Jake, Son of Zeus - 27 Chapter Twenty-Six

“Did you read the instructions?”

“Damnit, Jake, it’s not that complicated. I’m not stupid.”

“I would never say that you were,” he replied.

Rachel must have heard the hurt in his voice because she sighed, set down the thin white stick that reminded Jake of a digital thermometer case, and wrapped her arms around him. “Maybe it’s wrong. They’re not always accurate. Or maybe it’s just too soon. I’ll try again in a few days.” It was a short hug, and when she pulled away, her whole self pulled away until he felt like he was sitting next to someone he’d never met.

Jake didn’t know how she could be so calm. Rachel had been in a daze. She had morning sickness and cravings for bananas five times a day, and she was so sensitive to smells that he’d had to eat his meat lover’s pizza on the front porch because she started gagging as soon as he’d brought it inside.

When she told him what she suspected, he had pulled her to him and told her how thrilled he felt. He’d felt her muscles relax under his hands, and he was glad that he’d lied instead of telling her how deeply terrified he was. In a moment, all of his life plans seemed wiped aside like heavy dust. He was going to be a father. There would be no room for anything else. Suddenly his paychecks seemed laughable, nowhere near enough to cover what a baby must cost. And what about all the other things he wanted to do but couldn’t now that he was going to be a father? What about all his plans?

It wasn’t until later, when the idea of a baby had sunk in enough for him to think about it clearly, that he realized he had no plans. There was nothing he wanted to do that he couldn’t do and still come home and take his son bowling. The money concern was real, but if they were careful, his job probably paid enough. He hated teaching English to a group of ridiculously stereotypical teenagers, but something better was sure to open up soon. And if he ever put together that ska band, Rachel and the boy could be his groupies.

After that and some hyperventilating, Jake really was thrilled. He went with Rachel to buy the pregnancy test and picked up a stuffed moose and a pack of socks with little soccer balls on the ankles. Rachel radiated happiness, and the cashier looked at them as if they were idiots. They held hands driving home, and Jake paced like a waiting room father while she took the test.

And after, still sitting beside the little stick with the awful minus sign in the window and the useless little socks, he felt like an idiot. He watched his wife sit motionless beside him, staring ahead, and he wondered what she could be thinking, whether she felt empty. He wasn’t sure what she was seeing in the air in front of her, so he didn’t know what to say. She had wanted it, he knew, wanted it so much that her body had told her it was true. He couldn’t figure out if he should touch her or not, or say something or not. For something they hadn’t been expecting to happen, the unhappening of it was strangling. The word that seemed to beat against his ears was childless. It was such an ugly, empty word.

Eventually, the desire to do something, even if it was the wrong thing, moved him to reach out for Rachel. He hugged her close, and the world’s best idea came to him in an instant. “Hey, let’s have sex.”

“What?” she said, surprised. Then, coming slowly out of her haze, she said, “What?” again and started laughing and pulling away. When she looked at him, Jake was pretty sure she already knew what he was thinking.

He said, “Maybe you’re pregnant already, but if you’re not, I think you should be. Let’s get you knocked up.”

Some of the excitement he’d felt in the drug store when he held the little socks returned. That word was still there, childless, but it was a temporary matter. He pulled her towards him and she, smiling, wrapped her arms around him.

The morning after the Hephaestus debacle, Jake woke to a small but steady scratching sound, like something trying desperately to claw its way through a pantry door. He had a mild headache and remembered that he’d had four more wine coolers before he was finally able to fall asleep. Four wine coolers and not a glass of water all day.

He dragged himself into the kitchen and toward the coffeepot, which was, oddly, half full of more or less fresh coffee. Jake poured a cup and followed the scratching sound to the dining room, where he again found E. E. writing in his notebook. The only thing different was that this morning, E. E. was writing as fast as he could, his microscopic words filling line after line as though he couldn’t get it all down fast enough.

E. E. didn’t look up when Jake came in, and without pausing his writing, he said, “You’re not moving out. Ever.”

“What?”

He finished the sentence he was writing before standing up, taking his empty coffee cup with him back to the kitchen. Jake followed and watched E. E. slosh coffee into his cup and head back toward the dining room. “Last night was this amazing catalyst. I’m not even writing full sentences—I can hardly jot down a basic idea before another one occurs to me. I’ve already forgotten four in the fifteen seconds I’ve wasted talking to you.”

E. E. returned to his chair at the table. He picked up his pencil, glanced at Jake, then put his pencil back down. “Last night…that was by far the most terrifying and bizarre thing that ever happened to me,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s near the top of my list too,” Jake said. “But one of the weirdest parts was you distracting Hephaestus from hammering my skull. How did you do that?”

“Unleashed my hitherto unseen powers of psychoanalysis. No, I just thought, this guy is dirty and ugly, and I bet he doesn’t have many friends. He’s probably lonely, so I thought, why not just talk to him, pretend like I care about his dysfunctional childhood. I just had a moment of inspiration or a flashback to my college psych classes. And you weren’t doing anything, just sitting there waiting for your concussion.”

“Yeah, it turns out I don’t react well under pressure.”

“Good to know.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake said, and he was about to clarify that he was sorry about all of it—the whole night, the whole experience of living with him, and most of all about putting E. E. in danger.

But E. E. was already shaking his head. “Do you know what I would have given to write like this? A million nights of immortal interruptions. A million billion Hephaestuses and hammers and Zeuses and lousy wine coolers. Speaking of which, that is not a guy’s drink. You ever buy them again and I will kick you out. Now go away.”

Jake grinned and left him alone, going back to his recliner and listening to the mouselike scratching. Jake relaxed, sipping his coffee, allowing a vague smile to cover his face until he realized that he’d said he was moving out, and E. E. had told him to stay. And Jake was just selfish enough to accept that. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t permanent, that E. E. could ask him to leave any time, but he couldn’t make himself feel like less of a jerk. He pushed the thought aside, trying to make himself wonder what E. E.’s story was about, but that overwhelming stench of jerkiness that had settled around his neck didn’t dissipate.

Jake set down his cup, and stood, thinking of taking a shower or searching for something to eat for breakfast, anything to nudge him in the direction of normality. He yawned widely as he left the living room. Then he opened the door to the bathroom and found himself shoeless in the Fates’ house again. He turned around in a circle. The door was gone. And he really did need a shower.

“You failed,” Chloe said. Atta and the quiet one stared at him.

“No, I got the hammer. It’s just—”

“We can’t help you if don’t take our suggestions seriously,” she said, tapping her fingers on the arm of her chair.

“Listen, I don’t think I’m going to be trying again—”

“But you signed the paper,” she said, confused.

“I know, but now my father says he’ll help me find a way—”

“I’m sure your father is all eagerness to help you cut yourself off from his world, genius boy. Never mind that, though. You signed the contract, and we will make sure that you stand before the Council. After that, you’re on your own.”

Before Jake realized what was happening, Atta was standing in front of him. She licked her palm and slapped him again. And he fell from a great height onto a fluffy red rug. Jake moaned, pretty sure that he had whiplash. A thousand words that Delilah had taught him never to say tumbled through his mind.

He didn’t notice the noise from the next room until it stopped. The door opened a fraction, and there was a roar of fury as a woman more incredibly sensuous than a siren stepped out.

She grabbed him by the lace collar of the gown he was wearing and lifted him to his feet. His reflection in the full-length mirror on her wall made him gag. He could see form-fitting red teddy through the thin cloth of the gown, and he wore lipstick, bracelets, and pumps to match. E. E.’s comment about his wine coolers came screaming back to him.

“Who are you?” the woman bellowed. If he hadn’t been so humiliated, he would have been drooling over her as she yelled at him.

“I’m sorry. The Fates just—What the hell am I wearing?”

She ripped the gown off him and, unaccustomed to the high heels, Jake fell back onto the carpet. She screamed, “The Fates just told you that you’re my next husband? The Fates just sent you here for some much needed erotic therapy? The Fates are a sick joke, and no one wears my lingerie but me. Did you think I’d find it sexy? Did you think—no, I don’t even care. Take it all off and get out.”

“But—” Jake looked around. His clothes were nowhere. But finding a way back to his apartment naked did sound better than running around town in lingerie. He took everything off as fast as he could, remembering the bracelets just before he reached the door. He had trouble getting them past his hands, but he managed and set them on the table by the door just as the woman changed her mind.

“Wait,” she said in a soft voice. Even in his state of shame and mild panic, Jake turned around. He felt drugged and stupid. The crazy hope that she found him attractive, even that she wanted to wear the red teddy, flashed in and out of his mind.

She wrapped an orange bathrobe belt around his head, fitting it into his mouth and tying it in the back like a misplaced collar and leash. Jake allowed it. His heart had never beaten so fast. The woman screamed so loud Jake’s eyes watered. He tried to get the belt off his head so he could run, but she yanked it tight and kept him there until four men dressed in black with dark glasses and earpieces clomped into the room.

“This naked man broke into my apartment,” she said, yanking hard on the belt again.

Jake tried to say, “She makes it sound so much worse than it is.”

“I demand that the Council meets at once to punish him.”

The men nodded and dragged Jake from her room.