I was home.
Chapter Thirty
Back
Five months later…
The lights over the fleet (fleet, as in, four of them) of moving trucks in the garage went out panel by panel, the only one staying illuminated being the one by the front door and I knew Pop was closing down for the night.
In my office at the back, I shoved the last invoice in an envelope, checked that the address could be seen in the window and licked it closed.
Pop moved through the doorway and I smiled at him.
“Just need to stamp this then I’m off home to change. I’ll meet you at the party.”
The other Circe was leaving and we were having a going away party. She was taking the money Pop had given her, I had given her and the boys had collected for her (with a little training, she’d taken over the office for me while I was gone, she was good at it and the place was not the mess I’d worried it would be) and she was going to New Orleans. She was going there because she’d read about it and wanted to see it, in fact, when not searching for ways to get me home and working in the office, she read about a lot of her new world and she wanted to explore as much of it as she could see. And New Orleans was a good choice, seeing as she’d see a whole heckuva a lot of the country driving there from Seattle (Pop, by the by, taught her to drive).
And she was also going there because an old buddy of Pop’s had a job opening in his office at his tow truck company. Pop recommended her (or, kinda, me) and called in a favor to get her hired.
Unfortunately, I’d met this old buddy of Pop’s a couple of times when I was young so he was going to get a surprise when I walked in (but didn’t walk in) to meet him for the first time and he would have a Circe who wasn’t Circe.
Pop said he would explain things after it happened and his friend Buster got to know Circe. He thought this was wise. My twin agreed. I didn’t bother arguing. Those two were two peas in a pod and ganged up on me frequently and, frankly, I didn’t have it in me anymore to give any lip. They wanted to give Buster a heart attack? I wasn’t going to stop them.
I put the stamp on the envelope, grabbed the other four I’d done and put them in my out tray which wasn’t really an out tray, as such, since it would be my (now) fat ass that would waddle out of the garage and put them in the mailbox at the end of the block tomorrow. Still, I liked my outbox even if it was me who dealt with the out as well as the in.
I started to switch off my computer but saw Pop had settled in one of the two cracked, vinyl seats in front of me.
“Darlin’, we gotta talk,” he declared.
Oh shit.
I didn’t want to do this. In fact, I’d successfully avoided doing this for five months. I was hoping to hold out for five more months or, maybe, fifty years.
“Not now, we’ll be late,” I told him, hitting the button on my mouse to click the shut down on my machine.
“Now, Circe, uh… the other Circe’ll understand.”
Seriously, it was weird there being two me’s.
I looked at him. Then I took in his look. It was his determined look.
Then I determined we weren’t going to talk, now or ever.
“Pop –”
Like it was since I was a child, Pop’s determination when it came to him saying what he had to say and hearing what I had to say was a lot more determined than mine could ever be.
“Circe, darlin’, what gives?” he leaned toward me. “You ain’t right.”
I switched off my monitor and declared. “I’m fine.”
I started to get out of my chair when Pop’s words arrested me.
“Girl, do you not think I know heartache when I see it? Damn, darlin’, I’ve seen it every day of my life for twenty-five years starin’ back at me right in the mirror.”
My (now) fat ass plonked back into the chair and I looked at Pop.
“And now,” he went on, “I see it every time I look at you.” He lifted a hand and knocked his knuckles on my desk before sitting back and demanding, “So, no more foolin’. What… gives?”
“Pop,” I whispered.
“Circe,” Pop stated firmly.
“Pop!” I snapped.
“Circe!” Pop clipped back.
Shit!
I stared at him. He took my stare and raised it with an eyebrow lift.
Then I shook my head. “I don’t –”
Pop cut in. “You love that asshole.”
I blinked. Then the pain knifed through me. Then I looked away.
After a moment, Pop muttered, “Shee-it. You do. You love that asshole.”
I looked back at him.
He knew. Yeah, he knew.
We’d never discussed it. The other Circe had told me her story in total (and it was worse than I imagined and I imagined it being bad). I had not shared mine. She didn’t pry. But she knew the Korwahk and their practices and she watched me like a hawk, like my father did since I figured she’d shared (not to mention I’d disappeared for months so he was gun shy). But she didn’t pry. I’d seen those two with their heads together, starting with a few times in the beginning when I came home but it was growing more and more frequently lately.
They’d orchestrated this. It was a wonder she wasn’t there browbeating me right along with Pop.
By the way, the other me could be annoying. She was sweet and she was funny but she was also seriously annoying.
“Circe, start talkin’ or I’ll talk for you,” Pop warned.
“Yeah?” I asked sharply. “You and Circe, you both think you’ve got it figured out, do you?”
“What I got figured out, child, is that is the first time I’ve seen you spit fire at me in five fuckin’ months. And my Circe could spit fire when she had tonsillitis. She could spit fire at Larry, who was six foot five, weighed three hundred pounds and had a meaty fist bigger than her head. She could handle my crew of twelve guys without them knowin’ they were bein’ handled. That fire, girl, it’s been gone and Circe and me, your friend Marlene, we thought it was because…” he stopped, his jaw flexed at the thought of me being violated then he started again, “but it ain’t. It ain’t that. I don’t see pain in your eyes from memories that are torturin’ you. I see a different kinda pain, darlin’, one I recognize, one I know, one that lives in me.”
“Can we not talk about this?” I asked quietly.
“No, we been not talkin’ about this for five months and you ain’t snappin’ outta it. Now tell me, girl, did you fall in love with him?”
I licked my lips. Then I closed my eyes.
Then I opened them and whispered, “Yes.”
He tipped his head to look at the ceiling, muttering, “Shee-it. Circe warned me this crap happened.”
“Pop –” I started but he tipped his head back to me.
“So why the fuck you come home?”
I blinked. “What?”
“You went to the doc, there was time. You coulda had that kid you’re carryin’ taken care of…” I knew my eyes flashed at the very mention of abortion when he pointed right at me. “That. That right there. You want this kid. That asshole didn’t force that child on you; you’re carrying it for him. You made that baby and you liked doin’
