Light
I watched my son nod cautiously and relaxed with relief. Now I had to tell the truth. But if we were going to be friends we had to be able to confide in each other, which meant gaining his trust, and that meant telling the truth. "I didn't love him." I smiled. "No, but I *seriously* lusted after him." The corner of my son's mouth lifted at that. "Luckily for me his girlfriend, Belle, had just called it quits on him. I learned later that they did that every other month." I shook my head at the memory. "I didn't really care. I pounced on him." I settled back into the sofa, getting as comfortable as possible on its itchy fabric, and folded my legs under me in my favorite position. "We were together for three steamy weeks, and despite what people might have thought of him, we didn't spend them all in bed. Remy was the eternal gentleman. A scruffy one true, but he could charm the shirt off your back and leave you thanking him for it."
My eyes settled on the ugly fake Picasso that hung between two of the windows on the wall my son had his back to. ^I wonder if he did that on purpose? Put his back to the source of the most light?^ I shook the thought off and focused once more on my son's face. He looked sort of like a deer caught in the headlights. There was a hungry edge to it though, as if he was grabbing the tidbits of information I could give him and consuming them to fill an empty space in his heart instead of his stomach. I'd seen the look on his father's face, but usually when he really *was* hungry. "You look so much like him." I tugged on one of my dark brown bangs giving him a careless smile. "You've got my hair though. His was a auburn color that women loved to run their fingers through." I tried to drudge up something else to tell him but I was quickly running out of information. "He'd be, um, about 34 now. I met him when I was 20 and he'd just turned 18. His father's name was Jean-Luc and he had a brother named Henri."
I thought hard about the days I'd spent with Remy but nothing else came to mind. I sighed. ^I'm out.^ "I sorry honey but that's all I've got. I'm pretty sure that he doesn't even live in New Orleans anymore. His father wanted him to follow in his footsteps, though I haven't a clue what type of shoes his father wore, and while Remy didn't say anything... I got the impression that he was trying to think about that as little as possible and hoping to dodge the bullet."
"That's all you know?" Xander asked. His disappointment seemed to roll off him.
I shrugged. "Your father was very mysterious, it was part of his charm." A memory struck me between the eyes with the force of a brick. "Oh, I almost forgot. His power, he could blow things up." ^It's no wonder I forgot. He only did it that one time.^ I narrowed my eyes and stared at my son. "What can you do?"
Xander shifted a little nervously in the old corduroy chair making swishing sounds in the sudden silence. "I, uh..."
I watched my son nod cautiously and relaxed with relief. Now I had to tell the truth. But if we were going to be friends we had to be able to confide in each other, which meant gaining his trust, and that meant telling the truth. "I didn't love him." I smiled. "No, but I *seriously* lusted after him." The corner of my son's mouth lifted at that. "Luckily for me his girlfriend, Belle, had just called it quits on him. I learned later that they did that every other month." I shook my head at the memory. "I didn't really care. I pounced on him." I settled back into the sofa, getting as comfortable as possible on its itchy fabric, and folded my legs under me in my favorite position. "We were together for three steamy weeks, and despite what people might have thought of him, we didn't spend them all in bed. Remy was the eternal gentleman. A scruffy one true, but he could charm the shirt off your back and leave you thanking him for it."
My eyes settled on the ugly fake Picasso that hung between two of the windows on the wall my son had his back to. ^I wonder if he did that on purpose? Put his back to the source of the most light?^ I shook the thought off and focused once more on my son's face. He looked sort of like a deer caught in the headlights. There was a hungry edge to it though, as if he was grabbing the tidbits of information I could give him and consuming them to fill an empty space in his heart instead of his stomach. I'd seen the look on his father's face, but usually when he really *was* hungry. "You look so much like him." I tugged on one of my dark brown bangs giving him a careless smile. "You've got my hair though. His was a auburn color that women loved to run their fingers through." I tried to drudge up something else to tell him but I was quickly running out of information. "He'd be, um, about 34 now. I met him when I was 20 and he'd just turned 18. His father's name was Jean-Luc and he had a brother named Henri."
I thought hard about the days I'd spent with Remy but nothing else came to mind. I sighed. ^I'm out.^ "I sorry honey but that's all I've got. I'm pretty sure that he doesn't even live in New Orleans anymore. His father wanted him to follow in his footsteps, though I haven't a clue what type of shoes his father wore, and while Remy didn't say anything... I got the impression that he was trying to think about that as little as possible and hoping to dodge the bullet."
"That's all you know?" Xander asked. His disappointment seemed to roll off him.
I shrugged. "Your father was very mysterious, it was part of his charm." A memory struck me between the eyes with the force of a brick. "Oh, I almost forgot. His power, he could blow things up." ^It's no wonder I forgot. He only did it that one time.^ I narrowed my eyes and stared at my son. "What can you do?"
Xander shifted a little nervously in the old corduroy chair making swishing sounds in the sudden silence. "I, uh..."