“No, that’s definitely not it.” She thought about what Morpheus had revealed to her—that in some ways she might want Orion even more than she wanted Lucas. “I’m really attracted to Orion.”
“And do you care about him?”
“A lot.”
“Then commit yourself to him.” Hector regarded Helen with complete candor. “They’re both waiting for you to make a choice. And none of you are going to move on until you do. You, Helen. You have to make this choice.”
Helen wanted to shout “Lucas,” but she pictured the disgusted look that she knew Hector would give her for preferring her cousin over Orion, and swallowed Lucas’s name. “I have,” she said with more conviction than she felt. “I have,” she repeated.
Hector smirked at her. “The first time you said, ‘I have’ was pretty believable. The second? Not so much.”
“What am I going to do?” she groaned in response, hitting her forehead against the bag. “I feel like a Ping-Pong ball.”
“I think we both need to get out of here and do something useful.” He caught her around the neck in a playful headlock and led her toward the stairs. “Come on, Princess. Let’s go see if your father’s store is still standing.”
Hector and Helen loaded some spare lumber from the shed, a tool kit, and a box of nails into the back of Hector’s truck. After a brief argument about whether or not Hector should take the chance of being seen, it became apparent that if he didn’t get out of the house that currently sheltered Andy, he was going to run screaming through the streets, anyway, so Helen reluctantly agreed. She put her foot down about who drove, though. Helen took the wheel for the trip past her house to make sure it was okay, and then on to the News Store while Hector hid in the back.
Hector stayed out of sight inside the store, sweeping up glass and debris left over from the riot while Helen took the ladder from the storeroom out to the front and began nailing boards over the broken windows. It was depressing work. Every time she looked around, Helen was reminded that the store could be rebuilt, but it would never be the same again. Not really. As she climbed a ladder and started boarding up the smashed front windows, Helen realized that some things stay a little bit broken forever—even after they’ve been fixed.
Lost in her thoughts, Helen didn’t notice that someone had come up behind her on the sidewalk.
“You know what? If that board was any more crooked, it’d come back ’round the other way and be straight as an arrow,” Orion said from the ground behind her, like he was in awe of how rotten a job she’d done. “Are you drunk?”
Helen’s shoulders started shaking with laughter. “No! I’ve never done this before!”
“Apparently.” He grinned up at her and motioned for her to come down off the ladder. Laughing, she climbed down and stood next to him. “Still got both your thumbs?” he asked, inspecting her hands. He took the hammer away from her like it might bite her. “Better give this to the professional.”
“Professional, huh?” Helen didn’t doubt it. She’d taken a peek at his driver’s license when she’d accidentally stolen his jacket and wallet, and she knew that he was cleared to operate heavy machinery.
“I’ve worked a couple of construction sites. Built some houses,” he said, a cagey smile on his face, like he’d done more than just that.
“Jewelry maker, carpenter . . . you’re a real jack-of-all-trades,” she said, smiling up at him.
“Yeah. Of all trades that pay jack,” he added with a shy chuckle.
“Hey, you’re a son of Aphrodite. You could have taken the easy way out. Puckered up those pretty lips for some rich woman and made her fall so madly in love with you she just had to give you a diamond mine or something.” Helen grinned up at him, loving how he always downplayed his talents—and not just the Scion ones. “But you didn’t. You work for your money.”
“All five dollars of it,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“An honest buck may not buy any more groceries than a dishonest one, but it’ll always be worth more. Especially to me,” she replied seriously. He was a self-made man, just like her dad, and she respected that quality in him the most because his dignity was something he earned, not something he was born with.
“Hey, Orion? Put some pants on, toss her over your shoulder, and carry her off like a man, for the love of Pete!” Hector hollered from inside. Orion cringed and shared a pained look with Helen.
“The caveman approach,” he whispered to Helen conspiratorially. “Not really my style.”
“Ah, Hector. Our loveable lug,” Helen replied quietly. Their heads leaned close as they shared a muffled chuckle.
“Kiss. Kiss. Kiss,” Hector chanted, peeking at them between the misaligned slats over the broken window.
“Can I bring you on all of my dates?” Orion asked Hector, clapping his hands together in mock excitement.
“Sure, buddy! I’ll walk you through the whole thing,” Hector replied with a wicked grin. “First, you take the girl and grab her by the . . .”
“And this is exactly why I’m so glad testosterone isn’t contagious,” Helen said loudly, cutting Hector off. She shoved Orion up the ladder to fix the mess she’d made, and went inside to help Hector finish cleaning up.
Somehow, between all the horsing around, they managed to get the whole store boarded up, swept, and emptied of all the rotting perishables. Every now and again Helen would run across something personal amidst the smashed debris—an ill-shaped macaroni “I LOVE MY DADDY” sculpture she’d made in elementary school, a butt-ugly, heavy-as-a-horseshoe pot she’d made for Kate when she was trying to learn how to throw clay freshman year, and a bunch of second-place trophies from running track.
Worst of all were the photos. It killed her to see the broken frames and the smashed glass that nicked the pictures, ruining them. Some of the shots had been hanging in the store since she was a little girl. She’d seen them every day and, as she tossed most of them in the garbage, she was all-too aware that she’d never see them again.