Eternal: Chapter Nine, Part 2

Ian stopped by later that day as I was preparing supper. Nick was helping me, but decided to run to the grocery store for some rolls when Ian arrived. I know he knew I was having individual conferences with people, so I wasn’t sure if he’d gone because of that or simply because he really wanted rolls at dinner.

“Hey, love,” Ian greeted as Nick ran out the door. He kissed my cheek and asked, “Would you like some help.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, washing my hands. “I can finish later.”

“What are you making?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves and washing his hands.

“Veggie fried rice with sesame chicken. Nick says he knows a great recipe for the chicken,” I answered. “I’m cleaning the chicken. You can cut it up if you want.”

“How big?”

“Bite sized chunks.”

He nodded, taking up the knife and working on the breast already on the cutting board. “So do you have a new tagline?”

“Of course.” I had been thinking about it for some time and decided to stick with miracles as the central theme. “The next set will be based around ‘miracles are unstoppable,’ because after that set airs, no matter what happens, no matter what people want to believe, they know,” I said, working on removing excess fat and bits of gristle from the next breast. “Most people won’t want to live with the guilt, and even if they can, someone else will step up.”

“You’re right about that,” he said, setting the knife down. “What do you want me to do with these?”

“There’s a bowl to your right;” I pointed to the ceramic bowl with the chunks Nick had already cut up. “The last set of commercials will be based on ‘miracles never die.’ That one isn’t aimed to the people as much as it is to the government. They need to know this won’t stop with just us. Others like us, and even unlike us, are tired. Tired of being lied to, exploited, mistreated in general.”

“I can do that,” he assured me as I handed him the next breast, starting on the last one. “Did I tell you how much I love designing your ‘miracle’ commercials?”

“Only a couple of times;” I smiled, unable to help myself.

“Well, I do.” His eyes darted my way for a fraction of a second, reflecting the grin on his lips. “How have you been doing?”

“Good, thank you,” I responded, not even thinking about it. It was one of those automatic responses hardwired into me; I would have said ‘good, thank you’ even if the world was burning to ashes around me. “Yourself?”

“I’m good.” After a moment, he added, “But you weren’t.”

He finished chopping as I finished cleaning. I handed him the last breast and then washed my hands; then I scrubbed the sink with hot, soapy water and bleach.

“I’m fine now,” I persisted, rinsing the suds down the drain. I checked the rice, though I wasn’t sure how to tell if the rice cooker was working or not; I hadn’t used one before, but Nick seemed to trust it.

“But you weren’t.”

I wanted to retort snidely about how that was obvious, but Ian wasn’t attacking me. I knew that. He was doing what Caroline hadn’t—though I had wanted her to. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I felt it,” Ian said, looking up from what was left of the chicken breast. “You’re my friend, Abriel—Leirba—whatever you prefer. Maybe it’s because you’re also air, but my connection to you is different from anyone else. When you hurt, I feel it as if it were my own pain.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, turning my back to him and going about cleaning up. I didn’t want him, or anyone else, to feel what I felt, especially not when I had been that badly off. But I couldn’t control that, and I doubted he could either. If he could have, I was sure he would have stopped after I almost died—well, did die, kind of.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Dropping the last of the chicken into the bowl, he placed the cutting board in the sink and ran some hot bleach water for it to soak. He washed his hands, saying, “I have time if you wanted to.”

“I can’t,” I said, trying to find something else to do and discovering the rest of it Nick would have to finish as he hadn’t left instructions for me to follow.

“Can’t…or won’t?” The way he said it wasn’t hurtful or mean, but it still stung. No one else had questioned me about that, and I had started to assume people wouldn’t. Now that someone had, I couldn’t remember how I had planned to reply.

“I’ve talked to Drei already, and I am feeling better. But I can’t really talk about it with anyone else because it would lead to a conversation about something I can’t discuss.” I knew it sounded terrible and pathetic, but I hoped it would sate some fraction of his curiosity.

“I won’t ask;” Ian walked around to the other side of the counter and sat down. “But I’m here if you ever want to, even if you’re not supposed to.”

Silence found its way between us for a short while before I decided to ask the question I hadn’t been able to ask Caroline: “Is something wrong with Caroline?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, leaning forward on his elbows.

“She seemed weird when she was here earlier. Like she was overcompensating for something by being less argumentative.”

Ian’s head bobbed slightly, though he didn’t say anything. It was like he was debating whether or not to tell me about it. I would understand if he didn’t—it was only fair. But I was hoping he’d find it decent to share.

“Her parents dropped by for a visit a few days ago and finally left today,” he said, almost as if that answered it.

A couple years ago, when I had met Caroline’s parents, they seemed like perfectly normal people who may have loved their only daughter a touch too much. However, appearances, especially in the world Caroline and I both hailed from, were everything but meant nothing about the real person underneath. And there was definitely something about her parents because, that entire vacation, even Ian had been stressed. It was the first time I had seen him stressed in a subdued, biting his tongue, way. And Caroline’s stress had been off the charts. I had never had the opportunity to know why that was, and I had been too preoccupied with my own problems to ask then.

“What is it about her parents she doesn’t like?” I asked, hopefully in a way that suggested I wasn’t forcing him to answer.

He opened his mouth to say something before closing it. Exhaling, his lips curling upward, he noted, “You never got to be alone with them. They are two real pieces of work.”