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We stand in the backyard, ten feet apart, facing each other.
“I’m not really in the mood today,” I say.
“I know you’re not, but we have to anyway. ”
I sigh and look at my watch. It’s four o’clock.
“Sarah will be here at six,” I say.
“I know,” Henri says. “That’s why we must hurry. ”
He holds a tennis ball in each hand.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. ”
He throws the first ball high in the air, and as it reaches its apex, I try to conjure a power deep within me to keep it from falling. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do it, only that I should be able to do it, with time and practice, says Henri. Each Garde develops the ability to move objects with their mind. Telekinesis. And instead of letting me discover it on my own—as I did my hands—Henri seems hell-bent on waking the power from whatever cave it’s hibernating in.
The ball drops just as the thousand or so balls before it did, without a single interruption, bouncing twice, then lying motionless in the snow-covered grass.
I let out a deep sigh. “I’m not feeling it today. ”
“Again,” Henri says.
He throws the second ball. I try to move it, to stop it, everything inside of me straining to just make the damn thing move a single inch to the right or left, but no luck. It hits the ground as well. Bernie Kosar, who has been watching us, walks out to it, picks it up, and walks away.
“It’ll come in its own time,” I say.
Henri shakes his head. The muscles in his jaw are flexed. His moods and impatience are getting to me. He watches Bernie Kosar trot off with the ball, then he sighs.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head again. “Let’s keep trying. ”
He walks over and picks up the other ball. Then he flings it high in the air. I try to stop it but of course it just falls.
“Maybe tomorrow,” I say.
Henri nods and looks at the ground. “Maybe tomorrow. ”
I am covered in sweat and mud and melted snow after our workout. Henri pushed me harder than normal today and came at me with an aggression that could only be steeped in panic. Beyond the telekinesis practice, most of our session was spent drilling technique in fighting—hand-to-hand combat, wrestling, mixed martial arts—followed by elements of composure—grace under pressure, mind control, how to spot fear in the eyes of an opponent and then know how best to expose it. It wasn’t Henri’s hard training that got to me, but rather the look in his eyes. A distressed look, tinged with fear, despair, disappointment. I don’t know if he’s just concerned about progress, or if it’s something deeper, but these sessions are becoming very exhausting—emotionally and physically.
Sarah arrives right on time. I walk outside and kiss her as she’s coming up to the front porch. I take her coat from her and hang it when we’re inside. Our home-ec midterm is a week away, and it was her idea to cook the meal before we’ll have to prepare it in class. As soon as we begin cooking Henri grabs his jacket and goes for a walk. He takes Bernie Kosar with him and I’m thankful for the privacy. We make baked chicken breasts and potatoes and steamed vegetables, and the meal comes out far better than I had hoped. When all is ready the three of us sit and eat together. Henri is silent through most of it. Sarah and I break the awkward silence with small talk, about school, about our going to the movies the following Saturday. Henri rarely looks up from his plate other than to offer how wonderful the meal is.
When dinner is over Sarah and I wash the dishes and retreat to the couch. Sarah brought a movie over and we watch it on our small TV, but Henri mostly stares out the window. Halfway through he gets up with a sigh and walks outside. Sarah and I watch him go. We hold hands and she leans against me with her head on my shoulder. Bernie Kosar sits beside her with his head in her lap, a blanket draped over both of them. It may be cold and blustery outside, but it’s warm and cozy in our living room.
“Is your dad okay?” Sarah asks.
“I don’t know. He’s been acting weird. ”
“He was really quiet during dinner. ”
“Yeah, I’m going to go check on him. I’ll be right back,” I say, and follow Henri outside. He’s standing on the porch—looking out into the darkness.
“So what’s going on?” I ask.
He looks up at the stars in contemplation.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not going to like it. ”
“Okay. Let’s have it. ”
“I don’t know how much longer we should stay here. It doesn’t feel safe to me. ”
My heart sinks and I stay silent.
“They’re frantic, and I think they’re getting close. I can feel it. I don’t think we’re safe here. ”
“I don’t want to leave. ”
“I knew you wouldn’t. ”
“We’ve kept hidden. ”
Henri looks at me with a raised brow. “No offense, John, but I hardly think you’ve stayed in the shadows. ”
“I have where it counts. ”
