A Matter of Heart (17 page)

He’s awake, seemingly fine.
Like he’d just been napping and not in a coma. And it’s just so surreal that
I’m completely taken aback by it all. Yet, nobody else seems to be, not even
Kellan.

“I should’ve known that
you’d wake up to weigh in on the Great Breakup of Kai and Maggie, take
thirty-seven,” Jonah is telling him. And the three of them laugh—Jonah and
Callie much louder than Kellan’s tired, scratchy chuckle—but it’s really lovely
to hear.

I have no idea what to say.
Or do. So I stay where I am, at the end of the bed.

Kellan coughs quietly and
glances down at his chest. “Oh, I guess the Shamans took my Team Kai shirt when
I was admitted. Damn, it could have come in handy. Silent support and all.”

Callie turns toward me,
still clutching Kellan’s hands. “You think he kids. We actually do have shirts
that say Team Maggie and Team Kai. We had them made . . . when was it?” She
glances across the bed at Jonah. “Junior year?” He nods and she grins, focus
back on me. “I think even Karl has one.”

I clear my throat. “Wow.
That’s . . .?” But I don’t know really how to follow that up. Especially since
Kellan meets my eyes for the smallest of moments before looking away. The room
goes silent—the laughter and joy from just minutes before gone like they’d never
been there in the first place.

Ladies and Gentlemen—may I
introduce you to Chloe Lilywhite, Mood Killer.

Jonah suddenly says, “I
thought it best—” before his mouth snaps shut in anger. He runs his hands
through his hair, sending the already messy strands in even more directions
before simultaneously sighing deeply and rolling his eyes. Then, if looks could
maim, he pins his brother to the bed with a ferocious stare that Kellan shoots
back immediately.

“Well,” Callie says,
unbothered in the least. “While you two duke it out, I’m going to go call Mom
and let her know you’re awake, Kel.” She grabs her purse from the chair by
Kellan’s bed. “Maybe I’ll go track down Aunt Kate while I’m at it. Play nice,
boys.” She gives me a wink and then saunters out into the hallway.

Kellan finally speaks to me.
“Would you mind going into another room, C, so my brother and I can talk?”

Before I can say anything,
Jonah grabs hold of my arm and drags me closer to where he’s standing. “She
stays.”

Kellan won’t look at me
anymore. He turns his head away from the both of us and stares at windows on
the opposite wall. Jonah’s hands clench in and out of fists before he takes a
deep breath, eyes briefly closing. “We’re going to talk about this, whether
you—” Deep sigh. “I think—” Eye rolling. “Since you mention it, I—”

Have
I
mentioned how
much I detest when they talk to each other like this? It’s maddening, not to
mention unfair. Especially since I know they’re talking about me.

His hand flexing like crazy,
Jonah turns to me and says, “I know it’s unbearably rude, but Kellan and I are
going to discuss a few things right now, and he’s requesting I do so our way so
as—” Kellan’s head whips back around, eyes incredulous and murderous at the
same time. Jonah lets out a bark of laughter. “Like I said: I’m not going to
keep this from her.”

“I should go to the other
room,” I offer weakly. The Jell-o is clamoring to come back up.

“
No
.” Jonah grabs my
hand and squeezes it. “This includes you. Just let us—” His attention snaps
back to Kellan, and then they’re silent for a good long time.

Fighting about me. Most
likely about why I’m here in this room. Or how Jonah knows we kissed in the
cave, or . . . or . . . or gods, I don’t even want to think about it. I don’t
want them to argue, not now, not so shortly after Kellan has woken up from a
coma.

I don’t want to cry, but I’m
perilously close to when I beg, “Don’t fight. Please don’t fight. Not because
of me. Not again.”

Jonah murmurs my name
softly, reaching for me.

I point at him. My finger is
shaky. “You were . . . trapped. Attacked by the Elders.” And then I wave the
same finger back and forth between Kellan and me. “And we were attacked, too.
Stuck in a cave. All of us . . .we were all . . .” My whole body trembles. I
just can’t go there. “But we’re alive, and . . . and . . . I don’t want there
to be fighting. Please.”

Kellan struggles to sit up
in his bed. It’s his turn to say my name, with a question and pity and concern
all wrapped through two syllables.

I hatehatehate crying. But
I’m crying now.

“Are you sure?” Kellan asks
me quietly. He’s upright now, watching me carefully, which is absurd because
being an Emotional means not having to rely on my facials cues at all.

But I know what he’s asking.
What he means. I tell him, “I’m sure.”

“We can do this,” Jonah
says, just as quietly as his brother. His hand reaches for mine; it’s
trembling, too.

I squeeze it and whisper,
“We can.”

It’s Kellan’s turn. He makes
us wait, but in the end, he nods, too. And the three of us stand there,
uncomfortable yet relieved, I think.

It’s a mostly good feeling.

Astrid and Callie bring
breakfast the next morning: croissants, coffee with thick, rich cream, and
apricot pastries so light and flaky, they look like they can float right off
the hospital’s china plates. This prompts Kellan and me to scowl at his cups of
Jell-o and my dry toast while everyone else eats like royalty.

“I’m disappointed that Ewan
hasn’t come by yet,” Astrid says, buttering one half of a croissant and
slathering it with a pinkish berry jam from the Gnomish plane. “We had words
about this, you know. Just last night.”

“Why bother?” Kellan sets
his spoon down and motions for the croissant. To my surprise, Astrid hands it
over.

“You’re not supposed to eat
that!” I hiss.

Pure bliss settles across
his face with a bite. “Croissants are better than Jell-o. You can’t argue
that.”

I don’t, especially when
Astrid hands me the other half, prepared just as tastily as Kellan’s. Goodbye
dry toast. Hello tastiness! “To answer your question, Kellan,” she says, “I
bother because, no matter what, he is still your father.”

“If he hasn’t changed his
ways in fourteen years, I highly doubt he’s going to try now,” Jonah says,
loading his own croissant with jam.

And yet, isn’t that what I
keep hoping will happen with my own parents? With my mom, even just as recently
as yesterday? Why is it Jonah and Kellan seem to be able to accept this from
their father, and I can’t?

I think I’d like to,
actually. I’d like to not care so much, to not build up hopes only to have them
crash down in fiery disappointments around me more often than not. But I can’t
do it. I can’t let go of my faith that someday, somehow, my mom and I will
connect in a way we’re supposed to.

I can’t write her off yet.
I’m not ready.

An exasperated sigh escapes from
Astrid’s lips along with a gently lobbed admonishment back toward the twins.
Then her attention shifts to me. “I also talked to your father last night,
Chloe.”

My eyes are owl-wide as I
swallow a much-to-large bite. The Gnomish jam is super tart, which probably
makes me not only wide eyed but pucker lipped, too.

“Bet you didn’t know Mom is
a meddler,” Callie murmurs from behind her coffee cup. Astrid glares at her
daughter while the boys try to hide their amusement with coordinated coughs.

“Encouraging a man to come
see his daughter in the hospital in not meddling,” the Council’s senior Seer
insists.

“Was it truly
encouragement?” Kellan asks. He taps a finger against his temple, cocking his
head in fake confusion. “Or was it more along the lines of threatening?”

Astrid’s children burst into
laughter, but Jonah sobers quickly, reaching under the table to take my hand.
Because, obviously, my father needing to be threatened to come to see his
daughter shows just how crummy of a father he is. And of how little he actually
thinks of me.

I doubt he’s called. At
least my mom has, even if she’s in Chile hunting a stupid plant obviously more
important than me.

The smile drops off of
Kellan’s face, too. “Sorry,” he says to Astrid, but I know it’s really meant
more for me than her.

“As I was trying to say,”
Astrid continues, obviously unbothered by her children making fun of her, “I
spoke to Noel, too, but I was informed that he’s in a series of meetings all
day and doesn’t think he will be able to come by the hospital.”

I break off a corner of the
croissant and crumble it beneath my fingers. I don’t know really what to say
here. Jonah knows how lousy my parents are; Kellan, too. Astrid heard a little
bit from me about this last year during our session. But how much does she
really know? And what about Callie? I’m not sure if I’m ready to open myself up
that wide yet, even if these people here are all . . . what, exactly? Just
Jonah’s family? My new family? Or, my soon-to-be family? And yet, a type of
family unit I’m totally unfamiliar with. So I offer a simple, “He works a lot.”

Thankfully,
Jonah quickly shifts the conversation away from my family’s failings to
something much more palatable. But my appetite is gone, even though moments
before I’d been starving.

Jonah and Callie’s
competitiveness at cards yesterday was nothing compared to the viciousness I’m
currently witnessing now that Kellan’s in the mix. Astrid, obviously being more
intelligent than I, outright refused to play with them once a round was
suggested and is now over in a corner immersed in a phone call. I agreed to
join, though, and now wish my legs were flexible enough to kick myself with. I
am clearly outmatched next to these three and not nearly as cutthroat as needed
to persevere.

Simple translation: I have
yet to win a single game against these sharks so far.

“You’re not even
trying
.”
A pair of cards is slapped down in front of me; I literally jerk back into my
seat at Callie’s venom-dipped accusation.

Only, she’s not talking to
me. Because Kellan argues, “I was in a coma less than twenty-four hours ago.
Cut me some slack.”

Jonah agrees with Callie,
though. “What’s next? Will a paper cut slow you down, too?” He sticks out a
finger and pretends to wince. “I can’t hold my cards; my owie hurts so bad!”

Kellan reaches across the
table and punches his brother’s arm. “I’d like to see you win three matches
after being comatose.”

Jonah grins, and we all
laugh. It’s nice. Easy. And not half as weird as it could be, considering. Like
we’re just four teenagers hanging out.

There’s a loud knock at the
door and Astrid goes to answer it, still on her phone. But when she opens the
door, the phone is snapped shut mid-sentence. “Baby doll,” she says without
turning around, “will you please go and find your Aunt Katie and bring her up
to the room?”

The laughter is gone from
the table before Callie’s out of her seat. Three people fill the doorway: Karl,
smudges under his eyes and stubble darkening his face; some Dwarf I do not
recognize; and a tall, distinguished Elf whom I know to be the head of the
Guard.

Callie slips in between Karl
and the Dwarf. As she disappears into the hallway, her mother addresses the Elf
in the flattest voice I’ve ever heard her use. “Jens.”

Jens Belladonna has been
running the Guard for about half a century. His hair is white and so bright
that it makes Callie’s look brassy in comparison. He’s got a neat, grizzled
goatee and piercing gray eyes. He’s a Tech, and his manipulations of machinery
frighten me.

He matches her tone easily
with an “Astrid” of his own, then attempts to step around her into the room,
but she blocks him. A frustrated sigh escapes his pursed lips. “I have every
right to be here now and you know it.”

Jonah stands up so suddenly
the chair behind him clatters to the ground. Kellan’s hand whips out to grab
him, eyes boring right into his brother’s. A second later, he’s out of his
chair, too, and across the room to the door.

“Kellan, you ought to go sit
down,” Astrid tries, but he shakes her off.