Part 16

Eleanor pulled into the airport parking lot and found a space on the third level. It was nearly lunchtime. She wondered what the children were doing right now. Lining up for lunch, washing their hands along with hundreds of other small people.

Eleanor remembered the line for lunch in elementary school. One of the few memories of school she possessed; standing with other children her age on a long sidewalk outside the cafeteria, waiting to put her hand under a silver canister that held powdered soap. She would push up on the lever and a handful of pink powder would fall into her hand. Gritty and dry, she would rub it in both hands before she put those hands under the warm communal faucets to dissolve it away. Sometimes she held the soap in one fist and ran water over her clenched fingers, waiting to see how long it would take to melt away the dusty pellets of detergent couched in her palm. She would open her fingers and there would be a mashed chalky wad, like pink mud, molded to the inside of her hand.

These things ran through Eleanor’s mind as she crossed the street and ducked through a revolving door into the baggage claim area. As she scanned the crowd, she wondered if she should have checked the flights before she left the house, to see if it would arrive on time.

Then she saw him. He saw her at the same moment, over the luggage carousel, and grinned. She ran to one side and around a bunch of weary travelers waiting for their bags. He had a guitar in a gig bag over one shoulder and was pulling a large suitcase off of the conveyer belt. He turned and opened his arms. She jumped into them, smiling.

“Jonathan,” she pulled back to look into his eyes and lay one hand on his cheek.

“Sister,” he hugged her again. “I missed you.”

She surveyed his bags. “Anything else? Or did you leave the bodies at home?”

He shushed her. “Hey, keep it quiet. No one is supposed to know I’m a Mafia hitman.”

They both laughed. “C’mon,” she said. “The kids will be home in a couple of hours. Let’s go grab some lunch.”

They navigated through the baggage claim and back across the street. Jonathan threw his bags in the back of her minivan and settled into the passenger seat.

“Nice ride,” he said. “Remember Veronica?” He was referring to the 1979 Volvo station wagon she had driven during high school.

“Yeah,” she checked over her shoulder before changing lanes. “Remember how we used to climb through the windows?”

“Dukes of Hazzard, dude!”

They both smiled at the memory. She laughed out loud then. “Remember that time you dove in through the window head first?”

He grimaced. “That hurt.”

“But it looked cool. What do you want to eat?”

“Ooo,” he said. “Where’s an Arby’s? I so want some curly fries.”

Eleanor shook her head. “Alright.”

Half an hour later, they were sitting across an Arby’s table from each other.

“So,” said Jonathan between bites. “How are the kids?”

She swallowed. “They’re alright, I suppose. Considering the circumstances.”

Jonathan nodded.

She continued, “Sometimes I really wish I knew what they were thinking. They’re so agreeable and effortless. I would feel more at ease if they would show some symptoms of extreme trauma or something.”

Jonathan lifted his eyebrows. “You want your children to be traumatized?”

She shook her head. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean… if there were some overt sign of emotional crisis, I would feel like maybe I would know what to do. You know, reassure them and talk to psychiatrists and doctors and get them in for therapy or something.”

Jonathan popped a fry into his mouth. “So what are they showing signs of?”

“I don’t know. They get along perfectly. They take care of each other. They don’t fight or argue. It’s like they don’t even realize that Mady and Eli are gone. But it’s also like they’re in their own little world. I just don’t know.”

He looked perplexed. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about. You have two well-adjusted kids who enjoy spending time together.”

“That’s just it,” she said. “Are they well-adjusted?” She sighed. “Maybe I’m just waiting for the bomb to drop.”

“What if it never does?”

“It has to,” she said. “There’s no way it can’t. I just don’t know when it will be.”

“You know,” he said, finishing off his Dr. Pepper, “maybe you should talk to someone about this. Do you know anyone who might be able to give you some advice?”

“Well, I remember a social worker at the hospital, gave me her card and said to let her know if I needed anything. But those guys are so overworked. Their case loads are insane. There’s no way they could add Jack and Cailyn and be able to help them with any competency.”

Jonathan shrugged. “I dunno. Have you thought about taking them to church?”

She closed her eyes for a long moment and then gave him a pointed look.

“What?” he said. “Just because you don’t believe in God doesn’t mean they won’t.”

“For the last time, I do believe in God.”

He nodded knowingly. “Uh huh, right.”

"I don't want to argue theological semantics with you," she told him. "But thanks for the suggestion."

Eleanor examined the tabletop. Jonathan said, “Look, I can take them if you want, while I’m here.”

“I’ll think about it,” she replied.

“Good,” he said, before dropping a fry into her drink.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The school bus rumbled down the street just as they pulled into the garage. She popped the hatch for Jonathan to grab his bags as the kids turned up the driveway, waving goodbye to their friend, Wren. Seeing Jonathan, they stopped for a split-second, and then broke into a run.

“Uncle Jon!” they both yelled. Jack dropped his back pack and fiercely hugged Jonathan’s leg. Cailyn bounced up and down squealing, “We didn’t know you were coming!”

Jonathan looked over at Eleanor. “You didn’t tell them?”

She shrugged. “I thought it would be a good surprise.”

He swung both children up into his arms and carried them into the house. Eleanor followed pulling his suitcase, his guitar over her shoulder. The suitcase went into the spare bedroom, along with the guitar.

“Did you come here on an airplane?” Jack was asking. All three of them were on the living room floor. Eleanor sat on the couch with a smile.

“Well, I did have a ticket to come by dragon express,” he told them. “But they transferred it to an airplane at the last minute.”

Cailyn laughed. “Silly Uncle Jon, you can’t buy tickets to ride on a dragon!”

Jonathan looked astonished. “You can’t?”

“No!” Jack laughed as well. “Dragons are too mean.”

“They’re not mean,” corrected Cailyn. “They’re just primeval.”

Jonathan and Eleanor exchanged a look. “Where did you get a word like primeval?” he asked Cailyn.

“I read it in a book called Extraordinary Creatures at the school library,” she announced. “It said dragons are primeval and elemental. It also said that faeries haven’t always been poisonous, it was just a defense mechanism they developed when humans started taking over.” She looked around, and seeing she had everyone’s attention, continued significantly. “They also said that satyrs are smaller now than they used to be and that the most famous satyr, Pan, is still walking the Earth and that cockatrices are found in the southern United States and Central America, but gorgons are only found in the Galapagos.”

“Oh yeah?” Jonathan reached out one finger to tickle the girl, grabbing her by the foot as she shrieked with laughter and tried to crawl away. “And what does it say about the Dreaded Tickle Monster?” She squirmed, giggling, while Jack jumped gleefully on Jonathan’s back and wrapped his arms around his uncle’s neck.

Eleanor, watching them wrestle, felt suddenly stifled. As her body threatened to tense, she stood. She went to the front door and pulled it open, falling out onto the porch, shutting away the sounds of playful laughter behind her as she closed the door. She gulped the afternoon air on the driveway. The sun was setting later now, and evening would be coming on soon. Eleanor walked down to open the mailbox, reaching in to discover it was empty. She stood on the sidewalk for a bit while the breeze played through her hair. A car pulled up alongside the curb where she was standing. She leaned down to look into the passenger window, and saw that it was Weston Baylor.

He smiled at her. “Hi!” he said.

“Hello,” she replied.

“How are you?”

“Fine,” she said. “How are you, Mr. Baylor?”

His pale blue eyes sparkled. “I’m great. Please, call me Weston.”

The front door opened. The children ran out onto the driveway, Jonathan chasing them. They scampered in her direction and used her for a shield, peeking out from around her legs at their uncle. Jonathan trotted down the driveway.

“Hey,” he called curiously.

It was then that the children seemed to notice the car at the curb. They turned to look into the passenger window as Jonathan came up beside Eleanor. He leaned down to see the driver as well.

“Jonathan,” said Eleanor, “this is Weston Baylor. Weston, my brother Jonathan.”

Weston put the car into park and opened the driver’s side door, unfolding his lank form and walking around the hood of the car to shake Jonathan’s hand. His luminescent outline wasn’t as pronounced in the afternoon light, but it was still there.

“Hi,” Weston smiled. “Nice to meet you.” He looked down at the kids. “And you must be Cailyn and Jack.”

Jack laughed. “You’re silly Mister Weston. You already know us.”

Eleanor looked at Weston in surprise.

“It’s true,” said Weston. “Jack and my Emma are in the same kindergarten class. I see them when I drop her off at school every once in a while.”

Eleanor wondered if her children were acquainted with everyone in the neighborhood.

“Can you fly?” Jack was asking Weston. Weston laughed and ruffled the boy's hair. Cailyn and Jack ran back to the house.

“So Weston,” said Jonathan, “what do you do?”

“I’m an illustrator,” replied Weston. “I work for a film studio in Dallas.” He looked at Eleanor as he said it.

"Cool," said Jonathan. "What do you do for them?"

Weston shrugged. "I do creature and character design, concept art, that sort of stuff."

“Creature design,” said Jonathan. “Oh, that reminds me. Do you know of any good Christian churches around here? I’d like my niece and nephew to get some religion while I’m visiting.”

Weston’s smile widened. “Actually, yeah, I belong to a great church. It’s the Church of the One Truth. It has an awesome youth program.”

“Cool,” said Jonathan again. “Can you give me directions? What time does it start?”

Eleanor watched the exchange carefully with what she hoped was visible disinterest. Weston pulled a pen from his pocket and wrote a few lines on the back of a new business card. “It starts at 10am and it’s relatively close. I think the kids will really like it.” He handed the card to Jonathan, who took it and looked at both sides. “Eleanor, I’ve come to invite you and your family to dinner. Friday night, we’re having a barbeque.” He gestured to Jonathan. “You’re invited too, of course.”

“Great,” replied her brother. “We’ll be there. Eleanor knows where it is?”

Weston nodded. “So we’ll see you at church on Sunday?”

Jonathan held up the card. “Definitely.”

Before walking back around to the driver’s side of his car, Weston clasped her hand again, watching her all the time with curious eyes. “And what about you Eleanor? Will we see you at church on Sunday?” It seemed a monumental task for her to shrug casually. “Well, if you change your mind, you’re always welcome. Be at our house Friday at six o’clock.” He got back into the car and threw it in gear, waving as he pulled away from the curb.

She looked reproachfully at her brother, shaking her head, but she watched the car go, and wondered when she would see Weston Baylor again.

Jonathan slid the card into his back pocket. “He’s cool,” he said. “How did you meet him?”

“He came over to the house one day to welcome us to the neighborhood.”

“So he lives around here?”

She nodded. “Just down the street.”

“Huh,” he was looking at where Weston’s car had turned the corner. “I wonder what his wife is like.”

“Why?” she wondered.

“Because he seems so… odd.” He turned back contemplatively to look at her. “Don’t you think so?”

“Do you?” she said faintly. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“I don’t mean odd in a bad way,” he corrected himself. “I just mean… different.”

She wanted to tell him what she thought odd about her neighbor and disguised her desire with a surly voice instead. “Why did you tell him we would come to dinner?”

“Because I like barbeque,” he replied innocently. “And because I’ve heard Texas barbeque is the best.” He turned to follow her as she walked back up the driveway. “And because you can’t stay locked up forever. If you’re going to stay here in Arlington then you need to get to know people, especially your neighbors.”

She said, “And why, especially, should I get to know people?”

He jumped ahead to open the door for her, but stopped for a moment, blocking her way. He reached out to take her hand and turned it palm up, so that the new slices were visible. “We worry about you.”

“Who’s we?”

“Me and Mom and Dad and everyone back home. We worry about you, alone here with the kids, so far from family.”

She didn’t attempt to withdraw her hand. Instead she just looked up into his brown eyes. “Maybe I like being this far from family,” she said simply.

He lowered his hand, not releasing hers. “You can’t like being this far from me.”

“Well, no,” she conceded. “Being away from you is different… harder. Why don’t you think about moving here? The housing is cheap and there are plenty of schools to choose from.”

He pushed open the door and waved her inside. “I dunno. How would you ever get anything done, if I was always around?”

“True dat,” she told him. They both laughed.