I LOOK at a photograph of the last known painting Riordan did. It’s titled Time and its dimensions are 16” x 20”. There’s only one in the world because no one is permitted to reproduce the painting for copyright reasons, at least until it expires. This digital reproduction, this photo I’m looking at, is sketchy in and of itself.
I focus on the technical side of it because the content of the painting makes me feel sick. I had to tell Levi I had a headache and wanted to go back to bed, which isn’t a lie, and then took his tablet so I could stare at the painting.
He said to call on him if I needed anything, and I wanted to punch him in the face. I’m getting angry with him for being so considerate and lovely lately. Couldn’t he have been considerate and lovely before I started working at Crash? My life wouldn’t be so complicated if he had just decided he wanted to commit before any of this.
I look back at the painting.
On first glance, it looks kind of like any fashion magazine photo. The model is looking back over his shoulder, the bottom half of his face covered with a black jacket.
His hair is kind of long and unkempt, which at first, made me believe that maybe it wasn’t John. Because he has a mohawk. But years had passed by the time this painting was done, and his eyes, those haven’t changed.
They’re still huge, piercing, a ridiculous shade of green that no human should be allowed to have. And Riordan did a fantastic job capturing them, because he was an amazing artist, so it feels like John is here, like he’s staring at me.
My phone rings and it startles me. I don’t recognize the number, but I answer anyway, because I need to be distracted from John and Levi and my life right now.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” Alton says. “What kind of brother are you? Are you going to come pick me up or what?”
I laugh. “You’re home?”
“I am,” he says. “The flight was shorter than I expected. But I don’t know where to tell the Uber to take me so—”
“Shit, neither do I. Let me call you back in five minutes, okay?”
“Wha—”
I hang up before he can protest, because I don’t really know if I can deal with his questions right now. Then I call Levi into the room.
HE DOESN’T look like he’s excited for me to tell my brother about us, but he’s told me, several times now, that it’s okay. That this is where Alton needs to come.
I phone my brother back and watch Levi try to keep an expressionless face while I tell Alton his address. He’s worried Alton will tell my parents, but I’ve told him he won’t. Still he has no reason to believe me. Whatever apprehension he seems to be having about this, though, is overshadowed by his worry for me. Which is both horrible and amazing at the same time.
Levi is looking at me when I hang up the phone. He licks his lower lip and flicks his hair back over his shoulder. “Are you sure he won’t tell?”
“Yes,” I say. “Alton won’t do anything that could get me in trouble.”
“What if he thinks I’m trouble? What if he thinks I’m the reason that you’re in trouble?”
I look at him and smile.
“You’re not getting me in trouble,” I say, walking over to him and putting my arms around his neck. He smells like mouthwash. “You’re keeping me out of trouble, remember?”
He sighs. “You’re just—you’re really young.”
I don’t really know how I’m supposed to react to that. I don’t know if it’s a compliment or a complaint or something else. I don’t know what he’s trying to say, but his tone is nothing but concern, and that scares me.
I clear my throat and drop my arms to my sides. “Alton won’t say anything, okay? I’ve asked him not to and he said he won’t. My brother is a good person, Levi, I don’t—”
“No,” he says and grabs my hands. “I didn’t mean it like that. Of course. I think I’m just a little nervous that I’m meeting your family for the first time.”
I laugh. “He’s not hard to impress. Just offer him alcohol and weed and he’ll be your friend forever.”
“Okay,” he says, laughing with me. “I think I can do that.”