The Pull of Destiny (62 page)

Did he actually just-?

CHAPTER 25

time warp.

Luke’s Bucket List- Bury a
time capsule

Leave a huge tip

Luke’s Point of View

I woke up the day after an
exhausting family group therapy session with more energy than I’d had in a long
time. Even when I had school to go to, I was never awake before 8am, but on
this particular day, I was ready to take on any and everything and waking up
late wasn’t gonna cut it.

My first stop was the shower,
where I plugged my iPod into its dock and proceeded to sing along to Jimi
Hendrix. There’s nothing better than letting your frustrations out while
listening to good music. And it wasn’t like I was being selfish or
inconsiderate- dad was probably at his office already and Faith had Hope awake
at around 7am. Right now they were probably at one of their mother/daughter
yoga classes. Yeah, yoga for five year olds. Go figure.

After my much needed music
therapy (
the
best kind of therapy life had to offer, especially since it
meant I didn’t have to deal with a too nice therapist who kept asking me ‘and
how does
that
make you feel?’) I got dressed and walked to the kitchen
to make myself something to eat and go over my list.

 It was time to step it up
with the list. Even though CiCi and I had made incredible headway with it, some
annoyingly persistent niggling feeling told me that I didn’t have much time to
waste. I didn’t want to share my increasingly negative thoughts with anyone and
I definitely didn’t want to say a damn thing about my worsening headaches, so I
just kept my mouth shut. Pouring myself a fresh glass of apple juice, I frowned
at my shaking hand.

“This bites,” I muttered to
myself.

 But today wasn't the day to
feel sorry for myself. I had important stuff to do. It was time for me to suck
it up, ignore the pain and get to business.

 Feeling around in my pocket,
I drew out my phone and dialed the number for 'Time Capsule's Inc.' Like the
name suggested, they were the go to guys if you needed a time capsule that
looked like it was just part of the scenery. I found out about them a couple of
days ago when I was Googling how to 'make' a time capsule and they seemed like
the most interesting NYC based company that specialized in time capsules. I
mean, they made realistic looking hollow rocks and logs! How cool was that?

I made plans to pick up my
fake rock at around lunch time in their Rockefeller Plaza office, hung up and
dropped my list on the counter. Hopefully, by the end of the day, I would have
knocked one more thing off of my list. And if CiCi wasn't busy, maybe I could
call her up to help me out and we could spend some time together. I grinned to
myself as I picked a shiny green apple from the fruit bowl. CiCi. She was
pretty special, and I loved the way her hair smelled. Like wild strawberries.
Yum.

I did a double take as dad
strode into the kitchen, a newspaper in his hand and his phone clamped to his
ear. Well, at least I was used to the phone part. But I thought he was already
at work, usually he could hardly wait for the sun to rise so he could get out
of the penthouse. He looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him. 

“Morning,” dad grunted. It
took me a couple of seconds to realize he was actually talking to me.

“Hey, dad,” I replied, biting
into the apple to hide my surprised face.

Okay, what was going on? Dad
never talked to me in the morning, unless it was to ream me out for not going
to my therapy sessions or for missing a doctor’s appointment. I'd been
scrupulously attending every single appointment since my expulsion, which was a
pretty big deal for me, so it couldn't be a lecture about
that
. Usually
I used every excuse I could come up with to get out of therapy, but for the
past week or so, I'd been going without a single complaint. Could be CiCi's
influence that was getting to me. She thought that therapy was the answer for
everything, and I didn't want to disappoint her by letting her know that it was
all pretty much bull. You see what I would do, just to make this girl happy?
More proof that I was turning soft, but for CiCi, I didn't mind at all.

Dad hung up on the person he
was talking to, standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen like he wasn't
quite sure what he was doing there. “Sleep well?”

This was starting to trip me
out. Smalltalk? Between Lucas Senior and Luke the Third? Never happened.

I nodded, wondering if Hope
was putting something in dad's nightly brandy. Happy pills would make sense.
“Yeah, I slept alright,” I lied.

Actually, I tossed and turned
for half of the night, eventually popping a Tylenol 3 to help me sleep. Yeah,
the headaches had gotten so bad that I was being prescribed Tylenol 3. Yet Dr.
Khan still didn't think surgery was a good idea.

“Good,” dad said, clearing
his throat. He glanced at me, opened his mouth abruptly like he was about to
say something, then shut it again.

I took another bite of my
apple, suddenly wondering if the family therapy meeting Dr. Khan had ordered us
to attend yesterday had actually affected dad. It didn't seem like it at the
time, mostly because he spent most of the hour long therapy session arguing
with Dr. Hayman. As soon as dad found out (inadvertently, from Faith) about my
headache activated nausea, he dragged me straight to Dr. Khan, much to my
surprise. Huh. What do you know, I got him worried. And here I was thinking
that he hated me, especially after I got expelled. I guess that goes to show how
complex humans can be, huh?

Anyway, that was when Dr.
Khan suggested the group therapy to help us get through what he called 'Luke's
illness'. I think it was the Faith angle that got him, when dad explained about
how she freaked out on him. Ever since that day, she always comes and 'checks
up' on me, bringing me little presents and asking if I want to play games with
her. She was starting to act like my little shadow. I think she was scared that
if she left me alone, even for a second, something would happen to me. That was
the main reason I agreed to go to last night’s therapy, but it wasn't something
I wanted to repeat.

Grabbing a mug from the
overhead cabinet, Dad turned to the coffee machine and stood there for a
minute, fiddling with the various buttons and knobs. I perched myself on the
bar stool, watching curiously. This wasn't how his morning was supposed to go!
He had coffee from JJ Bean every morning, not homemade! Why was he screwing his
routine up so much today?

After several more minutes of
watching dad, who obviously had no clue what he was doing, I felt bad. “Need
any help with that?” I offered, standing up and waiting for the initial fierce
pounding in my head to settle to a dull roar before I walked over to where dad
was standing.

Dad turned around to look at
me, a sheepish look on his face. “Oh, yeah, sure. I can't quite figure out how
to work this,” he said, also sounding like he couldn't quite believe that I
knew how to work it.

I walked over to the coffee
machine, pressed the required buttons and made my dad a fresh, steaming cup of
coffee.

“Here you go,” I said
affably, trying not to yell 'in your face' as I handed him the mug.

“Thanks, son,” he said,
taking the mug, which was good because I would have dropped it.

Did he just call me son? He
hasn't done that in- ever!

An awkward silence ensued as
I resumed my seat on the bar stool, taking a sip of my juice. Dad came to join
me, sitting down opposite me as he nursed his java. His eyes fell on Shane's
old notebook and he picked it up like the nosy bugger that he is.

“What's this?” he asked.

See, I said it. Nosy as hell.

“It's my bucket list,” I
replied, deciding not to queer the deal by saying something along the lines of
'none of your business'. It was obvious that, for whatever reason, dad was
trying his best to be nice to me today. The least I could do was return the
favor. Dad rarely showed an interest in what I had to say or do, so this was
all new to me.

Snorting derisively, dad's
eyes flickered across the page. “Are you still on that? Doesn't the fact that
I've got the best Neurosurgeon in America to operate on you mean anything to
you?”

To my surprise, he sounded
hurt, like I had insulted him in some way by continuing to work on my list even
though I had Dr. Khan taking care of my health.

“It does mean a lot,” I said
with feeling, swallowing. “I just- I want to be prepared for whatever happens.”

Dad's eyes flicked up to my
face. “You're not going to die, if that’s what you're trying to say,” he told
me, sounding gruff.

I shrugged, not wanting to
get in to a fight by asking him how he could be so sure. I knew the mortality
rates for aneurysms, and they weren't really that promising. But this was the
exact kind of negativity that I didn't want to deal with, especially this early
in the morning.

“If that's true, at least
I'll have done a lot of the things I've been wanting to do for a long time,” I
replied carefully, not wanting to rock the boat.

Dad grunted again, reading my
list more carefully. Suddenly, he chuckled as I stared in surprise. Holy shit,
he was starting to freak me out. Looking up at me, he waved the notebook. “Mile
high club, huh?” Was that a glimmer of respect I saw in his eyes? “I guess you
really are my son, after all.”

I bit my lip to stop myself
from saying 'was that ever in question'?

Of course it had been in
question, according to my grandmother on dad’s side (she had been pretty much
the only member of the Astor family who didn't act like I was invisible) dad
had been gunning for a DNA test as soon as I was born.

“I guess,” I muttered,
staring at my hands. There he went again, always making a snide comment here, a
mean remark there. Just like Ahmed. Negativity ruled their lives. Well, I had
my positive little star, a star called CiCi, and I didn't want any part of their
negative energy.

“Is your friend still helping
you with your 'bucket list'?” dad asked, making air quotes as he said the words
bucket list. Like he thought it was a joke to me, instead of being the most
serious thing I'd tackled my whole life.

“Yeah.”

Dad rested his elbows on the
table, leaning forward. “So what’s the deal with Miss Sawyer anyway?” he asked
curiously. “She your new conquest or what?”

I stared at him, running a
hand through my uncombed hair. “She's not a conquest,” I replied shortly.

“Then why the hell would you
go from Joanna to her?” dad asked, sounding as though he really had to know. “I
mean, Lord knows she's a looker, but despite that, isn't she a downgrade?”

Great, now he was going to
pull out the snob card and start bashing her coz she didn't come from money.

Putting on my blank face, I
asked, “Why? Because she's poor?”

Dad blinked. Looking
uncertain for the first time in years, he finally replied “Okay, yes. That's
what I meant to say, I suppose. You should know that Astor's don't usually date
people of such – low class.”

I shrugged. “Maybe the
Astor's are about to get less shallow.”

Well, it had to start
sometime, right? Hopefully Faith would follow that route and stay humble
instead of turning into a shallow airhead like some of my cousins.

Snickering, dad said, “Are
you talking about you?” He seemed amazed and I glowered darkly at the granite
table top. “Since when did you turn into Mr. Humanitarian?”

Evenly, my voice not
betraying the anger sweeping through me, I said, “Since never. I just used to
be closed minded. Now I'm not.”

Dad gave me an assessing
look, then bared his teeth in a knowing grin. “You're just hanging out with her
to piss me off, aren't you?” he exclaimed, amused. I shook my head no, frowning
as he continued. “Yes you are, but it'll get old. Everything does with you,
Luke. You have a short attention span. Must be a gift from your mother, because
you sure didn't get it from me.”

He laughed at his own wit as
my hands clenched in my lap. When was he going to understand that anything I
did didn't revolve around him?

“Not in this case.”