Iron Inheritance (3 page)

Grandpa spoke before I looked up again. “I think some French toast is in order.” He clapped his hands together, a bit of youthful energy enlivening his old limbs. “I’ll tell you girls when it’s ready.”

I narrowed my eyes at his back even as Ria smiled and followed him in. Now I knew something was off. French toast was the meal of comfort, of sweet maple syrup and powdered sugar, of special occasions in this family, odd as that may sound.

What was so special about now?

“I could definitely go for some French toast, Mr. B.” Ria went into the cupboard and pulled out a Pop Tart as the squeaky screen door slammed shut behind me.

“Remind me when your mother is coming home again, Ria,” Grandpa said serenely.

She shrugged and took another bite. “Said she wouldn’t be back until after graduation.”

“Ah.” Grandpa nodded. “Then you’re still staying here, and your bed’s not made.”

Ria swallowed and gave him her best bear hug, her bronze arms wrapping around his belly. “I love you too, Grampy. See what I did there? It’s like the male form of gramy.”

He kissed the top of her caramel head and waved us both out of the kitchen. I followed Ria a few steps and looked back before I went down the hall. Grandpa stood at the sink, massaging the back of his neck and looking out the window intently.

Something’s definitely off right now.

“Race!” Ria yelled into my ear and shot toward my bedroom.

I lunged forward and grabbed her shoulders.

She pulled me like a sled and slammed her hand into the doorframe. “Chicken winner buy me a dinner.”

“How long are you going to keep butchering that?” I rolled my eyes and followed her into my room, which might as well have been hers, too. She’d had her own room in our house since we were in junior high but only used it long enough to keep it in a state of perpetual chaos.

That was Grandpa’s term, anyway.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” She plopped down on my bed, staring up at the paste-and-stick stars on my ceiling.

“I don’t know.” I lay down next to her, tracing three intersecting constellations as I tried to figure out why Grandpa was acting so odd. I’d mapped out the stars to mirror the ones over our house when I was seven. When I turned off the lights, they still glowed a faint green. Twinkle lights crisscrossed the rest of the room from my bed to my desk, and back. A soft golden glow warmed all the mismatched movie posters on the walls, the NYU flag, and the rainbow of paperback spines Jenga’d into my disorganized-to-anyone-but-me bookshelf.

Ria rolled off the bed and rifled through her pink shopping bag from earlier in the day. She pulled out three dresses, modeling each one in front of her in the closet mirror. She flicked her hair playfully with a practiced, seductive nonchalance—butt and ample chest sticking out far beyond the laws of gravity. Her tiny denim skirt and mint green halter might have helped the illusion.

I looked in the mirror at myself. Dark brown eyes that matched my hair stared back at me. I ran my hand over my stomach and down my hips, more angles than curves.

My knuckles came into view, and I pulled my hand back suddenly. “I’m going to take a shower.” I grabbed another pair of jeans and a V-neck shirt.

The warm water helped me relax—a brief reprieve from the questions and guilt coiling inside of me. I still couldn’t understand how I blacked out, and I wondered if something was really wrong with me.

I took a deep breath before I came back in the room, my hair wrapped up in a towel.

Ria was still standing in front of the mirror with a slinky green dress pressed up against her. “The queen of ASB wants us to do a conga line.”

“So?”

“So one dress is for under the grad robe, another’s for the after party, and this one with the slit up to my thigh is for the conga line. I want to be able to kick when everyone yells, ‘Hey!’ You know.” She put her arms on my shoulders and marched me around the room as she sang, “I’m gonna grad-u-ate, Hey! It’s gonna be so great, Hey!”

I laughed, unable to hold it in. Ria was involved in nearly every club and sport on campus—a social hummingbird whose mouth beat faster than her wings. Even when we were little, this kind of infectious excitement was enough to lift me out of a bad mood. I looked sideways at her and grabbed the bag. It was nice having a friend who knew exactly what I needed even when I didn’t say it.

I pulled out the only cloth still in the bag—a knee-length, strapless, red dress. I held it over my thin frame and took my hair out of the towel as I looked in the mirror. It was already starting to form funky waves as it dried.

“Damn, girl. You look good. You must have a best friend with good taste.” Ria bumped her hip into mine.

I shook my head and ran my hand over the fabric, the price tag getting in the way. I looked down at it and scoffed. “I still can’t believe you spent this much on a dress. You know I’m only going to wear it once.”

Ria’s brow furrowed. “Don’t test me, Evey. You know I hate tests. Besides, my mom bought today, remember? She’d want to, trust me. We talked a couple months ago, and I distinctly remember her saying to go crazy with graduation.”

“Probably more like ‘don’t go crazy.’”

“Minutia. Nothing but minutia.”

I snickered. “That
Word of the Day
app seems to be going well.”

“Eh. It’s only been two days.” She glanced at the NYU flag on my wall. “Graduation’s a big deal, isn’t it?” she said heavily.

“Yeah, graduation, then college, then a job, then we die. Life complete.”

“How nice.” Ria sighed but rebounded with a forced smile. “This summer’ll be great though. Just me and you and Nate. No interruptions.”

A pang of regret flashed across my chest. “Except NYU starts in August.”

Ria’s lungs stopped inhaling mid-breath.

Smooth move, Eve. Real smooth.

“End of August?” She smiled again, ever hopeful.

I nodded and forced a smile similar to hers. “Plenty of time for us to hang out. Besides, I bet your mom would let you fly out for the breaks. Maybe even consider a community college around there…?”

I’d tried to let things like that slip out every few weeks for months. Ready as I was to get out of here, I wasn’t ready to leave her. I knew her mom’s preference was for Ria to come work with her, but every time I tried to bring it up, Ria changed the subject.

“Maybe.” Ria fiddled with the price tag on my dress. “I’m surprised Grampy is even letting you fly at all, the way he talks about planes.”

I nodded, noting the change in subjects and yet another oddity with Grandpa. “He’s slipping in his old age, isn’t he? First school, then malls, now planes?”

“Yeah, that’ll be the day.” Ria scoffed and plopped down on my bed again, what was truly bothering her written on her face. “Do you really think Nate’ll go into the Marines?”

I lay down next to her.

“No.” I shook my hair out of my eyes. For both our sakes, I hoped not. He might be an overprotective guard dog, but he was ours. “I know it’s his goal; that’s why he hangs out with Grandpa and spends hours in that shed pouring over old war journals. But honestly, I’m never really convinced when he talks about it—not passionate, you know?”

“Yeah, but he’s dedicated.” Ria picked at a loose string in the quilt on my bed. “Once he says he’s going to do something, he won’t back down.”

“Bit like someone else I know.” I nudged her and bit my lip at the prospect of losing him, too. He was the first boy Ria had introduced me to in her high school—now my high school. He was the first boy I’d called up on the phone just to say, “Hey.” He was the first boy I’d kissed on a dare from one of Ria’s friends—not Ria’s favorite moment. He was—

“Deliciousness!” Grandpa yelled to us from the kitchen. “Fresh maple syrup, cinnamon, and—”

“We get it!” I cupped my hands over my mouth and sat up so I could face Ria. “Even if Nate does try to get in the Marines, he’s a short red head with too many freckles and only a modicum of muscle.”

“There you go being a journalism major again.” Ria scowled.

I rolled my eyes even as a spark of eager anticipation flared. Journalism. The writing was fun, but it was really the prospect of being able to travel that was appealing. I’d be able to see all the things I’d read about. I’d be able to meet and talk with people—quite the opposite of how Grandpa had raised me.

I shook my head. “All I’m saying is, no offense, but Nate’s a weakling. What platoon would want those scrawny calves of his? I mean, come on—they’re barely bigger than mine.”

Ria’s eyes lit up excitedly. “I’m almost at the point of convincing him to shave them. He’d look damn sexy in a kilt or something.” She arched an eyebrow with a hint of lust.

I turned away as my eyes bulged.
Awkward.

We walked down the hallway and came into the kitchen. The rickety table in the center was set for four with mismatched plates, forks, and glasses. A two-foot-high mound of the most aromatic cinnamon French toast this side of Paris towered over a pile of bacon.

Not that French toast actually originated in France—Grandpa and I debated that when I was twelve—I won.

Ria and I collapsed into our chairs and stuck out our noses to inhale the steam coming off the bread. Grandpa was about to call again when Nate came through the back door and sat down.

“Secure?”

“Affirmative.” Nate nodded.

I rolled my eyes. The five padlocks on the workshop’s door were a bit overkill in my opinion, especially since all we stored in there were extra books and enough spare food to last a nuclear winter—not exactly enticing to most thieves.

“Good.” Grandpa smiled his usual, bright-eyed grin a little longer than usual.

“Yay, let’s—” Ria stabbed her fork forward, about to shank an unsuspecting piece of bread when Grandpa parried it with the metallic
clink
of a butter knife. A mischievous look crossed Ria’s eyes fleetingly. She had been known to duel, but hunger won out. She knew she’d never eat without appeasing Grandpa’s sense of propriety to the bearded man in the sky.

She held out her hands, palms up. Grandpa took her hand, and then mine. I bowed my head half-heartedly.

“Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for this meal. Please forgive us our sins and help us to forgive others for any injuries made or secrets kept in the name of love. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

“Amen, Amen!” Ria declared like a soulful Southern Baptist, stabbing a stack of French toast up to the hilt and lifting it onto her plate.

“Ominous prayer,” I said, furrowing my brow and squinting in my best impression of Grandpa whenever he suspected something. I turned first to him, then Nate.

Neither said a word.

“Fine, let the guilt of my graduation present continue to haunt you both. Lies, lies, lies. All you tell is lies!” I ended dramatically, kicking Ria to help me out.

“Lies!” she yelled with her mouth full of battered bread and powdered sugar.

Grandpa crinkled his face in disgust. It was a fight between tasting something sour and constipation.

I huffed and piled food onto my plate. Normally, if my guess about what they were doing was right, Grandpa’s eyes would look down for a moment. It was his tell, but it didn’t show its face tonight. Whatever was going on didn’t have anything to do with graduation or school or…

I shoved a bite into my mouth and chewed, immediately forgetting my last thought as sugar rushed to my brainstem.

“
Bonum et malum
,” Grandpa said after we all started to slow the pace at which we shoveled bite after bite of the weighty delight.

I sighed with my mouth half full of warm, sugary goodness, the beginnings of total contentment flowing through my body. “I don’t want—”

“In Latin.” He held up his hand. He’d been teaching me Latin with every other old, dead, boring language since I could crawl. I wasn’t exactly fluent, but I could say enough to get the attention off me.

“
Nolo
—”

“Ooh, I’ll go,” said Ria, swallowing a large mouthful. “
Bonum
thingy: Evey found a cute dress.
Malum
thingy: she still refuses to wear anything other than jeans and T-shirts to school.”

“I’m wearing makeup now, though. Aren’t you proud of me?” I simpered.

Nate laughed, the powdered sugar doing a good job at breaking his militaristic shell.

“Got something to say?” I narrowed my eyes.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I was just thinking of my own response. Good: I stopped my friend from killing some jerk.”

I blinked and saw the man’s bloodied face. I felt my lip where he’d hit me and found it wasn’t as cracked as I’d thought—it was nearly healed. How had I taken so many hits with nothing to show for it? The knot of guilt re-tightened and I set down my fork. Why did Nate have to bring that up?

“Bad: I was coerced on pain of torture into a makeup store,” Nate finished.

“Yeah, and that blush looked great on you,” said Ria.

Grandpa’s chuckle shook his whole body, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes.

“I’ll let you try it some time.” Nate grinned.

“
Bonum: Nate alius emit shirt. Malis: Qui vultus amo a Boy Scout
,” I said.

Grandpa laughed, and Nate shook his red mop of hair. Ria kicked my leg to translate.

“Ow. Good: Nate bought another shirt. Bad: He still looks like a Boy Scout.”

Nate narrowed his eyes and clutched the pockets on his khaki shirt. “Indiana wore these kinds of shirts.”

I couldn’t help but giggle. “Indiana was the dog’s name,” I said in my best impersonation of Sean Connery. Unfortunately, it came out more like a nasally leprechaun vacationing in Scotland.

Ria rolled her eyes. “Natey, you really need to get a new movie. Even I knew that one.”

Thunder rumbled outside, distant and yet close enough for me to feel it in my chest. Grandpa looked over his shoulder. “How about a quiz?”

“Don’t normal families just watch TV with dinner?” Ria sighed.

My eyes narrowed. I didn’t remember seeing a report of a storm earlier today.

“Whose flaming sword guards the gates of Eden?” Grandpa smiled like he hadn’t heard her.

“Uriel’s,” said Nate.