A Promised Fate (3 page)

Her bitterness thawed a tad and she spoke, “I can
hold your cell phone hostage for four whole days?”

“Yes. I’ll forget I even own a phone if you promise
to forgive me.”

“No calls in to the office?”

“Not one.”

“No important messages from your assistant that you
can’t ignore?”

“I promise.”

Ava looked down at the cell in my outstretched palm
and then back up at me. She chewed her lip in thought and in one
quick movement, my phone was snatched away from me and shoved down
deeply into Max’s toy bag.

“Does that mean you forgive me?”

“I guess so, yes. Don’t make any more promises you
cannot keep.”

“I promi … Ok.”

I drew the necklace with Ava’s wedding ring attached
out of my pocket. “I got this for you. I know I am a crazy,
obsessive husband, but I hate that you can’t wear your wedding ring
right now, it’s driving me insane. I want everyone to know you're
mine and that I’m yours. I can’t stand the thought of you not
wearing my ring. It’ll give you some protection, too. Keep the bad
away. Will you please wear it for me?”

“Ari!” She shouted.

I couldn’t tell if she was happy about the gift or
mad at me for buying something so expensive. I grimaced and waited
for an additional response.

“Jeeze, you could have strung my ring from dental
floss and I would have worn it. This is way too much.”

I held my breath.

“But, oh my, is it pretty...” She inched down to get
a further inspection and gently stroked the circling rows of
diamonds.

I freed the air from my lungs. “So you will wear it
then?”

“I won’t take it off.” She leaned forward allowing me
to clasp the necklace in place around her neck. The diamonds rested
ever so gently against the very top of her chest.

“Thank you. My first evil eye. I love this so much,
Ari. It’s perfect,” she whispered, and looked up at me to kiss my
lips.

“Anything for you,” I whispered back. “The idea of an
evil eye was actually something my dad came up with. I should have
given you this a long time ago. Maybe an evil eye could have kept
you safe when I couldn’t.” My eyes burned into hers and I thought
of all the times I failed her. All the times I could not save
her.

“We're safe now.” Ava’s thumb smoothed my creased
brow and she gave me a reassuring smile.

“Mmmm.” My fingers edged along her long, scarred
wrist.

“Let’s have fun tonight. Ok? Forget about all that.”
She lightly bumped her shoulder with mine.

“Right.”

We had been looking forward to a long holiday
together at home with our family. This would be Ava's first Fourth
of July weekend at the family compound in Dana Point. Just about
everything we do around the holiday weekend, bedsides eating mounds
of great food, involves water. Ava has a genuine but absurd fear of
water. Humbly I take credit for having wielded my charm and
persistence to get her into the ocean a handful of times. But each
time I got her there, she suctioned herself onto me like a
jellyfish, leaving me to peel her off as soon as we were back on
shore. The only part of her that ever tries our pool is a big toe,
and that has happened bloody rarely. She has no idea of how to
swim, a fact that has bothered me because I love the water, but my
worry had become much more serious with the arrival of Max. Soon,
with a baby on the way, she would be responsible for two lives in
and around our house by the sea. Three if you count her own.

“What name did you pick?”

Shit
. She brought me back to reality and I had
not yet thought of any baby names as I had also promised. Batting a
thousand.

“Tell me your pick first,” I said, attempting to buy
some time.

“Ok. I was supposed to come up with a boy’s name.
What do you think about Dorian?”

“Dorian,” I said, “Dorian is, well, it's … ” The
twisted, scrunched look on my face must have said it all.

“You hate it.” Ava’s excited smile slid down into a
frown.

“It’s just … I don’t …
love
it.”

“Ok, let’s see if you can do better. Your turn.”

“Alright…” I hurriedly racked my brain for a name I
could live with. I wanted to name the baby with a Greek name from
our heritage and Ava agreed, so long as we could come up with
something we both liked.

“You sure you don’t want to name her Ileana?”

“Ari, no!” she scolded me for the twenty-first
time.

“Alright, alright. What about Athena?”

“Athena? She’s a goddess right?” Her nose crinkled a
tad and I couldn’t resist rolling my eyes at her.

“Uh, yeah. Athena is one of the twelve Olympians.
She’s uh, she’s pretty high up there, Ave.”

Ava nudged me with her elbow. “I dunno! I can’t keep
it all straight. Who is she exactly?”

“The Athenians founded the Parthenon on the
Acropolis, you know Athens, in her honor. She is the goddess of
wisdom, courage and inspiration. Also, my mother is somehow related
to descendants of Athena on her mother’s side. Athena and Aphrodite
were sisters. So my mom would like die and go to heaven if we named
our girl Athena. It would be a good name for our child. I think it
is pretty.”

“Athena Alexander,” Ava’s lips puckered in a kind of
pout as she said the name aloud. “I like the idea of naming our
child after someone so important and great … just not Athena.
Sorry, it’s a no for me. I want to hear a name and just have it
click. I want to feel it.”

“Ok, I think I know exactly what you mean. We can try
again later. Right now, all I can feel is hunger pains. I need
food.”

An awesome display of crab legs, grilled swordfish
kabobs and lobster salad was arranged on large platters lined up on
the table. We dished up heaping platefuls of food, more food than
even our large and hungry crew could possibly eat. Ava had her
teeth centered over a savory kabob when Gianna warned her that
mercury levels in some seafood can be harmful to an unborn baby.
The morsel slipped from Ava's fingertips and slid back down onto
her plate. A sad, pathetic little sulk replaced the hungry smile
that had been on her face.

“Peanut butter sandwich?” I suggested and then stood
from the table to make her a replacement meal.

“With bananas,” she moped. I felt kind of bad for my
girl but the table held salads and fresh rolls and fruit bowls.
There was plenty to eat, even though the main event would be peanut
butter.

“You got it, babe.”

We ate and drank all evening at the crowded table on
our deck, surrounded by family and close friends. The stories
began. Storytelling is a time-honored tradition in my family. The
same tales from our childhood and holidays are passed around each
year, and each time they are told, the stories become funnier and
more outrageous. Plates and silverware clattered and glasses shook
as we pounded our fists on the tabletop and gasped for breath in
between sidesplitting laughs.

“Aggie,” Ava began, “ tell me--what was Ari like as a
child?”

“Ari?” My mother looked from Ava to me. “Ari was
…”

“A monster!” Gianna chimed in before my mother could
talk. “Better pray like hell that the baby is like you, Ava.”

“He wasn’t a monster!”

“He was, Ag, don’t try and deny it. That boy was a
deviant. People thought he was raised by wolves. He was always
fighting, always causing some kind of trouble. My boys learned all
their swear words from Ari!”

“Who, Ari? Fighting?” Ava gawked and looked from the
women to me and I gave a non-committal shrug of my shoulders.

“Let me explain.” Aggie shot Gianna a peeved look and
then continued. “Ari was the littlest of the three boys and also
the most driven. He was such a tiny guy and Nick and Rory were
butterballs and spoiled absolutely rotten.”

“
Pfft,”
Gianna batted her eyes.

“And Ari was … determined to be the best at
everything. He wanted to be the fastest, the strongest, the
smartest, he wanted to be the winner of it all. Nick and Rory
didn’t like that. The three of them have always been competitive
with one another. They're all sore losers when they don’t win and
ever boastful and arrogant when they do. They get that from their
fathers.”

Gianna nodded a great big yes.

“Ari fought Rory daily, punching, headlocks, flying
elbows to the stomach. I’d send poor Rory home with an icepack at
least twice a week. But it wasn’t because Ari was some over-hyper
monster child. He was just passionate, even then, and entirely
focused on whatever goal was driving him at the moment. He was
determined to succeed and when Ari gets an idea in his head, he
doesn't back down. No matter what.”

Ava’s eyes bounced from my mother to me in
thought.

“Let’s face it, Ava. He has you, this house, that
job, Max and that little baby on the way. He’s only twenty. These
things didn’t happen by happy accident. Well, not all of them
anyway.” She gestured to Ava’s belly. “He knows what he wants and
he gets it.”

“That’s not such a bad quality.”

“No, it’s not. Don’t let Gianna scare you. Ari was
way better behaved than those two round hams she raised. Ari is
just different from them that’s all.”

“Why are the three boys so different, then? If they
are the same, you know from the same deity?”

“What?” My mother blinked in shock and gaped at Ava
as if she had just said the stupidest thing in the world.

“They aren’t from Adonis?”

“Only Ari.” Aggie’s tone was questioning, as if Ava
should have known better, and she would have known better if I ever
talked about who I was, who I am, but I won’t.

Ava knitted her brow and she looked to me for
clarity.

My parents both stared at me, disbelieving.

“I never really explained it to her. Ava, Nick and
Roar got their mother’s traits, I have my father’s. It is only me
and well him,” I pointed over to my dad, “only we are from Adonis.
But it doesn’t matter, right?” I spoke fast and stood from the
table, busying myself by gathering dirty dishes and refilling wine
glasses. I changed the subject by asking for everyone’s input on
the baby name, a topic I knew would consume the rest of the
evening’s conversation and I knew it would keep Ava’s mind busy.
Deities were forgotten about and soon after the evening came to a
close.

Ava and I bade farewell to various members of our
family, with hugs and kisses given numerous times. Finally, I
trailed into the house behind her with Max on my hip. She turned
towards our bedroom to clean up after a day in the sun and I drew
Max a bath.

When Max first entered our lives last winter, he was
quite reserved and very quiet. He had lost the only life he knew
and the grandma who was raising him. Those losses took a toll. Now,
several months later and settled in, while still a well-behaved
child, eager to listen and learn, he likes his bit of mischief. One
of his favorite games is tag and he especially enjoys the game
straight out of the bath. As soon as Max’s feet hit the ground from
out of the tub, he takes off in a dead sprint. He laughs and runs
all throughout our home and Ava and I do our best at catching and
clothing him. I have seen my wife hurdle the couch in an attempt to
grab him and pin him down. No more of that for a while, though, as
her pregnancy slowed her down and kept her playing it safe.

I washed sunscreen from Max’s skin, rinsed the
chlorine from his hair and cleaned his seemingly always smudged and
dirty feet. I began to drain the bathwater and Max’s smile crept
onto his face and grew larger and larger with every passing second.
Grabbing a towel, I wrapped him up and patted him down. He
cooperated with me as I dried him off, but I knew his cooperation
was only a part of his ploy.

He waited for me to run the towel vigorously through
his messy, waterlogged hair and as soon as it was dry enough, he
made his escape and dashed through the bathroom and out the door,
his little giggles ringing throughout the house.

“Oh, man!” He hollered only a moment later.

“I tricked you!” Ava laughed from the hallway. I
exited the bathroom in time to see her pinning him down and pulling
on his favorite sleep clothes. Max sulked over his quick defeat for
only a few minutes then settled down for a story in his room.

Ava, a Québécoise for thirteen years, speaks French
as often as she can and has hopes of teaching Max the language.
Story time in our house is normally in French unless I am the one
reading because in all honesty, I haven't taken the time to truly
learn the language. I can sort of ‘get by’ and I do understand some
of what Ava and August babble on about. I know some of the more
common phrases but I can’t hold down a long conversation without
guidance. Max hasn’t yet picked up the language, in fact, he still
has a difficult enough time with any form of speech. He doesn’t
talk much at all, and when he does, his speech is very rarely in
complete sentences. He has a slight impediment – “girl” is “gull,”
“love” is “wov,” “that” is “dat” and so on. He tries to rely on
hand gestures and can often be seen tugging on either Ava’s or my
clothing and then pointing at whatever it is he wants. I indulge
him.

The kid is smart. His mind is a mechanical wonder. At
three years old, he can take apart any toy in the house and put it
back together. He will sit on the rug for hours on end building
huge and intricate structures from Legos or blocks. Ava bought him
a wooden three-dimensional puzzle that was intended to be a
brainteaser for adults and he solved it in less than ten minutes. I
had him do it again just to be sure it wasn’t some kind of
beginner's luck. He solved the puzzle the second time in less than
three minutes. He grew tired of the toy rather quickly and now, the
wooden blocks sit in a pile on my desk at work and I’ve yet to
figure out how to put it back together. As smart as he is, and as
much as he enjoys being read to, I know the words are in him, he is
just too preoccupied with other things to care to use them. Ava
frets over his speech and I hear “use your words” more times in a
day than I really care to hear.