Part 3:
Saturday, May 26th , 2030
Chapter 7: Laura
Laura could feel the weight in her feet as she stood on the thinly carpeted floor, boots firmly planted next to a rack of clothing. She stared down blankly at sparse collection of vestidos in front of her, fumbling idly through the plastic hangers before dropping her hands. She couldn’t focus. Fue demasiado. All of it, too much. Marie was up ahead a few paces, flicking through the hangers, while Papá was at home, sleeping. He was always sleeping, it seemed, ever since el incidente.
Laura had been the one to find him. As soon as she heard the stumble upstairs, as soon as she heard the confused growl escaping her father’s lips, she had sprung to her feet, disobeying his original command and flying to the loft. She had heard Marie tell her too to sit back down but Laura hadn’t listened to the woman, hadn’t wanted to. She had been so sure there had been an intruder—how had she not heard it— but instead she had found him in her bathroom, pacing the little area wildly, claws out, breath coming in heavy. Her mind desperately worked to put together what was happening, even as she noticed her own claws withdrew instinctively. But not to take out the intruder. Her body had realized what her mind was still struggling to catch up with. The threat was in front of her. Los ojos de papá had completely darkened. Laura knew he was all el animal now, and she felt her own beast rising to the surface in pure, primal response to his erraticism. She had shoved it back down though, retracted her own claws. Slowly, she had reached out a hand to soothe him and he had whipped around wildly through a growl to face her.
It was only a gouge, a graze of the arm, but an instinctive whine had escaped Laura’s lips from the pain even as her skin was already stitching itself back up, and for whatever reason, maybe her response, or the scent of her blood on the air, seemed to shake him awake. His eyes had cleared, and he had immediately retracted his claws and looked around as if he was seeing for the first time. Sharp hazel eyes quickly assessed the situation to find blood on both their knuckles, blood dripping from Laura’s arm, her eyes wide, a scared but still determined look on her face. He seemed to understand immediately, and his posture had crumpled with the realization.
“Hija, oh god.” He had grabbed her and held her close, and then Laura was crying, not because she understood, but because she didn’t. ¿Cómo podría hacerle eso a ella?
After Monday night, Laura had heard words like hallucination and psychosis used a lot. There had been calls to the doctor. Marie and Papá had fought several times, about everything, about nothing, but most of the time during the day Papá chose to sleep. Marie had said this was mainly due to new medications that made Papá fatigado , but Laura knew it was also because he wasn’t sleeping at night. His pesadillas had come back. Since Monday, they had all been noches malas.
Marie was still prowling around the girls’ clothing section, but even as the older woman dutifully searched through the sparse choices for a dress for Laura to wear to the dance tonight, Laura could tell she was exhausted, fatigue etched into every feature. Often Papá would wake up shouting, with his claws out. Three nights in, Marie had nearly been apuñalado and since then she stayed up most nights, ready to take care of Papá when he needed it. And when Papá did manage to sleep at night, when Laura dutifully checked for his slow and steady heartbeat, Laura could also hear the scratch of a pencil, Marie forever sketching in the periods of calm between the tormentas. Now, no one was sleeping.
Laura hadn’t wanted to go to the dance tonight. Hadn’t wanted to come out shopping either. But Marie, steadfast as ever, had wanted Laura to go. Had asked nicely, and then had demanded that Laura get in the car.
“What about this one?” Marie was now saying, holding up blue dress with silver patterns on it. Laura blinked once or twice, unwilling to bring herself to truly care.
“Bien,” Laura murmured. Marie only frowned.
“Do you want to try it on?” she asked, even as she held the dress in her arm and flicked through a few more options.
“No,” Laura muttered. Marie stopped then, frown deepening, as she looked up to Laura once more.
“It’s important you go tonight, mi amada, ” Marie said, walking slowly over to where Laura stood, tucking a strand of loose platinum hair that had fallen from her braid behind her ear. Marie extended her hand holding out a couple of dresses, including the midnight blue, for Laura. “Try on a couple, chica. Come on, for me.”
A few minutes later, Laura found herself under fluorescent lights behind a door with chipping paint, alone in a dressing room. Quietly, she removed her boots, shed her clothes, and then she easily slid the first midnight blue vestido over her thin frame, pulling her hair out from behind, careful for it to not snag of the price tag, before staring at herself blankly in the mirror.
Una niña stared back. She was short, thin. Sharp. Slowly, she brought her arms out from her sides, staring at her hands, before she wrapped them around her narrow frame. She wasn’t a woman. Wasn’t even human. Wasn’t normal. Just a girl. Or a monstruo. Grimly, she thought about the fact that with the short, strappy sandals that Marie picked out to try on with the dress her claws could easily slide out of her foot.
Frowning again, she walked forward a couple of steps in the dress, and slowly leaned her head against the mirror in front of her, exhaling deeply.
“Doing ok in there Laura?” Marie’s voice from outside. Not shouting, because she didn’t need to.
“Sí,” Laura grumbled from the dressing room. She lifted her head off the mirror and stared back at herself. Una niña. Una monstruo. Una hija con un padre moribundo.
A daughter with a dying father.
A single tear then, which she quickly wiped away, fleetingly wishing she had her sleeves of her jacket to do so instead of her bare, skinny arm. She snarled for a moment, before awkwardly backing up in the sandals she had tried on, throwing open the door and stalking into the hall where Marie was waiting. Marie raised her eyebrows at Laura, before smiling at the younger mutant in front of her.
“Really pretty,” Marie murmured. Laura only snorted, clasping her hands into fists at her sides.
“Miro tener demasiado de mi padre en mí para ser bonita,” she said flatly, knowing full-well Marie wouldn’t understand. Marie rubbed her eyes, sighing a bit as she tucked another strand of hair back.
“So you wanna buy it?” Marie asked. Laura said nothing, looking down past her strappy blue shoes toward the fraying carpet and the cement underneath that. Marie looked at her helplessly before walking over to where Laura stood and knelt down to her height, just as her papá had done a hundred times before.
“Hey,” she said, putting a hand under her Laura’s chin. “He’d want you to enjoy the dance.”
Laura looked up to Marie hesitantly, feeling all the more awkward in the dress. Marie stared at her for a moment, before sighing
“I know he’s been…distant lately. But he’s tired. And he’s feeling sorry for himself. But he’s told me as much about tonight. That he wanted you to have a good time. So...as much as you can, I want you to try. Ok?”
Laura looked at Marie tiredly and then tried to summon all the resolve she could muster.
“Ok,” Laura murmured. Marie nodded her head slightly, before moving to stand back up.
“Now, we should pick out some jewelry. A few hair clips, maybe. Yes?” she said. Her tone was resolute, sturdy, but Laura could smell it on her too. It was the thing she could smell easiest on anyone. The fear. Of the future. Of the unknown. Of being left behind.
“Yeah,” Laura muttered in response.
--
Marie took her time. Laura stood carefully in the downstairs bathroom, the one off Papá and Marie’s room, as Marie carefully and with precision curled each piece of Laura’s dark hair, ringlets now in the place of where the straight locks had been. Laura watched distantly, as her usual appearance was replaced with a stranger’s. Laura was already dressed, and her feet were already aching in the strappy sandals they had purchased for her. She shifted her weight carefully, wholly uncomfortable. From the bedroom, she could hear deep and heavy breathing. The dance was in about an hour, and Laura had been hoping Papá would wake up to say goodbye, maybe wish her buena suerte. So far though, it was looking unlikely.
Finishing up, Marie smiled, grabbing a sparkly silver clip from the package they had purchased earlier today and fastening it on the right side of Laura’s hair.
“Does that look ok?” she asked. Laura frowned slightly, turning back to the mirror. It did look nice. In fact…
“I look... pretty,” Laura murmured, and Marie raised her brow and crossed her arms warily.
“Of course you look pretty, amada,” Marie said matter of factly, before moving to fumble around in one of the cabinets, before pulling out a bit of colorete y máscara. At this, Laura’s mood slightly brightened. Make up was something intrigued Laura. She loved watching Marie apply it, but she had never worn any herself. Siempre demasiado joven.
“De verdad?” she asked. Really?
“Yeah, I think so. If you want,” Marie said. At this, Laura genuinely smiled. La primera sonrisa todo el día. Marie returned it, before moving quietly into the bedroom to grab a desk chair into the bathroom for Laura to sit in.
Marie was careful, using languid strokes to apply the make-up. A brush grazing the tops of Laura’s cheeks, a wand darkening Laura’s lashes. After a few minutes, Marie bit her lip a bit, rolling back on her heels to survey her handiwork.
“Bonita,” she said through a little nod. Laura turned, facing her reflection once more. It was still una niña that stared back, but she was less fierce looking. Softer somehow.
Even approachable, maybe.
Laura snuck a glance through the bedroom door at her papá, still sleeping. She could barely make out his form under the blankets. Laura hated how much he had slept. In the days since dinner, Laura had maybe had three decent, real conversations with her padre, and while they had been honest and meaningful, they had been brief. She knew why, too. Of course she she knew why. He felt vergüenza. Shame. Laura frowned once more, before she felt Marie’s soften and genled hand on Laura’s bare shoulder.
“I know you wanted him to wake up, Laura. But last night…” Marie trailed off.
“Yo sé, ” Laura murmured, turning away from Marie’s touch and the older woman’s arm dropped. Last night had been particularly rough. So bad, in fact, Laura wondered if there ever was going to be another buen dia again. Still though, Laura found herself walking out of the bathroom, a little awkward in the strappy sandals and not her typical boots, to where Logan slept. Her father’s brows her furrowed, breathing heavily, heart slow. Carefully, Laura reached out a hand and clasped it in his own.
“I’m going to the dance,” she said. Still, he slept. Laura sighed, leaning downward to murmur in his ear. “Te amo papá.” He stirred only slightly, but didn’t open his eyes and didn’t say anything, and Laura finally stood back up. A slow heartbeat. A breath out. A squeeze of the hand, and then she backed away. Laura realized only afterward that Marie had been watching them both, hands clasped tightly around her arms, face blank.
--
Laura had taken down a whole building of Transigen guards in a single-handed bloodbath. Had slit the throat of Xander Rice, in cold blood. She had disemboweled, sliced, stabbed, gutted, ripped out jugulars of all kinds of bad men and women, without so much of a blink of an eye. Miedo wasn’t something she often felt in the past, but now, it was all she could feel.
As the Bronco made its way into town, Laura gulped. She clutched the sparkly blue purse closer to her body, which had her new phone Papá had given her earlier that week. Laura had worked it out with Cole the day before. They’d meet in front of the school, go in together. She knew how to fight, knew how to swiftly and effectively kill. But this...this was different. What was she supposed say? How was she supposed to be? Did Cole... expect anything? That thought suddenly choked her.
“Marie,” Laura was saying as the woman was pulling up to the school.
The late spring evening was uncharacteristically warm and heavy, although Laura could sense just from the humidity in the air alone that there would be a storm tonight. The heat did nothing to ease the tension as Laura’s own palms were sweating as she clutched the tiny purse to her. Laura laid eyes on the other girls in their dresses and heels, boys in shirts and ties. Some parents were getting out, waving goodbye. Everyone was chatting animatedly. Pungent scents of perfume and cologne singed the air. Inside, she could already hear the steady thrum of music.
But none of that mattered. All she could hear was the voice of her papá in her head. And it wouldn’t leave.
Look. In the end...I want ya to have all those normal things. The things most people take for granted. But you can’t get soft, either. You can’t forget how to fight. Things...they always go south.
“I don’t wanna do this,” she said, to Marie across the interior of the Bronco.
“Laura,” Marie attempted through a sigh, gesturing to just beyond the front double doors of the school. “Cole’s already waiting.”
“No. Not this. Well, yeah, actually. I don’t want to do any of it. None of it. Terminé con esto,” Laura practically spat. Lifted up a tendril of curled hair. “ Es mentira. A lie,” she hissed.
“Stop it,” Marie said harshly and Laura looked up to her, staring intensely into Marie’s eyes, brown matching brown.
“What?!” she asked sharply.
“Lord, you’re just like your father. Stubborn to the bone. Listen. I know it’s hard, but I can’t do it all. I just can’t Laura. I need help,” Laura looked up to notice Marie had tears in her eyes and something within Laura uncoiled, the very truth of it all laying itself out amidst the landscape of when instead of if.
Again, his words in her head, haunting her.
You’ll need to protect Marie.
Meanwhile, Marie was continuing on, gripping the steering wheel tightly, just like she had seen Papá do a hundred times.
“He’s not ok, Laura. He just isn’t. And I’ve known it for a long, long time. Ever since...well… since I noticed the grey in his hair another world ago. He’s fought, lived, struggled for a very, very long time. You understand? But because he isn’t doing ok, especially right now, we need to be strong, yes? Fuerte.”
Laura did nothing for a moment, only choosing to stare at Maire through grim, tight lips.
“Now. You’re gonna have a good time. You might live for two hundred god damn years, just like him , but you’re only this young once. And you need to have some normal experiences. This is one of them. So you’re getting out of this car, even if I have to force you out, and you’re going to go take that poor boy’s hand who is still waiting for you to get out of this car and you’re going to dance with him. Because Laura...I need you to. You understand me?” The way Marie asked this question shook Laura out of her resolve, the note in the woman’s voice just as wild in nature as Logan and Laura seemed to forever be.
“Sí , Marie,” Laura murmured, before casting her glance at the waiting boy across the parking lot.
--
Cole was immaculately dressed. Black slacks, a white button down contrasting with his dark tan skin. Jet black hair too, which he had been growing out recently, was slicked back, and he seemed...well... taller. Sturdier. He now was several inches taller than Laura, and Laura liked that. She noticed as she looked down that he was holding una pulsera embedded with real flowers.
“Hi Cole,” Laura said quietly. His eyebrows had risen when he had seen her get out of the Bronco, and they hadn’t quite fallen yet.
“Wow...Laura...you look…” he mumbled over his words. “Æaxenét’î. Uhh...nice.”
Laura looked down and mumbled, “You too.” They stood there awkwardly for a moment, even as she heard Marie start the Bronco and hesitantly pull out of the drive. After the skirmish in the car, they had agreed that Marie would be back to meet her around 8:30, a little bit after the dance was supposed to end.
“What’s that?” Laura asked, pointing a finger to the bracelet made of flowers in Cole’s hand.
“Oh! Uh, yeah. I got this for you. It’s a corsage. For your wrist.” Laura looked down at it suspiciously, and startled a little when Cole carefully reached for her right wrist, taking her hand in his own. Cole had patted her on the back before, had even reassuringly hugged her a time or two, but something about the way he touched her skin tonight sent jolts of electricity through her veins, and Laura could hear her own heart speeding up. Meanwhile, Cole was carefully stretching the silver elastic band over her hand, past her knuckles, to slip it around her wrist. Laura stared at the tiny white rose buds awkwardly, the whole of the thing practically covering the front of her hand. It was almost laughable, the delicate petals in place of where blood and adamantium and rage usually stemmed. Laura blinked again, before looking up to Cole.
“Gracias,” she said, too shocked for English. Cole smiled a little, and she noticed the newfound bravery he his smirk. It was as if the tables were turned, and suddenly all the grit and gumption and forwardness Laura usually carried with her had been passed to Cole, and she was skittish, shy one
“De nada,” Cole said through a wink, and Laura couldn’t help but blush.
“Wanna go inside?” he asked. Laura nodded softly, noticing almost too late that Cole was offering Laura his arm. Laura stared at it for a moment, before intuitively taking it, like she had seen in all those películas viejas , and they walked forward through the double doors differently than she had in the previous hundred times before, leaving the warmth of the sunny evening air behind.
Inside, the sounds and smells were worse. The darkened hallways gave way to the flashes of lights and strobes of the middle school gym. Fake stars and planets were painted in glitter, and a lot of people were wearing glowing neon collares. There was a man in the corner with a computer, and from two large, pounding speakers poured the latest music Laura couldn’t stand to listen to on the radio. There was no stage, no band, like Laura had thought. No one was dancing either. If anything, large clumps of boys and girls were standing off to the sides, sorta talking in groups amidst the music. Laura gulped again, eyes flitting around the gym. The music was so loud in here that the typical sounds she could normally pick out were drowned out, and it was overwhelming.
“Do you ...uhh...want some punch?” Cole asked, lowering his arm and letting Laura’s fall. Laura stared at him for a moment, blinking.
“Punch?” she asked. Cole nodded.
“Yeah… uhh. Like fruit punch. Like juice?” Laura made a face, and Cole laughed a little. Laura smiled a little bit back in return, shrugging.
“Let’s go over there at least,” Cole practically shouted over the music.
As they slowly made their way through the throngs of people, the uncertain feelings intensified. She could feel el animal whine underneath the surface, perturbed that loud sounds and heavy scent of perfume was masking her senses. But beyond that, there was a sense of sheer disappointment. This was not what she had envisioned, not at all, and it was becoming increasingly clear to her that there was no way she’d be dancing. Not like this. Cole seemed to intuit her unease, however, and about halfway to the refreshments table he turned back to her and saw the look on her face.
“Screw punch. Wanna go someplace else?” He said loudly once more.
Laura only nodded, and then he was grabbing her hand to pull her forward, and that jolt of electricity flew through her. Did touching a boy always feel like that? El animal was trying to respond, say something, and Laura shoved it down further as the click of her sandals reverberated loudly on the linoleum as they made their way out of the gym and back into the abandoned, locker-lined hallway.
“Was that….overwhelming for you?” Cole finally asked, as they slowed their pace and came to a stop half way down the hall.
“Yeah...a little,” she heard herself saying, glancing down to notice his hand was still in her own. He also seemed to suddenly notice this and instantly whipped his hand away like he’d been burned.
“Sorry,” Cole muttered, before gesturing to the floor. They sunk down to sit next to each other, backs against the lockers, Laura mindful of her dress-- how did you do anything in something like this?-- and Cole exhaled frustratingly.
“It’s sorta stupid anyway,” he mumbled, resting his arms on his bended knees, and Laura suddenly was jealous she couldn’t do the same.
“I guess,” Laura mumbled fiddling with the hem of her skirt, flicking bits of glitter off of the midnight blue fabric and onto the floor of the hallway. The conversation died then, and she pulled her phone out of her clutch and checked the time. 6:14. Mierda. She’d been here for a little over ten minutes. Laura sighed tiredly, just as she thought she could hear Cole’s heartbeat getting faster, which caused her to intuitively look over to him.
“Are you ok?” she asked, through an arched brow and crossed arms.
“Uh, yeah. I just… I just wanted you to have a good time,” he mumbled. Laura sighed, crossing her legs stretched out before her at the ankles.
“Sorry,” Laura murmured, looking down at the flowers still garnishing her wrist. “It’s just... “
“You have super hearing, I know,” Cole muttered. Laura looked up to him sharply.
“No,” Laura blurted out before she could stop herself. “I don’t care about la música at all. It’s just.. been a hard week.” At this Cole perked up a bit, throwing her a questioning glance.
“My dad’s dying,” Laura said, the words so sharp in the air she felt like they had cut her. She had never said it out loud before. To anyone. But there it was, the awful truth looming heavy before her. Cole’s eyes widened, before he frowned deeply.
“But I thought he was…” Cole drifted off. It was now Laura’s turn to look up at Cole, suddenly curious.
“He was what?” she asked. Cole looked moderately panicked for a moment, as he gestured to Laura in the small space between them.
“You know...like you,” he said lamely. A mutant. Laura’s brow raised in surprise. Laura had always known some people assumed that she came from a family of mutants, and while she was waiting for someone to accuse her of it, no one yet had. And if she was going to assume someone would, she wouldn't have guessed Cole. Cole was often en su propio mundo.
“Who told you that?” she asked, eyes narrowing. Cole looked up, a mildly hurt expression etched on his features.
“No one. But isn’t it obvious?”
“What’s obvious?” Laura pressed.
“He’s Wolverine,” Cole said simply.
Laura whipped her head up now, and if she hadn’t had such good control over her cuerpo, her mouth would fallen open in surprise.
“But...how did you…?” Laura mumbled. Cole only rolled his eyes at that, surprising her even moreso.
“Come on, Laura. Rogue-uhh- Ms. D’Ancanto calls him Logan all the time. He’s fixed like ten different things at our house, been there just as many times, and he’s practically growling the whole time he’s there. Heck, he even calls me “bub,” just like in the comics. Plus… look at you.”
“Look at me? What about me?” Laura questioned, fully fledged annoyance now lacing her voice.
“Sorry...it’s just….in the comics Wolverine has a healing factor, heightened senses, the works. Just like you. Exactly like you. So I just figured…”
Laura blinked at Cole, suddenly torn from feeling simultaneously disappointed and impressed that Cole had figured it out. Pero cómo?
“Cole, you don’t even read los comics that much. How would you know?” At this, Cole seemed visibly hurt again, before his own tone teetered toward frustración.
“Yeah I have. I mean… lately,” he added. Laura’s anger was only growing. She was a novelty, then. Nothing more than a pre-packed product designed to entertain, to sell stories. Something inside Laura quietly acknowledged that that was maybe why her father hated the comic books so much. Laura frowned.
“Because I’m a mutant? That’s why you’re reading them?” she asked, already assuming the answer.
“What? No! No. Because you like them. The comics. You’re always reading them,” Cole retorted. Laura opened her mouth to speak, but instead shut her mouth, at a loss for words.
“So you are Wolverine’s daughter, right?” he asked quietly. Laura exhaled deeply, as suddenly an image of the stark, white halls of the Transigen labs filled her mind, and she found herself frowning once more.
“Kinda,” she muttered.
“What do ya mean, kinda?” Cole asked.
Laura blinked, looking down, mind now filled with images of Bobby and Delilah and Rictor. “Nevermind,” she murmured. Cole seemed to sense her sadness, and his stance softened. It was then that he once more snaked his hand to hold Laura’s left, and Laura let him.
“So why is he dying? If he’s got the healing factor?” Cole asked carefully.
“He’s getting older. It’s...wearing off,” Laura said quietly.
“Fuck,” Cole said. At this, Laura snorted softly, and Cole smiled.
“Yeah,” Laura said. “I can’t believe you knew.” Cole only shrugged his shoulders apathetically, as if he had just discovered Laura liked daisies or that Persuasion was her favorite book.
“I mean, Marie is Rogue too, right? They look like they do in the comics. I mean I figured they both were retired and all that...” he trailed off.
“Yeah,” Laura murmured. “They are.” Suddenly, Cole looked nervous, and Laura could feel his heartbeat quicken once more as his palm grew sweaty, gently lifting up her left hand that he had been gently holding.
“Do you...uhh...do you have…?” he trailed off, and Laura sighed, realizing what he wanted to know. She took her right hand to pull his off her left, and then quickly released the claws on the left hand, the one without the corsage.
“Holy fuck,” Cole said, as his eyes watched the drip of blood fall down the front of her hand. Laura realized, almost too late, that there was no fear in his eyes though. A sense of general wariness and more than a bit of awe maybe, but that was it.
“Does that fucking hurt?” he asked, unable to take his eyes off two blades of adamantium jutting out of Laura’s hand still. Laura only frowned a little, before quickly retracting them.
“Uh, yeah. But I’m used to it,” she mumbled, before realizing the mess she had made, staring down blankly at bloody knuckles.
“Oh, here,” Cole said, whipping out a tissue from his coat pocket. No, not a tissue. It was was made of fabric and embroidered on one end.
“What’s that?” she asked, even as she took it from him.
“A handkerchief,” he said, blinking at her.
“Oh,” she said simply, staring at the white fabric and the stark red blood of her hand. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah… no problem,” he said, and slowly Laura wiped the spatter of blood from her knuckles.
“I have them in my feet too,” Laura muttered after some time. Cole’s eyes widened at that one, but still his resolve remained.
“You do?” he asked steadily.
“Yeah,” she said blankly. Suddenly her thoughts flew to the muddy soccer field a few weeks ago, and she frowned. “See? A freak. Like they say,” she muttered. At this, Cole willfully took her freshly cleaned left hand in his again, squeezing it lightly. Again, another jolt of energy flying through her body.
“I don’t think you’re a freak. Maybe a fucking badass, but not a freak,” he muttered, even as she gripped the dampened, bloody handkerchief still. “Your Wolverine’s daughter.”
Laura considered this for a moment, but with the reminder of her father, she frowned once more.
“Ehh.. sorry…. to bring him up again,” Cole muttered. Laura could still hear the steady thrum of the music in the gym a few rooms away, and now the sound of shuffling footsteps. Awkward swaying.
“It’s ok,” Laura muttered, but still the images of the moment when his eyes finally cleared and his heart broke when he saw he had hurt Laura plagued her mind. He’d be gone soon enough, and she didn’t, couldn’t know what that meant.
“Do you…” she paused, looking down at the handkerchief once more. She was unsure whether or not to give it back to Cole, so instead she now fiddled with the fabric, rubbing it back and forth in her hand. “Where do you think we go when we die?” she practically whispered to him.
Cole seemed genuinely surprised by this comment, running his free hand through his jet black hair tiredly.
“Ehhh. I dunno. Sorta a religious question, huh?” he asked.
Laura only shrugged her shoulders at that. “I guess so,” she muttered.
“It’s complicated,” Cole said quietly. “My mom, she still holds onto a lot of the Athabascan beliefs. You know, the Deninu Kue kinda stuff. Releasing a spirit with a dance back to the earth, that kinda thing.”
Laura paused...remembering what Kay had said before dinner a few nights ago, before everything had fallen apart.
“But….not like this dance,” she said through a little smile.
Cole offered a smile in return. “No, not like this.”
“But….what do you believe?” Laura said quietly. Cole paused, before offering another shrug of his shoulders.
“I don’t... really know. I’d hope it’s not over after we’re gone, but I’d be ok if it is.” Laura considered this answer deeply, crossing her arms. She rarely felt cold, but right now, she did. She didn’t want to think about her father simply... not existing. Someone as strong of a force as her padre suddenly not being there.
Laura stared back down at his hand on hers, and, frowning, she looked back up to Cole.
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” she asked simply.
Cole cocked his head to the side slightly, seemingly confused by la pregunta.
“Why should I be? You’re a good person. Even if you do beat people up,” he said through a laugh. Laura didn’t laugh in return though, thoughtfully considering what he had said.
“A good person,” she muttered quietly.
“Yeah, like your dad. Like... he fought for good, you know? The good side.”
“For justicia,” she murmured to her lap.
“Right,” he said, and then she looked up to him solemnly. A bit of silence passed between them. The music had died a little, and Laura realized for the first time all night, they were playing a slow song. Cole heard it too, and he grinned. Moving to stand, hand still in hers, he brought her to her feet.
“I’ll take that,” he said of the handkerchief Laura still held, and Laura blushed meekly as she offered it to him.
“Wanna try again?” he asked, gesturing to the gym.
“Yeah. Sí. I do,” she said.
--
A few minutes later, Laura found herself out on the gym floor. The erraticism of the light effects had dimmed, leaving the gym darkened and the calma seemed now to cradle them both. A lot of people had coupled up and the dancing now was just as Marie had described. Cole had carefully taken her waist and she carefully put her arms on his shoulders. She noticed some girls were perhaps intuitively slinking their arms around the boys’ necks, and Laura pushed the anxious questions of Was she doing it right? What did Cole want her to do? How was she supposed to concentrate? further down, focusing instead on the boy in front of her.
“Is the music better?” Cole had muttered softly into her ear.
“Sí,” she said.
“Good,” he murmured. Slowly, they danced, Laura’s brown eyes locked on Cole’s own.
“This was different... than what I thought it would be,” she said quietly.
Then, the song changed. Something recent and cheesy and not so slow, replaced with something timeless. Laura could hardly believe her ears as Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind” filled the gym. The song was on was un álbum played often at the lake house, and as Laura fully realized what it was, she felt the nascent beginnings of several hot tears.
How many times, indeed.
“You ok?” she heard Cole asking her. She nodded, before she instinctively laid her head on Cole’s chest. He held her like that as they danced, slowly, to the soft swoon of the guitar and harmonica, until the song faded out to nothing.
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