Henry had no taste. Andie lay upside down on his bed, scratching his German shepherd’s neck. A poster for The Black Keys hung on his west wall, which wasn’t too bad, but the rest of his room was a mishmash of crap.
“At least there aren’t foldouts of naked women, eh, Lux?”
“Huh?” Henry asked. He was barely listening, sitting at his desk trying to finish a calc problem.
“I said your room is a mishmash of crap. You shouldn’t let Lux lie in here so much. How’s he ever going to learn that there are better bands than Linkin Park and better movies than Avatar?”
“Those are old. And Lux likes Avatar. Now will you shut up so I can finish this?”
“Is that a Vancouver Canucks commemorative puck? I swear if you don’t die in this gods’ war I’m going to kill you.”
Henry scowled. “Don’t you live somewhere else?”
Andie ruffled Lux’s fur, unaffected. “If he really wanted me to leave,” she said to the dog, “he’d have stopped doing that stupid math problem and taken me home a half hour ago.”
“Why do you need a ride, anyway? Why didn’t you let Odysseus take you?”
Andie eyed Henry slantwise. The keys of his calculator clicked, and he erased something, his head of black hair bent over the paper.
“I can’t believe I used to be married to you,” she said. “So rude.”
“Yeah, well, thankfully that was in another life that neither of us remembers,” Henry said, and erased something so hard he almost broke his pencil.
“I remember some things,” Andie whispered. “Like holding a weapon.”
“But not holding me?”
“Gross!” Andie shouted, and threw a pillow. “Don’t say those words together. ‘Holding’ and ‘me.’ Makes my stomach want to crawl out through my ear.”
Henry laughed and threw the pillow back.
“I think your sister is pissed at me,” Andie said. She tossed the pillow into the air and caught it to her chest. “I asked Hermes to teach me to use a sword.”
“Why would you do that?”
Because it felt like the natural thing to do. Because it felt like she needed to know. “And I’m quitting hockey.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Thanks for your input. I’ll file that away under ‘none of your business.’” Andie rolled over and sat up. “Don’t you want to learn, too? Don’t you want to remember, I don’t know, some of the things?”
Henry shut his calculus text and reached for his hooded sweatshirt.
“I live in this century. I’ve got plenty of things to do here to keep me busy.”
“But do you feel it?” she asked quietly.
“Do I feel what?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t,” she said. “Don’t lie. Whatever’s happening to me has to be happening to you, too.” Old instincts bled into her muscles and got stronger every day. The past was loose, and it lingered like an itch down deep. She didn’t want to be Andromache. But she was becoming a new Andie all the same.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Henry stood, and Lux got off of the bed. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
“Liar,” she said. The way he held his shoulders, the way he carried himself, was all subtly different. He looked stronger, more muscular. Maybe even taller. It was Hector, breaking the surface, the shadow of a thousands-of-years-dead soldier settling on Henry like dust.
“I don’t know how you can stand it,” Andie said. “I feel like I have to do something, or I’ll explode. Like there’s too much of me in my own body.” She thought he tensed at that, but she wasn’t sure. He was always so damn stoic. “You’re not going to say anything?” She reached out and shoved him.
“Knock it off, Andie.”
“Knock you off, maybe.”