14

TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT

Mardi-Overbrook-Journal.docx

Molly’s move to Fair Haven was helpful on one front: Ingrid was able to move Trent off the couch and out to the gardener’s shed. She’d denied my request that he sleep in my room when he first moved in, saying that, goddess or no goddess, I was still a teenager. I could sneak around like one. But under her roof, we played by her rules.

“Good lord, Ingrid, she’s seventeen,” Freya teased her. “Back in our day, she would have been married and had a couple of kids by now.”

“Yes, and back in our day, Tyr would have signaled his intentions by clubbing her on the head and dragging her into his hut. Times have changed.”

“They certainly have,” Freya said drily. “It’s not 1950 anymore. Or 1750, for that matter.”

“I don’t get it,” I protested. “You were fine with me staying with him at Fair Haven. And Dad doesn’t care where I sleep.” I didn’t mention that we hadn’t actually shared a bedroom at Trent’s house, let alone a bed. I guess it would be a little weird since Dad was staying at Ingrid’s too, but he was a progressive kind of guy.

“That was your father’s decision, not mine. But this is my house and my rules.”

“Oh, Mother,” Jo chimed. “You’re such a prude.” And she took her iPad and stalked up to her room.

“That girl is growing up way too fast,” Ingrid said, shaking her head.

But she refused to give in, and so after one of her delicious home-cooked meals and a couple of games of family-friendly Scrabble (no four-letter words allowed, even after I pointed out that they were in the official Scrabble dictionary, so no surprise when the librarian won) Trent headed out to the shed. When he kissed me good night, though, it was on my forehead. I tilted my head up, but all I got was a second kiss on the tip of my nose.

I wasn’t surprised that Ingrid didn’t let us sleep together, but what surprised me was that Trent didn’t put up any kind of resistance at all. In fact, he seemed almost relieved to be able to move out of the house, and so, the next morning, after Ingrid had gone to the library and Matt had driven off in his sheriff’s car and Dad was dozing after downing three of Ingrid’s buttermilk waffles slathered in homemade raspberry compote, and Graciella, the housekeeper, had arrived to supervise Jo and Henry, I found Trent and announced:

“We’re going for a drive.”

Trent looked at me with a wary expression. But he followed me out to the car. I, too, was silent, not saying a word until we were through town and out on the highway. I punched it then and felt the satisfying jolt of the engine in the place where my legs met my abdomen.

I knew what I wanted to say to him, but I didn’t know how. The thing is, ever since I’d been back, things hadn’t been the same between us. It’s like we were starting over again. I thought he was my boyfriend, but he hadn’t really acted like one. It was so strange because when we were apart, we did nothing but text and talk on the phone and look forward to being together.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “You know what I mean.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Trent said, running his fingers through his hair and looking everywhere but at me. “Everything’s great. I love that we’re together again.”

“Really? Because you don’t act that way. You act like you’re nervous to be around me.”

Trent unclasped his hands. “Maybe it’s because you’re totally ambushing me!”

“Uh-uh. Don’t make this about me. You’ve been like this all summer, and it’s just gotten worse.” I turned to him, despite the fact that I was driving sixty-five in two-way traffic. “Do you not like me anymore?”

“Uh, Mardi,” Trent said, nodding at the road, “you want to, uh . . . ?” He nodded at the road again.

In fact, I’d beefed up the protection spells on the car in anticipation of this converstation, and it was practically steering itself, but Trent didn’t need to know that. I stepped on the gas, and though I couldn’t see the speedometer, I could feel the car’s thrust in my gut.

“Answer the question,” I demanded, my stomach falling.

Trent looked back and forth between the road and me for several seconds. His eyes were squinted, nervous, though it seemed to me they were more nervous about talking to me than about the possibility of an accident.

“Fine,” he said finally. “Just pull over, okay? It’s way too soon for me to be starting over again in another body.”

The next turnout was for the beach, and I screeched into it. It was a weekday, and early too, so the small parking lot was nearly empty, as was the beach beyond. There was a stiff breeze, and when I killed the engine, the three-foot waves could be heard crashing heavily against the shore.

“Walk with me,” Trent said, kicking off his flip-flops and getting out of the car.

This felt like a stalling tactic, but I decided to go along with him. I toed off my sandals and followed him out of the car, where he stood with his hand extended. I curled mine into his gratefully, and he squeezed back, and we made our way out onto the nearly deserted beach. The sand was cool beneath my bare feet, still damp from the tide. The wind almost brought up goose pimples on my legs, but with a moment of concentration, I was able to make them fade away.

“First of all,” Trent said, “I like you. I like you a lot.”

“I like you too,” I said.

Trent shook his head and sighed. “Has anyone ever told you about the Reawakening?” he said finally.

The word rang a bell, but I couldn’t remember what it meant.

“It has something to do with our reincarnation, doesn’t it? When our Midgardian bodies are destroyed and we’re born in new ones?”

“It does,” Trent said, “but it doesn’t refer to our bodies. It refers to our memories. Our memories and our magic.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“When we’re born into a new body, we’re not born with all our memories or abilities. We’re not infants with the minds of two-thousand-year-old gods. We’re not four-year-olds with the ability to blink our eyes and kill our classmates because they spilled our chocolate milk on our finger painting. Those things come later. The magic comes gradually, starting from the time we’re born and accelerating during our teenage years before finally finishing up when we’re about thirty. But the memories hold off until, ah, juvenescence is almost over.”

“‘Juvenescence’?” I repeated. “You mean puberty?”

Trent’s hand squeezed a little in mine, though it felt more like a spasm than something he’d done on purpose.

“So wait,” I continued. “Are you saying that this is happening to you now?”

I saw Trent nod out of the corner of my eye. “It started right around the time we met last year. Slowly. Like, really vivid dreams and stuff. But it’s kept up the whole time.”

“Well, that explains why you speak Norse in your sleep,” I said, scratching at the tattoo of the rainbow bridge that coiled around my neck. “But whatever. Keep going with this Reawakening.”

“There’s not much more to say,” Trent said. “I mean, there’s two thousand years more, but you don’t need to hear the blow-by-blow, do you?”

“I don’t get it. So you’re just now getting some memories that I thought you already had. What’s the big deal?”

Trent sighed heavily and kicked at a seashell in the wet sand, sending it flying.

“It’s not ‘some memories.’ It’s century upon century upon century of memories. I’m the god of war, Mardi. I was born in Asgard. I was there when Odin divided the nine worlds and scattered them across the universe. I’ve been to every one of them, dozens, hundreds, of times. I’ve—” He broke off, catching his breath.

“I get it!” I said, cutting him off. “You’re old. You’ve done things. But so what? We’re both immortal. Age doesn’t mean anything to us.”

“We’re both immortal,” Trent said. “But you’re only seventeen.”

“So what are you saying? I’m too young for you?”

Trent shrugged miserably. “Maybe I’m saying I’m too old for you.”

That sounded like a cop-out to me, but I didn’t call him on it because I was just starting to figure out what was happening. I stopped walking and turned to him.

“Trent Gardiner! Are you breaking up with me?”

Trent turned toward me, catching my other hand in his. But even though he was holding me tightly, I felt him slipping away.

“No. Never. We’re meant to be together, Mardi. I feel it.”

“But?”

“But maybe not right now. Maybe not for a decade or a century.”

I stared at him for what felt like an eternity, dumbfounded. Then I shook his hands off and stepped back.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this!”

“Mardi, please. Don’t be angry.”

“I’m the goddess of rage, Trent.”

“It’s not forever. It’s just until we’re on the same level.”

“‘The same level’? Condescend much?”

I turned and started running up the beach. But even as I was running, I was thinking, Come after me. Catch me. Tell me you were kidding. Tell me you take it all back.

“Mardi, please!” Trent called. But he didn’t come after me.

I kept running.