Divine: A Novel (22 page)

I’m trying to talk myself through this.
I’m not angry about the story, I’m furious he didn’t tell me he wrote it and
I’m pissed he knew I was watching him through his bedroom window. He had plenty
of opportunity to open his goddamn mouth and...

How
can you not be troubled by the story? Hello, Divine, big red flags waving in
the air.

Look up the word fiction for once and
stop fucking with me right now. It’s not real and it doesn’t have to be
believable either. His plot is fucked up, but pretty normal for a dark read.

Wrong.
Keep talking yourself through this one.

Okay, it’s not normal. His trilogy falls
somewhere in the realm of being written by the devil, but it
is
only a fucking book.

So
you’re going along in life and BAM, everything just changed. Is that right,
Divine Hallowell? The ‘why the fuck did that happen’ moment everyone complains
about just hit you... for the umpteenth time. People really hate change, don’t
they?

I
enjoyed my life until...

I
had a good job until...

I
really loved that book until...

I
liked him until...

...
until it all changed.

Shit.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

N
o Daniel Keller.

He didn’t call and I’m sure he would’ve
told me if he was leaving town. Something’s wrong. It’s been an entire day and
he’s still not home.

I stop by the police station before work,
but I’m told I have to wait forty-eight hours to file a missing persons report
for an adult. I thought that was only in the movies. Really? Two days is a long
time.

I’m still upset about the books and I
didn’t get any sleep because of the story. Dan warned me. He said I’d have
nightmares and he took them away for a reason. I think he changed his mind and
didn’t want me to know, he got cold feet, and then for some reason he gave them
back to me.

You
begged him for them.

He’s playing games just like on our first
date when he said we could go somewhere and fuck, and then never see one
another again.

You
were excited when he said that.

He said he wrote books about fishing.

You
said your books were women’s studies.

Yeah, but I sent Hayden a Facebook
message and Dan responded that my books sucked.

Maybe
he has a street team who posts for him. Many authors don’t take care of their
own sites.

He should’ve told me when he gave me the
trilogy that it was his!

I
can think of a few times you could’ve told him you wrote in that genre. Like,
when you gave the information to his mother at the ice cream parlor. That was
deceitful, Div.

Why did he jerk off when he knew I was
outside his window?

Why
did you watch him?

Ug! Why is his book so dark!

Why’s
yours? Face the facts; the two of you are perfect for one another. You believe
he’s been lying to you, but then what would you call the reason you keep him
out of your home? Isn’t that lying too?

No, I just haven’t gotten around to
explaining my entire life to him.

Ditto.
I bet he feels the same way.

Alright, damn it, but I’m
still
trying to process all of this. I
knew he couldn’t be perfect, but when I asked him what was wrong with him, his
response was, ‘maybe something, maybe nothing. It depends on if you can
separate fiction from reality.’

If you can separate fiction from reality.

Separate
the trilogy he wrote from your relationship and everything will be fine.

Yeah, but can
he
? That’s the question.

I swivel in my office chair and check the
local news online. No accidents, arrests, deaths; nothing new over the past
day. Oh my God, I’m such a fucking idiot. The Kellers... the Kellers’ catering
business.

Sure enough, they have a website and a
phone number that I call immediately, but it’s a recording. I can leave a
message but haven’t a clue what to say without sounding like one of those
stalker girlfriends.

Hi,
this message is for Kristen or Greg Keller. It’s Divine Hallowell. I... I
haven’t heard from your son and I’m wondering if he’s okay. He was supposed to
call me yesterday... have you heard from him?

That would sound oh-so mature. I’m not
that much of a creeper. I need to wait at least one more day before I make a
fool out of myself. For all I know this is his way of breaking up with me. I
spread my legs and now it’s over.

Ahem...
nutcase. You had that thought already.

Yeah, well I can’t think straight! I’m up
and down right now.

I look for Bridgette, but she’s not
around campus, and like yesterday, all of my classes have low attendance. With
a
Celebration of Life
service for
Margaret and another for Luke planned for tomorrow in the campus chapel, I’m
sure I’ll run into her then. In the meantime, I need to stay focused and find
something to occupy my time. Now that I’ve finished the trilogy and don’t
really feel like picking up another book until I can digest Hayden’s, I mean,
Dan’s words, which are going to be racing through my head for days, I need a
new hobby. His book wrecked me and I know if I don’t get into a project, I’ll
sit around my house and mope.

Puzzles?

Fuck that shit.

You
used to like to do puzzles.

When I was much younger and I’ll do them
again when I’m much older, but not now.

I stop at Hobby Barn on the drive home,
because what better place to find a new hobby than a store called Hobby Barn.
After walking past isles of stickers, scrapbooking papers, yarn, paint, wax
candle supplies, and beads, I think I’ve found my next venture in the land of
crafts; a birdhouse kit.

Yes, I’m going to put together my own birdhouse,
two birdhouses actually. And of course I picked it because it reminds me of
Dan, but also because it will keep me from waiting on his front stoop for his
return. I could use a little yard art in my backyard anyway. It’s spring and
this is what adults are supposed to do in the spring - decorate the yard. Liven
it up for the summer months.

I pick up some necessities for the kit at
the hardware store, grab a burger and fries from a drive-thru, and cross my
fingers when I turn into my neighborhood that I’ll see his car... yes...
please... it has to be here this time... uh, no Cherokee. Maybe he left it at
the shop to get repaired and he’s home, but has his headphones on and can’t
hear me knocking.

He
hasn’t answered your Facebook messages, all ten of them.

I’m fearful that I’ll never see him
again, which sounds paranoid, and for good reason.

My parents’ faces stare back at me when I
enter my home, and after eating a bagful of unhealthy fast food, I spread a trash
bag over my kitchen counter and get to work.

“I can’t believe I bought a birdhouse
kit,” I whisper.

Two.

“How ridiculous is that?”

Not
one bit considering how much you like the guy. You want to impress him even
when he’s not around.

I want to get closer to him by learning
more about the things he loves, that’s all.

For ages six to twelve is listed on the
box, which I find humorous since both kits kick my ass. The wood is thin, it
cracks when I try to force the pieces together, the glue won’t hold, and when I
finish, the overall shape is more like a pyramid than a square. A little kid
could’ve done a better job. Come on, I have a degree in design and I can’t
build a simple square?

I try to disguise the lopsided failures
by covering them with suet cakes, which are kind of a mix of peanut butter,
lard, and birdseed. At least that’s what it looks and feels like. I bought ten
of them from the hardware store thinking I’d use them, somehow, as a floor,
roof, or wall covering, like wallpaper or tile.

Suet cakes are compressed which should
mean less messy than tiny seed. Wrong! Okay, I admit. I know absolutely nothing
about birds, their dwellings, feeding them, or nature in general. I’m a city
girl for Christ’s sake. I love the wonderful scents of the outdoors, but
haven’t explored much beyond my nose.

I microwave the suet cakes and when they
reach a spreadable consistency I’m able to smear the muck all over the tiny
houses. The stuff works better than the glue in keeping everything together.
But in the end they look like total crap, my hands are covered in a substance
that reminds me of feces, and I feel like a big piece of dung. What a shitty
day.

The red yarn I use to tie the houses to a
tree branch in my backyard sticks to my suety fingers, which I refuse to wash
off until I finish this project. My sneakers get muddy from the recent heavy
rains and I slip and fall on my ass on my way inside. Sometimes I feel like
everything in my life is one big failed production. From start to finish,
nothing ever goes as planned.

After cleaning up, I sit outside my
bedroom on the back deck with my laptop and wrap a fleece blanket around me for
the rest of the evening, waiting for the birds to rush to the feeder for a late
night snack, but not one damn bird ever comes.

Can
you blame them?

No, I wouldn’t come either.

My gift to the birds and my attempt at
springtime backyard embellishments is hideous.

Div
Hallowell

I built two birdhouses.

0 people like this.

Violet
Cuddlecock

Why are so many books being published
with references to birds? Bird nicknames, bird tats, bird titles, birds, birds,
birds. Birds are little shits!

872 people like this.

Kimmy
Firestorm
I’m worried
about you, babe.

Michelle
Simm
Well if you don’t
like them then don’t read them and shut your beak!!

Emma
Shepherd
Doves are beautiful creatures.

Jen
Brightside
I’m afraid to
read your books because your posts always sound like you’re insane. Anyone know
of any light romances?

Amy
Jones
Birds are a hell
of a lot better than unicorns and rainbows.

Arlene
Ross
Men call us birds.
We eat worms.

Michelle
McGinty
LMFAO!

Kimmy
Firestorm
My books are
light romances! Jen Brightside - I’ll send you a link. XXOXO!!!

Birds. They’re what wake me at six in the
morning. The sun is out, but the sound of a hundred squawking birds penetrating
my room puts a damper on my spirit. I slide into my jeans and a t-shirt and
open my door. Damn it, there really
are
a hundred birds out back. And in one morning they’ve managed to eat the suet
and knock the feeders to the ground, and are now attacking my tiny houses!
They’re even ripping apart my red yarn and flying off with it. What gives?

I close and lock my door then lean
against it. Ravenous beasts. I’ll have to put out more suet cakes for them.

“Dan,” I whisper and remember how much
life sucks right now. It’s been two full days, two and a half counting the
afternoon we said goodbye, and still no sign or word from him. “I’m sorry if I
pissed you off.”

Whatever happened, I know this isn’t my
fault, but I needed to say that to comfort myself. My emotions are all over the
place. I’m angry, full of tears and heartbreak, in love and disgusted by him,
and that’s all within five minutes. I cry while taking my morning shower then
slam my dresser drawer in a rage. I want to know if this is over, or if he has
another girlfriend, or if he’s... in a ditch like Luke Barnes.

The last thought produces sobbing that
overcomes my entire body with sporadic breathing and a racing heart. And it’s
not just for Dan; this is about Luke and Margaret as well. This is about death.

I’m a basket case.

And I’m sure that’s how I must appear to
everyone when I walk into the campus chapel at eight o’clock for the Saturday
morning memorial, wearing a long black skirt, a dark plum blouse, and
sunglasses. My face and eyes both red from crying, my shoulders and posture
low-slung. After my responsibilities here are over, I’m going to the police
station to file a report.

Richard waves me over to his pew and when
the Board of Trustees file inside, he whispers that I should remove my glasses.
Which is fine, since I get sympathetic looks from all of them because of my
swollen eyes. I can be compassionate when I want.

“You doing alright, Divine? We still have
counselors on campus today, maybe you...”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I’ve never seen you this upset. If
you...”

“Murderer.” A whispered voice comes from
behind. I turn to see a row of pink sweatshirts as Hannah and her sorority fill
in the back three rows, all except for Bridgette. Some of them are carrying
white carnations while others have lit candles in their hands, and they all
have their hair in pigtails, impersonating a young Cindy Brady; in reality
they’re nothing more than a cult.

“Excuse me?” I throw her an astonished
look and she gives me the finger.

“Hannah,” Richard shakes his head. “We’re
in a place of worship.”

Richard and I turn to face the pulpit in
silence, until I become so aggravated by his response that I have to speak my
mind. “You know, this has to stop. You could’ve stood up for me.”

“I thought I did,” he moves closer so our
conversation’s unheard.

“Your response came across to those
students, who just witnessed her nonsense, as something that was okay, just not
inside a chapel. You didn’t say it was disrespectful to a faculty member, and
you should’ve.”

“Murderer.”

It’s spoken louder this time and then
repeated by another student, and another, until the entire sorority’s
whispering
that
word.

“Enough!” Richard calls out as the
Trustees turn and gasp. He lowers his voice but keeps a stern face as he
speaks. “We’re here to celebrate the life of Luke and Professor Cole and this
insolent behavior ends now.” He points his finger at the group and Hannah leans
forward with a tear rolling down her cheek.