“I'm fine. Stop worrying. You'll get wrinkles in that pretty forehead. Thank you, Peter.” She looks at him, and Dad finally notices Peter. Great, this is just the place I wanted to do this.
“Who is this?” Dad looks at each of us in turn, searching for answers. Mom speaks first.
“This is Ava's friend, Peter.” Such a benign word, friend. Sounds safe.
Dad flounders for a second, taking Peter in. At least he's wearing shoes. Black sneakers he must have swiped from someone who rides a skateboard. I try to see what he would see, looking at Peter for the first time. Torn t-shirt, dirty jeans, messy hair in his eyes. I want to push it back so Dad can see those eyes I love so much, but I can't. Because Peter is my friend. Friends don't let friends touch each other's hair and gaze adoringly.
“Oh. It's, um, nice to meet you, Peter.” I feel like Peter and my father should shake hands, but they don't. Dad is still to focused on Mom.
“It is nice to meet you, Mr. Sullivan. I was hoping it would be under different circumstances.” There should be slightly awkward and uncomfortable laughter, but there isn't. There's just silence so thick my mother is the only one who dares to wade through it.
“Peter had just stopped by when I felt a little faint. He carried me to the car and drove us here. He's quite the gentleman.” Since when did my mother become a Peter fan? Not that I'm complaining, but still. Less than an hour ago, she was scared to have him touch her and now she's singing his praises. Dad looks befuddled. This is too much for him to take in now, but in a few hours he's going to figure this out and then I'm in for it.
Dad rubs Mom's back and speaks to her like she's mentally challenged. “I'll take you home in my car. Ava, can you drive your mother's car home?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, we'll see you there.” And off they go, Dad taking most of Mom's weight and hitting the handicap door button so it will open for her. I look around, thinking there should be paperwork or something, but no one stops us as we walk out.
Dad's already got Mom in the passenger seat, tenderly buckling her seatbelt. “I didn't want you to meet my dad like that, but I guess we don't have to hide anymore,” I say to Peter.
“He does not like me.” He says it like he's making an observation on the weather.
“What gave you that impression? My dad loves you.” I can't help the sarcasm. He's used to it, and I don't think I've ever me anyone who gets less offended than Peter.
I'm good enough to drive, so I do, Peter sitting in the passenger side and holding my hand when I'm not shifting.
I have to turn on the radio, because I can't stand to hear my own thoughts. All they do is plague and taunt me. I scream at them, telling them to shut the hell up. Like all the other Things I'd dealt with, they just talk louder. Little bastards.
Katy Perry comes on and I sing along, not caring if I can't carry a tune. Peter just holds onto my hand and doesn't say anything and doesn't breathe. You'd think this would be disturbing, but it isn't. It's comforting.
Dad's car is in the driveway when I get home, even though he had to go to the pharmacy. I may have driven a little slower than normal. It's not that I didn't want to go home. I just don't want to face what's waiting for me. I have to deal with the guilt that I made my mother sick, and I'm going to get interrogated by Dad about Peter. Good times.
“You should probably go, unless you want to get yelled at or shot by my dad.”
“Your father doesn't scare me. Nor do bullets.” A brief image of my dad standing on the porch with a shotgun flickers through my mind. It should be funnier than it is.
“I know, but my father scares me, and he's not in a good state. If you want, you can go fly for a while and I'll come upstairs. I might even be inclined to let you have a little taste.” I give him what I hope is a flirtatious smile. It doesn't feel right, so I drop it. I fail when it comes to sexy.
“I do not need it. But thank you for the offer. I will be waiting for you.” He vanishes and re-appears to open my door.
“Do you ever get bored?”
“Not when I am waiting for you.” For an angel vampire, he's awful sweet. I sigh and go to face my problems. Or at least some of them.
Chapter Three
Peter
I fly in loops around the house, waiting for her. I dip low, so I can hear their voices. It does not concern me that her father might not like me. It should matter because it is important to Ava, even if she would not admit it. I am not used to trying to get along with humans. To impress them.
For now, I concentrate on trying to make Ava feel better. She has a human need to blame herself for things out of her control. Perhaps it is part of possessing a soul, something I don't have. I had not thought about it much since my second incarnation. Now I think of it all the time.
In most mythologies, a human is comprised of two things, a body and a soul. When the body dies, the soul remains. Something that can survive without a body that goes on to another place.
But I have a body that can exist forever. It has taken the place of my soul. So would it not be the other way around? One cannot have both an eternal body and an eternal soul. It would tip the balance too much, and the world is all about balance, belief in God or not. Out of seeming chaos, there are patterns, order. So it would stand to reason that I would be the opposite of a human. Eternal body, a soul that can die. I don't believe I deserve a soul.
I perch on the roof, leaving my wings out so the breeze streams through the feathers, making a sound only I can hear. Inside the house, Ava and her father try to keep their voices down. Afraid of disturbing her mother, who they believe is sleeping. Judging by her breathing and hear heart rate, she is not.
I have a spur-of-the-moment impulse, and leap from the roof. I find my shirt and slide my wings out of sight before I put it on. There are two windows leading into Claire's bedroom. Softly, I tap on the window. She looks up, startled, squinting in the dark before flicking the light on. She sees me and swallows once. Her heart rate picks up.
I slide the window up a little so I can talk without her feeling threatened.
“Please, don't get up. I just wanted to speak with you.” I use the voice I'd once used to lure victims. Comforting and smooth.
“If you hurt me, I'll scream.” Her eyes flick to the door, calculating how fast it will take her husband to reach us, should something occur.
“I am not here to hurt you. I would never hurt someone Ava cares about.” She relaxes a bit, and raises one eyebrow, a feat I have yet to conquer.
“You know I'm going to die anyway. You'd just be speeding up the inevitable.” She shares Ava's wry sense of humor.