Page 57 of Icarus

“She never talked to you about any of it?”

Helios was starting to look a bit panicked. “You just look so much like your dad, Icarus. I’m not sure what—”

“Stop. Give me a second.”

Icarus closed his eyes and controlled his breathing. He unclenched his hands and smoothed his palms over the marks, and let himself settle until his heart was back to a normal pace and the acid retreated back down his throat. He swallowed a few times, then opened his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll tell you.”

Seventeen Years

They lay side by side, back to back, because Helios thought it would be easier, not having to look each other in the eyes.

Icarus was quietly thankful.

“Our dads met in college,” he started. “They’d been friends since freshman year. It was one of those situations where your dad was a legacy entry whose parents donated millions and my dad was a scholarship kid who could barely afford room and board. The Art Institute of Chicago wasn’t even expensive back then. But, you know how it is.”

“This isn’t starting positively,” Helios said darkly.

Icarus couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped him.

“Dude, shut up. Anyway, my dad was an art major and art history minor, and yours was an art history major and art minor. My dad was the artist and your dad was the art collector.” Icarus waved a hand, encompassing the house around them.

“They were cool with each other all the way through school, through graduation. Then they found our moms and got married. They were definitely friends after that for a while, because I’ve seen a picture of your dad holding me as a baby.”

Helios turned onto his side, facing Icarus, but he closed his eyes.

“Keep going.”

Icarus bent his knees and rolled onto his back to get more comfortable. “Around when I was one, and you were probably still baking, my mom got really sick with some kind of blood cancer. So, my dad—who was still pretty early on in his career—went to your dad and asked him for money to help.”

Helios’s eyes snapped open. “There is no way that went well. He pays my child support into a locked trust and I’m his own kid.”

“Stop interrupting,” Icarus snapped, crossly. “Anyway, they had a huge fight and eventually your dad conceded to pay for medical intervention if my dad painted him a commission. My dad is . . . very good. He was considered a rising star back then. So, I’m sure your dad probably thought of it as an investment of some kind. Either way, their relationship was pretty much ruined at that point.

“Your dad asked for a six-foot by nine-foot painting. Paid to have the canvas brought in and kept in a room here big enough for my dad to work on it.”

Icarus could feel Helios opening his mouth to talk. “Yes, here in this house, don’t ask. Anyway, my dad was allowed to come every night after work to paint it. But my mom was dying faster than he could paint and eventually he had to ask your dad for an advance on the money. He said no, of course.”

Helios made a soft, sad sound.

“So, in the last days, my dad was painting to outlast my mom’s illness. And he didn’t succeed. He didn’t even get a penny before my mom died.” Icarus sighed. “Nobody had good insurance in those days. He was a freelancer and even if he got an office job, company insurance wouldn’t kick in for months.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“So, I don’t know. My dad had some sort of breakdown and figured out how to get in here so he could destroy the half-finished painting. Once he did it the first time, he realized how easy it was and decided to keep doing it. Your dad got new security after the first break-in of course, but Angus is nothing if not determined . . .” Icarus drummed his fingers on his chest. “He said that your dad only loved one thing, and he was going to destroy it. Even if it took the work of his entire life.”

Helios was quiet.

“Oh.”

Icarus turned over to face him. “You can open your eyes now.”

Helios didn’t. “I’m sorry, Icarus.”

“Hmm.” Icarus didn’t want to say, “It’s okay,” because it wasn’t, or, “You’re forgiven,” because it wasn’t Helios’s fault.

So he just let silence be for a while.