Persephone's Orchard (The Chrysomelia Stories) (37 page)

“Dogs don’t eat fruit, you fool. But I suppose you can try if you want.” Hades picked the orange and tore off a scrap of the peel. Its sweet fragrance filled the air. As he uncovered the flesh, he found it the strangest color: blue like the midday sky. “Well, that’s different.” Detaching a wedge of the blue fruit, he ate a bite himself, and found nothing amiss with it. He held out the rest of the wedge on his palm.

Kerberos gobbled it up, his muzzle and whiskers tickling Hades’ hand. After swallowing it, he licked Hades’ arm, then curled up in his lap and lay there shivering.

Hades petted him sadly. “Yes. Sleep a while. We’ll see how you feel later.”

He carried the dog across the river on the raft, and through the tunnels to his own bedchamber.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I
T WASN’T IDEAL,
S
OPHIE THOUGHT
as she let her mother in, to see your parent at a time when you were obsessed with a memory in which your parent had messed up your love life.

Just to confuse her, of course, Demeter was now her father, not her mother. But her current mother was still causing problems in relationships—not Sophie’s, at least, but the one between herself and Sophie’s dad, which was almost as upsetting.

“Hi, Mom.” She hugged her, smelling her perfume and feeling the coolness of her raincoat.

“Hey, sweetie. It’s so good to see you.” Her mom hugged her an extra few seconds, then looked anxiously at her face. “Still feeling sick?”

Sophie sniffled, and nodded. “Sore throat started yesterday. Now I have a stuffy nose on top of it.”

Her mom laid her hand on Sophie’s forehead. “Yeah, you’re a little warm. Well, that’s why I came bearing soup. We’ll skip going out, and eat in your room.”

It almost shamed Sophie how readily and comfortably she submitted to her mother, letting herself be taken care of as if she were a kid. But, hey, Mom knew how to do this. She urged Sophie to sit on the bed with a blanket on her lap and pillows behind her back, served her a bowl of soup brought in a carton from a restaurant nearby, and brewed mugs of herbal tea with the electric kettle Sophie kept in the room.

Even Melissa, who was still healthy, found herself given tea and homemade cookies when she returned from class. She obediently sat and ate while Sophie’s mom drew her into the conversation.

The talk was all about home, putting the little town of Carnation and the gray Washington skies foremost into Sophie’s mind again. Her dad was manning the fruit stand today, with help from a hired high school kid, and since it was October they had shipments of pumpkins to unload and arrange. Sophie had assisted with the task so many times she could almost feel the bristly stems in her hands as she listened. She ached to be home again, where things were simpler and no one wanted to hurt her. Adrian and ancient Greece seemed surreal, impossible, for the time being.

But then, perhaps home wasn’t so much simpler. When Melissa left for her next class, Sophie finally found the strength to ask her mother for the truth.

Gazing at the honey-thickened inch of tea at the bottom of her mug, she asked, “Are you and Dad getting a divorce?”

Rather than act shocked, amused, or angry, her mother stayed quiet a few seconds, then set her own mug on the desk. “No. But you must have seen or guessed something that makes you wonder.”

Good, Sophie thought. She and her mother were treating each other like adults, then, despite the mom-and-sick-kid act. “I saw you kissing a man. In the car, by the library, a few months ago. And you text someone a lot now, which you never used to do, and you’re gone more than usual, more than your classes would need you to be.”

“You’ve been wondering for a few months? Honey, you could have asked me sooner.” Her face looked pale, her wavy hair dark beside it. She laid her hand on Sophie’s foot, through the blanket. “Have you heard of the term ‘companionate marriage’?”

“Not exactly.” Sophie already began to guess what it meant, though.

“It means different things depending who you ask, but in our case it means we’re staying together because we care about each other, we love you kids, we want to keep the house, the fruit stand, et cetera. But, romantically…”

“You can see other people.” Sophie kept her hands clenched around the mug.

“Yes.” Several silent seconds passed, then her mom added, “He’s a nice man named Sam—”

Sophie twitched and looked away. “I don’t have to know this.”

“But he understands I’m not leaving Terry. I promise you I’m not.”

Another sign they were being adults: Sophie’s father had become “Terry” instead of “your dad.”

“I assume Liam doesn’t know any of this,” Sophie said.

“No. He’s twelve. I don’t think he’d get it.”

Sophie nodded, swishing the honeyed tea back and forth. “I won’t tell him.”

“Does this make you feel better, at least?” Her mom sounded anxious. “Is there anything else I can answer?”

“I guess it does make me feel better.” Sophie put on a weak smile. “Except for the whole fever and cold thing. That’s still making me feel like crap.”

Late that evening, while Sophie was in the middle of explaining the visit via alternating texts to Tabitha and Adrian, her cell phone buzzed. Her dad was calling.

She answered, with a measure of reluctance. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hi, hon. I had a talk with your mom. Sounds like she told you a few things.”

“Yeah. I…it’s fine, I swear.”

“Is it really?”

“Well…okay, it’s weird. But I think I can get used to it.”
I hope
, she added silently. This did seem the kind of thing that could send a daughter to a therapist if she dwelled on it too much.

“I want to reiterate what she said,” her dad went on. “We are good, we are not splitting up, and most of all, we love you guys.”

“I love you too. I just…worry you’re not as happy as you could be.”

“Aw, you’re fresh out of a breakup, sweetie. I know it’s hard to imagine being happy without a smokin’ romance. But it is possible.”

Sophie lifted her eyebrows, dryly amused. He had no idea the flood levels of smokin’ romance inundating her life these days. “Sure, maybe,” she said.

“When you get all tired and middle-aged, you’ll see. Having you and Liam to love and be proud of—well, that’s enough for this old guy’s life.”

“Dad, you’re not
old
.”

“Tell that to my back. It’s yelling at me for lifting pumpkins all day.”

She chuckled, which made her cough. “So…are you, you know. Seeing anyone?” God, did
that
feel weird to say to Dad.

“Nah. Not interested. It’s your mom who’s still got the, uh, inclination to do those things.”

If this was a way of saying, “She’s got a higher sex drive than me,” Sophie really didn’t want to continue the conversation. “Oh. Well, I’m glad I know the truth.” She coughed again. “This cold’s kicking my butt. I better go to bed.”

“Get better soon. Goodnight, honey.”

Shortly after hanging up, she wrapped up her text messaging as well, sending Tabitha a goodnight, and Adrian too. Right now she felt uneasy on all fronts.

She could cross one concern off her list, yes. Mom and Dad weren’t divorcing. But it only caused her to add double underlines to another major concern: Sophie mattered in a gigantic way to her parents. Dad’s life was complete only because of Liam and her. In short, one thing she
couldn’t
easily do was become immortal, vanish into the spirit realm, and write off most of her earthly relationships. Sorry, Adrian.

But even as she acknowledged that problem, an ache spread under her ribs, the same way it had felt when Persephone was trying to give up Hades.

And she already knew
that
resolution hadn’t stuck.

“
H
AVE YOU HEARD
the rumblings against Zeus?” Demeter asked Persephone, as they walked toward a patient’s house. It was a few days before the spring equinox, and rain was turning the road to mud. The women wore extra woolen cloaks draped over their heads to keep dry.

“No,” said Persephone. “What’s wrong?”

“Only what we’ve all expected for years. He can’t stop seducing mortal women. Maidens and married ones alike. And though he claims he’s careful, two girls have died in the last year in miscarriages. Those who manage to escape pregnancy still end up with broken hearts and irate families.”

“Oh, no.”

“Hera’s no help, of course. She takes the arrogant stance, claiming it’s all jealous lies on the part of girls with a crush on him. And Zeus dodges responsibility, says the pregnancies could easily have been caused by other men.”

“Which, I’m sure,” said Persephone with a sigh, “does not make the families any less furious with him.”

“Quite the contrary. It’s starting to make all the immortals look bad.”

“How are things with the others? Apollo, Athena, Artemis, Poseidon…?” Persephone added the name as casually as she could, more aware now of the tenderness of unsatisfied love.

“I gather they have contented followers on the whole. But even they hear grumbles and insults more often these days. Artemis said there’s an unruly pack of men who jeer at her for not wishing to take any of them as lovers, and an arrow hit her while a group was out hunting recently.”

“Gracious.”

“She wasn’t hurt, of course, not for long. And the man who fired the arrow swears it was a mistake. But she suspects it wasn’t. As to Poseidon, his mortal wife lately got accosted by a bunch of bitter old women wanting to know why he couldn’t perform miracle cures for them, or protect their sons and grandsons from dying at sea.” Demeter shook her head. “They’ve only known of us for ten or twenty years, yet already they’re completely misinformed about what we are and what we can do.”

“Well, they call you ‘gods.’ And you encouraged it. They want you to be the gods in the stories.”

“Wonderful. Let them tell us how exactly we’re supposed to climb up onto the clouds and grab hold of a lightning bolt, let alone raise the dead.”

That was all it took: one mention of the dead, and Persephone’s mind slid straight to the Underworld, forgetting its speculation on whether her mother still loved Poseidon.

They trudged along, the mud squelching beneath their deerskin boots, water seeping in between the stitches to chill Persephone’s feet.

“In short,” Demeter added, “it’s not a good time to align yourself with immortals. Know that if you wish to marry Adonis, I’ll miss you terribly, but I’ll be pleased that you’re safe and taking on a normal life.”

“Oh, Mother, the people don’t bother me. And they love
you
. We’re safe, I dare say.”

“They don’t all love me. Didn’t I tell you, some wench yelled at me a few days ago? ‘How much grain for the village could that fancy gold crown buy?’ She was not asking in friendly jest, I promise you.”

Persephone linked her arm into Demeter’s. “Then I’m sure she was drunk.”

“Well, yes. That she was.”

They both laughed.

But the central message wasn’t lost on Persephone: marry Adonis, not Hades.

If Hades honestly didn’t want her, there was no choice at all. In her time spent with Aphrodite, her head full of outlandish seduction ideas, she entertained notions that she could sway him. But the rest of her days, such as now…well, why would he want her? Look at her: a limping mortal with mud all over her feet, and maybe fifteen years left before wrinkles and gray hairs overtook her. What a prize.

She bowed her head, and plodded along in the rain with her mother.

S
OPHIE GROANED UPON
awakening. Pain rushed back into her consciousness, throbbing at the back of her throat and deep inside her nose. Sweat dampened her pajamas, thanks to her fluctuating temperature. She hauled herself upright to blow her nose.

It was 9:00 a.m. on Saturday, and Sophie had the room to herself. Melissa had left last night to visit her parents for the weekend. Of course, Sophie thought, the one weekend her roommate was gone, she was so ill she could barely function, and therefore couldn’t realistically use her room for a hot date with her gorgeous new boyfriend.

She staggered to the bathroom, figuring she’d feel better after a shower, and might be able to face a study session at the library. But, as with yesterday, dragging herself to the dining hall for breakfast was enough to make her dizzy, and all she could stand to swallow was a few bites of oatmeal and a cup of chamomile tea.

Bringing toast and an orange back to her room, she flopped into bed and resigned herself to feeling miserable.

Well…mostly miserable.

How you feeling?
Adrian texted, shortly after she returned from the dining hall.

The sight of his name, his simple three words of concern, made her feel like she could survive the day.

Been better
, she answered.
Goddess of phlegm, they call me.