Chapter Fifteen
“What do you think he’s going to give you?” Devon asked between French fries.
The entire morning had passed in one big blur. Integrals proved painfully boring. Even the life cycle of the blow fly and its usefulness in determining time of death failed to hold my attention. Volleyball, a sport at which I usually excelled, was a disaster. All I thought about was my upcoming dinner meeting with Mr. Wentworth and the previous night’s date with Kaydon.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Ohhh, maybe it’s a family heirloom! Some priceless artifact passed down from generation to generation, like a chalice from Camelot or something.”
I rolled my eyes. “My dad’s family is from Poland.”
“Okay, so maybe not.” Devon shrugged. “I bet it’s something cool, though. Why else would he have given it to Mr. Wentworth to give to you? It has to be important.”
“I guess,” I said.
The truth was, when it came to my father and what he found important, the gift could be anything. For my tenth birthday, he gave me a collection of chip clips because I was always leaving half-eaten bags of potato chips lying around the house and he thought it was wasteful. I received a giant map of the world after I made the mistake of asking why we hadn’t visited Greece when we were in Ireland, since they are both in the European Union. That was when I learned that Greece is actually on the opposite side of Europe and not off the coast of England. They are both island nations; it was an honest mistake.
“Knowing Dad, it’s probably a guide to colleges with the best History departments,” I said.
Devon laughed. “No way. He could have just sent that in the mail.”
“What could who have just sent in the mail?” Elizabeth asked, taking her seat across from us at the lunch table.
We really needed to start having these sorts of conversations in private. To Elizabeth, I said, “Dad. He left a birthday gift for me with –” Then I paused, not sure whether to tell her about Mr. Wentworth. Not that I was trying to keep it a secret exactly. I just felt weird talking about it with someone besides Devon. “With a friend,” I finished lamely.
Elizabeth’s expression softened. She knew enough about the skeletons in my family’s closet to empathize. Given her own parents’ messed-up marriage and bitter divorce, she understood better than most.
“That’s really nice of him,” she told me.
My afternoon classes went about as well as the morning ones had. I paid little attention and prayed that no teacher would call on me. Mrs. Randolf droned on and on about the sons of Zeus. Instead of taking notes, I found myself doodling lines from the poems I found in Dad’s folder. While the lines didn’t mean anything to me, I couldn’t get them out of my head.
“Some literature refers to them as the Panel of Three,” Mrs. Randolf was saying.
My ears perked up. The Panel of Three? I glanced between Mrs. Randolf and my scrawled notes.
“Rhadamanthus, Minos and Aeacus were thought to have been the original Judges of the dead, and some even believe they were also responsible for establishing law on earth,” she continued. “Their judgment of your soul is what determines how you spend your afterlife. If you were a good doobie in life, they reward you with a one-way ticket to Elysian Fields. For those particularly naughty mortals, the judges prescribe an eternity in Tartarus.” Mrs. Randolf’s eyes sparkled as she spoke, like the wisdom she was imparting upon our young impressionable minds was the most fascinating subject matter of all time. Unfortunately for her, I was the only one paying attention.
My hand shot up as if it had a mind of its own. Mrs. Randolf looked taken aback at first. Voluntary participation in her class was rare.
“Yes, Ms. Andrews?” She aimed her laser pointer at my desk, causing a red dot to appear on my notebook.
Every head in the room jerked in my direction. Twenty-four wide-eyed faces assessed me, not one of them bothering to mask their surprise. Not only was voluntary participation low, mine in particular was nonexistent. Still, I was the most shocked of us all.
“Um…um,” I stuttered unintelligibly. Why had I raised my hand? A million questions burned in my mind, but Mrs. Randolf’s class was not the correct platform for a philosophical debate on free will.
“Ms. Andrews?” my teacher prompted.
“Um, well, I was just wondering whether the Judges ever send people back to earth? Give them a second chance at life?” I regretted the question immediately. Mrs. Randolf was a high school teacher, not an expert in comparative mythology. The chance that she would have any knowledge about the Egrgoroi was slim.
The girl sitting behind me snickered, and I attempted to blend in with my plastic chair. Normally I was so good at holding my tongue; why had I felt the need to interrupt today?
Mrs. Randolf cocked her head to one side, a thoughtful expression settling over her features. She scrunched her eyes and pursed her lips, like she was trying to put her finger on something but couldn’t quite do it.
“I do believe some Greek scholars have theorized that certain souls are sent back. They are given a second chance to make a contribution to the world.”
“What type of contribution?” I asked. The kind where they serve the gods?
“There isn’t much written on the idea of the watchers, Ms. Andrews–” Mrs. Randolf began.
“You mean the Egrgoroi?” I interjected.
Instead of getting upset over my interruption, the way most teachers would have, Mrs. Randolf beamed. “Someone has been doing her research,” she said, almost giddy with delight. “Yes, the Egrgoroi, or watchers, are seldom referenced in more mainstream Greek literature. What little we know about them tells us they are souls sent back to watch over us earthlings and make sure we behave.”
This information didn’t surprise me. It was in line with Kaydon’s explanation the previous night. What did surprise me, however, was the tremendous weight that lifted from my shoulders. The knowledge that there were enough people in the world who were like me and that we were a part of history books was a relief. There was documentation that supported my continued existence on earth. All my lingering doubt over whether the Egrgoroi were real was gone.
When the final bell rang, signaling the end of classes, I hurriedly packed my notebook and prepared to head for the girls’ locker room. I didn’t even make it to the door of the classroom when Mrs. Randolf called my name.
“Ms. Andrews, a word, if you please.”
“That’ll teach you to raise your hand in class,” Cooper mumbled under his breath as he passed me in the doorway. Then he shot me a big grin over his shoulder and mouthed, “Good luck.”
I turned and walked towards Mrs. Randolf, who was flipping through a book on her desk. She was bent over the pages, her frizzy blond curls bobbing as she rapidly turned one page after another. Despite calling for me, she didn’t even acknowledge my presence.
“You wanted to see me, Mrs. Randolf?” I prodded impatiently after several minutes. Her proclivity for the Socratic Method aside, I liked the teacher a lot. She took a genuine interest in her students and was a fairly easy grader. If she didn’t hurry up, though, I was going to be late for practice.
“Yes. Where did you come across the Egrgoroi, Ms. Andrews?”
Her question took me by surprise. Mrs. Randolf was a bit eccentric, and that was the PC term for it. Most of my classmates thought she was one nut short of fruitcake. So, when she asked to see me, I figured she was going to ask me some completely random question, like after the first day of spring semester when she asked me to stay after class to discuss the origin of my name. Apparently, she was a big Bewitched fan and thought my parents must be too since I share a name with one of the characters. I’d never seen someone as disappointed as Mrs. Randolf when I explained it was a family name. The fact that she actually wanted to talk about something we were covering in class was definitely a shocker.
“Um, well,” I fumbled, “I guess I read about them in our textbook?” It came out more like a question, probably because I had no idea whether our textbook actually mentioned the Egrgoroi.
“No, no, I don’t think you did,” she said shaking her head. That’s when I realized the book she was thumbing through was our textbook.
I started to fidget, like I’d been caught in a lie. Well, I guess I had been. But I definitely wasn’t going to tell my teacher I knew about the Egrgoroi because I thought I might be one. I remained silent instead.
“Your father - he is a history professor? Is that right?” she asked, giving me the obvious out. Why hadn’t I thought of that?
“Yes, he is. He has been studying Greek mythology lately. He must have been the one to tell me about them,” I said, relieved.
Mrs. Randolf studied me with a scrutiny that would have made my mother proud. Her intense gaze made me fidget even more, and I had to look away. Unsurprising, this confirmed I was lying.
Mrs. Randolf’s eyes narrowed to slits as she searched my face, much the way my mother’s had when I’d lied about ordering 17 Again on demand three times in one weekend. We’d both known I ordered the movie since she obviously had not and we were the only two living in the house. Mom hadn’t pressed the issue; I couldn’t tell whether Mrs. Randolf would do me the same favor.
“I see,” Mrs. Randolf said finally. Then she cleared her throat. “Refresh my memory. What is your presentation topic?”
Instead of exams, Mrs. Randolf required each of us to pick a god or goddess and do a written report and oral presentation.
“I’m doing Aphrodite,” I reminded her.
“Right. That’s right. Well, if you would like to switch to the Egrgoroi, I would be in support of that. There is so little known about them, and I think your classmates might find it interesting. I even have some colleagues you could talk to, if you are interested.”
The proposal was harmless on the surface. Yet, I couldn’t help but think the offer had strings and my teacher’s motive wasn’t genuine. Something about the way she was trying to read me, like I was the textbook sitting on her desk, made me squirm.
I had yet to start researching Aphrodite, so the change of topic wouldn’t put me behind. Still, I was hesitant. Agreeing to write about the Egrgoroi felt like an admission that I was one, which made no sense in reality. Then again, reality and fantasy had become muddled lately.
“Sure, I would love to,” I found myself saying. Devon would probably do all the research for me anyway, since she already had the task on her to-do list.
“Good,” Mrs. Randolf told me, sounding oddly relieved. “And let me know if you want to speak with my colleagues.”
“Sure, okay. Thanks,” I added and started backing out of the room.
The mythology teacher was still watching me intently, and I had to fight the desire to turn and run. Stupid, I know. It was just that the entire conversation was strange and unsettling. Not twenty-four hours after Kaydon tells me I might be one of these creatures, my teacher asks me to do a report on them. There was no way that the two weren’t somehow cosmically related.
****
During the warm-up run, I filled Devon in on what happened with Mrs. Randolf. I felt safe discussing the subject since all the other girls were listening to music. The iPod Elizabeth had given me for my birthday was already on the fritz, but luckily Devon was nice enough to run sans music to keep me company. She wasn’t nearly as weirded out by Mrs. Randolf’s suggestion that I switch topics as I was, making me think I was being paranoid.
“You brought it up in class,” she pointed out.
“I know, but I didn’t hint that I might be interested in researching them,” I replied.
“True,” Devon conceded. “But she said there wasn’t much known about them and she is an academic. They always want to know more. I bet when you asked about them in class she saw it as the perfect opportunity to get someone else to do the research she is too busy, or lazy, for.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. And it’s not like I won’t be doing the research anyway, so I might as well get credit for it, right?”
“Right.”
“Right,” I echoed.
****
Like Kaydon the previous night, Mr. Wentworth was already at the Moonlight when I arrived. His silver Escalade was even more out of place among the Harleys than Kaydon’s Jeep had been. Once again, Mr. Haverty greeted me at the door, his kind eyes registering no surprise at seeing me for the third time in a week. He showed me to the same corner table where I’d sat with Kaydon the previous night. As we were leaving practice, Devon had urged me to grill Mr. Haverty for information about my father, since I’d neglected to do it the night before. I promised her that I would, but figured there would be time after dinner. Besides, Mr. Wentworth was the better source of information. He’d clearly been in contact with my dad, and hopefully had an idea of where he was.
“Endora, it is so good to see you,” Mr. Wentworth told me, rising from the booth to give me a hug.
He was a tall and imposing man, great for intimidating the prosecution’s witnesses as he liked to say. Inside though, he was a teddy bear. He adored his daughter, despite the fact that she frequently showed him less respect than her toy Yorkie, Hansel. He doted on his wife ― just as he’d doted on each of the previous three over the years. But what I liked most about Mr. Wentworth was that he stood by my father through the kidnapping charges, the divorce, and the ugly custody battle. He was one of the few of my parents’ friends that had. Apparently, he hadn’t left Dad high and dry in the aftermath either.
I returned his embrace, wrapping my arms around his expensive suit and breathing in the scent of his aftershave. Jamieson’s father was nothing like mine, but being near him made me feel closer to Dad. Surrounded by his strong arms as he patted my back, I felt safe and loved. Dad had always been the hugger, Mom not so much. Physical contact wasn’t really her cup of tea. It was a wonder I got a chance at a first life, let alone a second one.
“Sit, sit,” Mr. Wentworth said, taking a step back and gesturing to the booth.
I took my seat, pushing the menu aside in the process. Having studied its contents twice, I knew it by heart. A couple of minutes passed while Mr. Wentworth studied me with a fatherly gaze. I was just waiting for him to tell me how much I’d grown or what a beautiful young woman I’d become. That was the kind of thing older people always seemed to say to teenagers in the movies. Good thing I didn’t hold my breath, because his first words to me had nothing to do with my appearance.
“Endora, I believe your father may be dead.”