I got a little carried away last night.” I feel bad about ruining it, and hope they won’t have to pay for it, but now that I’ve created something with my hands, I feel better and more relaxed.

  “Can Mommy borrow your doll, honey?” Kareena nods solemnly. Aida takes the toy and carries it over to Cody.

  “Look at what Penn made in the night.” She holds the doll out to Cody as he sits up in bed and switches on the light. Groaning, Eve throws the covers over her head, but Columbus is as curious as I spun him to be. He gets up to see what has interested his parents so much. His hair sticks out in every direction, and his father’s shirt hangs off one of his shoulders, ending just above his knees.

  The boy examines the doll and looks between the two adults as if waiting for something. “What are we looking at?” he asks.

  “Penn made Cassandra that hat,” Aida says.

  “Oh. So?” he asks, clearly perplexed about the hubbub.

  “So, it’s lovely, don’t you think? He made it without any help at all. Imagine what he could do with the right tools in his hands.” Aida looks at me with awe in her eyes. I look away. Suddenly, I regret making the doily thing. I’ve drawn too much attention to myself. I should’ve just made my own way to New York. Turning my back on the family, I try to fix the hole in the blanket. It’s coming along well when Cody lays a heavy hand on my shoulder.

  “Penn, you have a skill. That is very useful. If you’ve fallen on hard times, this could help you find your way out.”

  I hold up the blanket. “I don’t know about that, but at least I’ve used it to fix what I destroyed.”

  Cody examines it. “You can’t even tell where the hole was. How did you manage that?”

  Aida comes over to see for herself. “It was at least the size of a baseball! How did you manage that?”

  I shrug. “Carefully.”

  Abruptly, Aida orders a room-service breakfast and gives the kids a to-do list. Once they’re good and busy, she and Cody go into the bathroom to “get ready.”

  But I know they’re talking about me. I suspect they want to help me more, but I wish they wouldn’t. Their fate is already planned out, and it doesn’t involve me, not at all. To be fair, no one’s does. The uncertainty of my impact on their life leaves me uneasy. They’re too good. I don’t want to be responsible for something bad happening to them because I stepped in at the wrong time.

  I glance at the kids, who have huddled together on the bed to watch a cartoon now that their parents aren’t watching them. Once we get to New York, I have to separate myself from them. No matter how hard it is. No matter how good it feels to be with them.

  But without any forms of identification, I have no way to find a job or a place to live. I have no idea how I’m going to make do on my own.

  The next two days pass by too quickly for me, though I’m sure they’re much slower than the children would like. The Struhl family lives in a suburb just outside the city. Kismet was living in Manhattan when I last saw her. I will need to do some research to find out if she’s still there, but it shouldn’t be too much of a hike once I know how to find her.

  For the rest of the drive, there’s no discussion about what I will do when they get home. No pressure, no brainstorming—nothing.

  It’s late when we pull into the driveway of the two-story brick family home. The parents and kids all drag themselves into the house, automatically finding their respective places to sleep. Wordlessly, Cody produces blankets and pillows for the couch in the living room downstairs, which folds out into a rather comfortable bed. The rest of the family is already upstairs.

  Before he leaves me alone, he says one thing. “This isn’t permanent, you know.” But his tone isn’t unwelcoming or hostile. It’s as if he’s saying it to comfort me, to reassure my by letting me know they’re still thinking of me, still trying to come up with a solution.

  I can only nod at the man, wondering how he became such a compassionate person. Did I create that quality in him, or did Cody do that on his own after I gave him a small push in the right direction?

  Being accepted into this family has impacted me in a way I never imagined possible. The longer I live on Earth, the more my banishment feels like a privilege, not a punishment.

  That night, I use the family’s computer—a fascinating device to use firsthand—to search for Kismet’s address. She’s in a few small off-Broadway plays, so she’s not hard to find. There’s even an online interview with her that mentions the diner where she works. The Internet is a wonderful and terrible thing.

  After I fold the sheets and leave them in a neat pile on the end of the couch, topped with the pillow, I sit down to write a note thanking the Struhl family for their kindness.

  But Aida comes down the stairs and into the kitchen before I’m done. “You’re up early.”

  “So are you,” I say, hoping she doesn’t pick up on the mild irritation in my voice.

  “What are you writing?” She glances over my shoulder to read the note, but I try to squirrel it away. Laughing, she s
natches it from me. “Are you kidding me? I have three kids, and the oldest is a girl. She’s always trying to hide notes from boys. You’ve got to be quicker than that to get one over on me.” Her face falls as she reads the incomplete note.

  “You’re leaving, just like that?” The hurt in her voice stings, making me wince.

  “I figured it was the only way you would let me go.”

  She frowns and casts the note down in front of me like it’s trash. “You’re probably right. But I caught you.” She goes to the coffeemaker—which scared the living daylights out of me when it started automatically about ten minutes after I sat down. “Where were you going to go?”

  “There’s a diner in Manhattan I’d like to visit.”

  “A diner?” My answer clearly confuses her.

  “A diner, yes.”

  “Were you planning to get a meal there?”

  “Maybe, but that’s not really the point.”

  “What is the point?” She holds her cup with both hands and brings it to her lips, hesitating for just a moment, allowing the steam to curl around her nose.

  “Kismet.” It’s the first time I’ve said her name out loud. It fills the air and lightens the room. I can’t help but smile at Aida as I say it.

  “Destiny,” Aida says, smiling back at me. I knew the meaning of the name Kismet’s parents had picked out for her, but I’m surprised Aida has picked up on it.

  “Don’t look so shocked. I like to read a bit of Persian literature now and again. The name isn’t as uncommon in those books. And a girl gets curious.” She shrugs as she sips her coffee. “So, you’re in love.” I know she’s smiling without even looking at her. I can hear it in her voice. “For how long?”

  “Her whole life.”

  Aida sighs. “How romantic.” She pauses. “And also a little creepy. You loved her when she was an infant? You’re not that old. How old is she now?”

  “It’s not what you think.” I scramble to come up with a plausible tale that isn’t a lie, but I come up short.