Powerful (The Driven World) - Kathleen Kelly Page 0,12
with you two here, I think I will. Ares invited most of the town. Biggest event we’ve had all year.”
“Why do you call him Ares?” asks Sophia.
“It’s his God-given name, not the one this guy here christened him with,” says Dad with a grin.
“Dad’s a purist.”
“Not really, I just always liked his name. It’s a strong name, and it suits him. And Athena, with everything she’s gone through, well, Dean Boswell chose well for her, too.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, thinking he’s referring to me leaving.
“What do you mean by that?” asks Sophia.
I frown at her and shake my head slightly. Dad is oblivious to my discomfort. He puffs out his cheeks, takes a sip of coffee, and looks at Sophia.
“Athena went off to college, got a degree in journalism, and we all thought she’d go onto bigger and better things. She always had a way about her, she was fearless when she was younger, but after she was attacked, well, it was like she withdrew from the world. I know talking to Dean that she’s done well for herself as an author, not that she’d tell me that, she’s humble. But Athena lost some of her spark after that.”
I lean forward, my hands gripping the mug in my hands with a ferocity I didn’t know I possessed.
“Athena was attacked?”
Dad raises his eyebrows and nods. “Yeah, happened about three years ago. I don’t know all the details, I just know she came home, bought old Mrs. Hume’s home, and she’s never left.”
“How badly was she hurt?”
“Kris, it was years ago. What does it matter?” asks Sophia.
“It matters because I’ve known Athena my whole life. She’s family. Why wasn’t I told?”
“Kris, you,” Dad glances at Sophia and shrugs. “Well, son, you left. And you didn’t exactly keep in touch.”
I stand. “Yeah, but I talk to TB every month, and he never said anything.”
Dad looks up at me. “I guess he figured you didn’t care. From what Dean told me, you didn’t so much as say goodbye to her. You just never came back.”
He’s right.
I left Athena.
I left this town, and I didn’t look back.
“I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’m down at the docks tomorrow helping Petey out.”
I shrug. “I’ll come help out, too.”
Dad reaches for one of my hands, turns it over, and shakes his head. “These are soft. Dock work will chew them up.”
“I’ll wear gloves. What time?”
“And what am I supposed to do tomorrow while you’re off working?” asks Sophia.
“Go shopping, do a tour of the town, you’ll be fine.” I look back at Dad and repeat myself, “What time.”
“I’m normally down there at six.”
“You’re slipping, it used to be five.”
“I told you, I got old.”
Dad stands and embraces me, pats my back once, then steps back with his hands in his pockets.
“See you at six. Come on, Sophia, I need to get to the hardware store and get some gloves.”
Dad chuckles, and I smile at him.
“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Livingston.” Sophia rises and holds out her hand.
“Ahh, yeah, you, too.” He glances at me, disapproval written all over his face.
Well, he was always a good judge of character, except where I was concerned. With me, he had blinders on and couldn’t see me for the person I was becoming. Maybe with time and wisdom, he can now see I’m exactly how I should be, how I was meant to be.
Chapter Eight
Athena
There’s a walled garden to the right of my home. The wind from the ocean can cut right through you in winter, so the wall helps prevent it, and in summer it provides shade from the sun. I love it. It’s my oasis away from the world. I even have an old wrought iron gate that makes a loud creaking sound whenever I enter. I always feel like I’m stepping back in time. Not that anything out here is old. I have an outdoor lounge and table in white that I spend many hours sitting at when I write. The ground is old cobblestone pavers with moss growing in the crevices, and the plants in pots out here are lush with most of them flowering, scenting the air with their blooms.
I’m lost in my writing. This one is a thriller, and I’m about to kill off the bad guy. When I write, I’m able to shut out the world. I have the radio on, but I don’t hear it. The only thing I hear are the voices in my head. Sometimes they are loud,