Unwelcome (21 page)

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Authors: Michael Griffo

BOOK: Unwelcome
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The safe route, however, was not the road Michael wanted to take today. Banging on the door to his father's hotel suite, he didn't even know if anyone would answer. He had merely called his father's office, said he was a client who needed to see him immediately, and was told by a chatty secretary that he was conducting business out of his hotel in Eden today. He took a chance that the information he was given was correct.
“Michael!” Vaughan exclaimed, then quickly recovered from the unexpected sight of his son. “Shouldn't you be in school?”
Deep breath, Michael, say what you practiced on the way over.
“I had some free periods and I wanted to see you,” he said quickly. “It's been, you know, a really long time.”
Vaughan believed only one part of what Michael said, the part about its being a long time since they saw each other. “Well, isn't that nice, son. Come in.” When Michael heard the door close behind him, he had a moment of regret. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all.
 
When Brania saw Nurse Radcliff exit her father's office just as she was about to knock, she had the same thought as Michael. It deepened when she saw her father run out after her, holding the nurse's cardigan sweater, a polyester creation teeming with pink peonies on a bed of overgrown green grass, which he placed gently over her shoulders. “You wouldn't want to misplace such a lovely frock,” David told her. Giggling, Nurse Radcliff shuffled out of the room, and there was silence as father and daughter stared at each other until Brania was compelled to speak.
“You've had empresses, virgins, a sea nymph if I recall,” she said. “And after all that, you've chosen a frumpy, old-maid nurse.”
“She's actually a divorcee,” David replied.
Laughing much more heartily than Nurse Radcliff, Brania continued, “I cannot believe you're having an affair with . . .
that!
”
“If you wish to see me, stop laughing.”
 
Another father had a similar thought regarding his child's spontaneous visit. “If you wanted to see me,” Vaughan said, “you should've called first.”
Michael was pacing the small space between the living room and the dining area, unsure of where he should sit or if he should stand. Maybe standing would make him appear stronger, more adult. “With your schedule, it never seems to matter if we make plans,” Michael replied, pleased at how testy and adultlike his voice sounded, “So, you know, I figured I'd be spontaneous.”
“Well, I'm glad you did,” Vaughan replied warily. “I can take some time out from work. What seems to be on your mind?”
Tired of pacing, Michael finally opted to sit on the couch, slouching into the cushions and clutching a pillow so he wouldn't have to worry about what to do with his hands. Talking was proving difficult enough. “Nothing much,” he mumbled.
Say something, Michael. You told him you wanted to see him; you can't just sit here. Ask him about your mother. No, I'm not ready for that.
“I met your new driver. He, uh, seems nice.”
“Jean-Paul's wonderful. I'm lucky I found him so quickly after Jeremiah up and left,” Vaughan said, sitting on the far end of the couch, leaning forward, his hands clasped, fingers drumming together. “Not that I could fully blame the bloke, family emergency and all.”
That's not what Jean-Paul said.
“I thought Jeremiah got a new job.”
This is why I don't like to talk. Too many loopholes, too many opportunities to say the wrong thing.
“No, some sort of family problem back in the States,” Vaughan said as he stood up, rubbing his hands on his thighs to dry them. “Jean-Paul must have gotten it wrong.” Michael nodded but was more convinced than ever that the real truth was that Jeremiah and Alistair were lovers who ran off together. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Uh . . . a glass of water would be good.”
“Coming right up,” Vaughan announced, then retreated to the kitchen. “And then, Michael, why don't you tell me why you're really here.”
 
“Brania, darling, why are you really here?” David stared at his daughter, not expecting her to show any surprise, and he wasn't disappointed. He had raised her well. What he did expect, however, was an honest answer, which is what he got.
“To give you an update,” Brania replied, crossing her legs and becoming aware for the first time all day how short her skirt really was. “Vaughan's factory has already produced beta versions of our new implants. I've been advised that these permanent contact lenses will keep out more of the sun's rays than ever before.”
She's trying; I can't fault her for that. But she's not trying hard enough.
“Yes, I know all of that, dear,” David sighed, giving the large wooden globe next to his desk a spin. “I've already instructed Amir to bring me some samples that Vaughan brought back from his factory.”
Shifting nervously in her chair, Brania uncrossed her legs and felt her throat tighten. She knew all too well what was happening, her position was being challenged. It was not the first time, but it was easier to handle when her father was thousands of miles away. Now that he was here, ensconced in the heart of her world, the world she had come to love, it was much more difficult to ignore his presence and his insinuations. “I didn't realize that,” she said meekly.
A condescending smile formed on his lips. “I know. And you should know that you will need to work harder if you wish to remain my favorite child.”
Another vision penetrated Brania's mind, obscuring everything else. It was evening. She was slightly older now, around ten or eleven, dressed in a sumptuous black and green silk dress, much more appropriate for a woman twice her age, but one that shone luxuriantly in the moonlight. Her hair was swept back from her face with a diamond and emerald tiara and cascaded down the middle of her back in a spectacle of ringlets and curls. Even then, holding her father's hand, walking in a piazza in the Vatican, she looked much older than her years.
She remembered her father telling her that he loved to walk among the shadows of piety, loved to feel the edges of moral justice fall at his feet, nipping at him but never infecting him with their self-righteous ethics. Strolling amid such ridiculous religious idolatry, he felt like a god among fools, and Brania, though she didn't understand everything her father said, felt like a goddess. However, it was only when she heard the music that she felt truly divine.
Somewhere from behind one of the gilded doors, just on the other side of an ornate window, floated a voice, a voice that made Brania's heart flutter while it made her body become motionless. She couldn't move, not while the voice was calling to her, calling to her in a beautiful, haunting soprano that she swore belonged to an angel. A mortal being could never touch her soul like that. The only being who ever came close to touching her so deeply, so unforgivingly, was her father, and his mortality had been long removed.
Her mind returned to the present and she had to stop herself from shouting out loud, “I'm also your
only
child.”
Reading her mind, David closed his eyes and was transported back to the Vatican with Brania. He heard their heels click on the gold-laden pavement, he heard the gorgeous notes of the angel-soprano, he felt Brania's tiny hand in his, but what he remembered most was the darkness. How he longed to feel the warmth of the sun on his face on land that wasn't consecrated; on land far from Double A, beyond Eden. How he longed to lead his people back into the light.
He was so consumed with his ambitious reverie that he let his guard down and Brania was able to get a glimpse into his thoughts. “Do you really think that day will come?” she asked. “When we can walk in the sun as freely as They can?” She didn't need to call water vamps by their name. David knew who she meant. She also didn't need to elaborate, but she did. “Shouldn't we consider ourselves lucky that we can walk in the sun here, on Archangel Academy ground?”
Lucky? Luck had nothing to do with it and luck will play no part when we are able to walk every inch of the earth in the sun.
“Thanks to me.”
Or so you say.
Maybe it was the close and constant proximity to her father, maybe it was the fact that she has been a child for so many centuries, but Brania was feeling oddly rebellious. It wasn't a feeling she was completely comfortable with, but one that she was starting to embrace. “You've never fully explained how that's possible,” she mentioned. “After all I've done for you, I would welcome knowing the truth of our origin.”
David was sure that Brania would like to know about their origin, the offering he made to Zachariel, the woman he loved, the same woman whose life he sacrificed in order to give his people a glimpse of the sun. But David didn't want to share any of his secrets, even though he feared he would not always be able to conceal them. Someday their truth, his truth, would be revealed. So he remained silent.
David rubbed his bearded chin with his thumb and forefinger, allowing them to linger over the roughness of the stubble, his eyelids fell slowly closed, and his fingers stopped moving. It looked as if he had fallen asleep. But Brania knew better. When he opened his eyes abruptly, David's voice was as harsh as his words. “There is nothing you have ever done for me that wasn't done for your own gain.”
Hardly stunned, it was the response Brania expected. Laughing, she replied, “To quote one of the queens who was smitten with you at one time, I am my father's daughter.”
David's face froze. It showed no emotion to betray his feelings. Brania was right: She was like him and it was all his fault because he had raised her in his image.
 
Vaughan, however, could place the blame elsewhere.
This is not my son,
he thought.
He may look like me, but he wasn't raised by me, he doesn't share my principles, and now he's one of Them. Even if I wanted to bridge the gap, what would it matter?
“So what really brings you here, Michael, in the middle of a school day,” Vaughan said, anxious to get back to business that he could handle.
Well, Michael, you came here to get some answers, so you might as well start by asking some questions.
“I, um, remembered some things that Mom said, and, well . . .”
Focus, focus on why you're here and what you need to say and just say it.
“Why would Mom say that she was ashamed of you? What did you do to her?” There, that wasn't so difficult. If that was true, why was his heart beating so quickly? For that matter, why was Vaughan's?
A few short strides and Vaughan was back behind his desk, in his comfort zone, confronting business issues, not personal ones. “There are things between a man and a woman, personal things, that you wouldn't understand, Michael.”
What?! How can he say something like that? Just because I'm gay, he doesn't think I can understand what goes on between a man and a woman?
“I understand about relationships, you know!” Michael shouted. “You may not want to accept it, but I'm in one!”
Breaking the pencil in half that he was twirling between his fingers, Vaughan tossed the pieces across the room, “I don't want to hear about that.”
“You know what I am, don't you?!”
Oh, Michael, I know more than you think I know, but I don't want to talk about it.
“Don't say it!”
The venom in Vaughan's voice was palpable. Michael could feel it reach out and wrap itself around his throat, tighten and pull, until he could hardly breathe. His father didn't even want to hear the truth about him, didn't even want him to say the words, but Michael refused to remain silent even though it was his father's wish. “I knew one of my parents was ashamed of me because I'm different, because I'm gay!” he said, proud that there were no tears welling up in his eyes. “I just thought it was the wrong one.”
Vaughan couldn't look up from his desk, he couldn't look at his son, but he couldn't continue the conversation either. “I think you should go.”
 

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