A Thousand Years of Hope Ch 3-1

Dante studied the tall sycamore tree on the edge of Viola’s property. It should have burned leaves and branches, but it did not. It was safe and looked…greener. The presence he felt on the tree had protected it from his fire spell. The unharmed tree was the only evidence he could use to verify the powerful aura that seeped into his house, forcing him outside in search.

Shaking his head, he returned to the house, closing and locking the kitchen door. Normally, he would be worried about such a powerful being so close to this house. However, the unburnt sycamore tree made him feel secure. The entity did not mean any harm to his family.

Dante rinsed his glass of water in the sink and placed it on a rack. Switching off the light, he stared at the sycamore tree through the picture window for a moment and then headed back to the study.

It was four o’clock in the morning, and sleep was long gone for him. He sat behind the desk and opened a folder holding a new co-parenting agreement sent by his lawyers.

Viola, his ex-girlfriend and the owner of this house, wanted to see him less and have him pay more upkeep for their two children, Zachary and April Arturo. Their separation long decided a year after April was born, nine years ago. He turned the agreement papers to the signing section to find that Viola had already signed her part with flourish. The confidence in her signature reassured him.

Viola was happy with her new boyfriend of three years.

Dante could not blame Viola for finally making a stand with him. It was his fault they were no longer together. Dante spent too much time at digs around the world, teaching, or staying at his family home in Turkey, to give Viola the stability of family she needed.

Tired of Dante’s constant absence after April’s birth, Viola bought this house in the quiet suburbs of Kirtland, Ohio. She was a qualified Registered Nurse, so she found a job working in a nearby hospital, and created the stability their children needed without Dante.

Their first co-parenting agreement was simple.

Dante had the right to visit as he wished to see Zach and April. Their old agreement also included vague guidelines in terms of financial support. Dante simply made sure Viola received a part of his income for the children’s upkeep, and if she needed money for an emergency, he sent it.

Now, Viola was thinking of the children’s future, as well as her own.

Dante assumed Viola’s relationship with her current boyfriend was getting serious. She had asked Dante to visit so they could finalize a more formal co-parenting agreement. An agreement dealing with his scarce visits included a more comprehensive financial support plan.

Glad he was more financially secure after nine years of hard work, Dante gave his lawyers access to the two irrevocable trust funds he created for Zach and April when he first started working. The trusts would help fund the children’s college education. His children were secure financially, but he could never boast of being a great father.

As far as he could see, Viola’s current boyfriend was doing a better job with Zach and April than him.

Dante picked up a pen and signed his part in the new agreement.

With the new agreement, Dante would no longer have a right to walk into this house at will. He would need to call Viola and ask her to arrange a meeting with Zach and April. They were thirteen and ten, respectively, this year. When they each turned eighteen, they would have the choice to decide if they wanted to visit him at his family home.

Taking in a deep breath, Dante sat back in his chair, staring at the now complete agreement. This process should have bothered him, but he felt nothing. This lack of reaction was probably why Viola kicked him out of her life.

The signed co-parenting agreement was a perfect ending to a chapter he started without much thought or feeling. Shaking his head, he closed the folder and stood.

It was time to move on from this disastrous decision.

The mystery of the powerful entity on the sycamore tree needed resolving. This was not the first time he felt the powerful aura seeping into his personal space. It appeared three times before, once at the airport, once near his apartment in Istanbul and at the Elderwood Conservancy, which meant whatever it was, it had followed him to Viola’s house. There was also the mysterious warning from the family grimoire. Dante wondered if the powerful aura had something to do with the warning.

He could only follow the matter when he was home.

Upstairs, Dante entered Zach’s room, his steps very quiet, and stood watching his son sleep for a moment. The boy had taken many of Viola’s features. There was not much of him on Zachary. Dante stepped forward and brushed a lock of hair away from Zach’s forehead. He pressed a kiss on smooth skin. Zach slept on, undisturbed.

Strange, but his children remained untouched by his bloodline’s gifts.

Dante knew they needed a warm, secure home, instead of entering his paranormal world at Artri House on the Island of Aretias, off the Turkish Coast.

“Zarardan korumak,” Dante murmured, a sliver of white dust falling from his fingers onto Zach’s chest, absorbing into his skin.

The protection spell would keep Zack from danger and ill intentions. It would also alert Dante if the boy were ever in real danger.

“I hope you understand me when you’re older,” Dante murmured into Zach’s ear, brushing his lips on the boy’s light hair.

Pulling the covers higher on Zach’s shoulders, Dante got up and left the boy’s room in silence.

He entered April’s room; he bit back a sigh when he heard her sharp intake of air. She was awake, lying still, pretending to be asleep. His daughter always saw and heard too much. A small lamp on her left bedside table was the only source of light.

Dante approached the bed and perched on the right side, arranging the messy covers around her. Her mink-black hair matched his. She was on a quest to grow it long. She tried her best to escape trimming but Viola was a persistent woman. At the start of summer, Viola got April into a salon that chopped her tresses to her shoulders.

April cried for a week at the loss.

Dante touched the beautiful, neat shoulder-length dark hair.

“April, you’re a beautiful girl,” Dante said, his voice low to keep from waking Viola and Zach. “Don’t ever doubt it. Your mamma loves you more than anything else in the world. She tries her hardest to make sure you look and have the best. She only wants you happy. Don’t be hard on her. I’m sorry for not being the father you need.”

April remained under the covers, not moving or reacting to his words.

Dante stroked her hair and murmured his protection spell, adding on a little bit of magic to let her hair grow faster, even when it was trimmed. He moved his hand away and April pushed back the covers, turning to him with panic in her eyes.

“Dad,” April said, her voice shaking, her eyes filled with tears.

Dante smiled at her.

“Why are you awake at this hour?” he asked, pressing his palm to her soft cheek.

Dante brushed away a tear with his thumb and looked into brown eyes that matched his own. April took most after him. She gave him no doubt that she was his daughter. It was sad she had not inherited his gifts. Then again, in the distant future, April would one day get a child. Her child may inherit his gifts.

Dante would need to make sure his mother prepared for such a happening, just as his grandfather did for him.

“You’re leaving us,” April said.

Dante stared at her for a moment and then nodded.

“I have to return to my home.”

“Why?” April asked. “Can’t you take us with you?”

“I can’t,” Dante said. “School will start soon, and your mamma needs you here.”

“Why can’t you stay?” April asked. “Dad, why do you have to leave us? Why can’t you stay with mamma? What if we never see you again?”

Dante bit his bottom lip wondering how to answer her questions without hurting her.

“I can’t stay because I’m not the right partner for your mamma,” Dante said. “She’s found someone who is good to her, and to you and Zach. I can promise to visit you in the summer or during the holidays. You will see me again, April.”

“Can we visit you?” April asked, her gaze hopeful.

“Yes, when your mother allows it,” Dante said with a nod. “You are welcome in my home, April.”

April studied him with bright brown eyes, a frown creasing her forehead, so he held her gaze until she relaxed in her bed.

“Can I call you?” April asked.

“Yes, as often as you want,” Dante said. “If I don’t answer, I’ll call you back. Okay?”

April gave him a quick smile.

“Make sure you send me postcards. Zach doesn’t care about those, but I want some. I like collecting them.”

Dante nodded.

“Alright, I promise to send postcards.”

April reached for his hand and held it tight.

“Can you stay until I fall asleep again?” she asked, this time her voice small, uncertain.

Dante leaned in to kiss her forehead. He arranged the covers around her shoulders with his free hand.

“I’ll sing you a song,” Dante said, and she smiled.

April held onto his hand as he hummed an old lullaby taught to him by his grandmother. The words forgotten, but the tune remained. April closed her eyes, and as Dante watched, she slipped into a deep sleep. She would wake up in the morning refreshed and ready to start another day.

Dante caressed her cheek, added to his protective spell, and let go of her hand.

Dante stepped out of April’s room and hurried to his own. His suitcase was already packed. He took a shower and dressed for his trip home. At five-thirty in the morning, he went downstairs. He found Viola making coffee in the kitchen. She was dressed in blue scrubs, ready for her shift at the hospital.

“Thank you,” Viola said, handing him a mug of coffee. “For signing the agreement without fuss, and the trusts for the kids.”

Dante sipped the coffee once and held on to the mug.

Viola liked making coffee, but she never realized he hated the drink. He preferred brewed tea.

“Are you heading to Istanbul?” Viola asked.

“Hm,” Dante said, placing the mug on the sink counter.

He went to the fridge and found a bottle of water. Cracking the seal, he drank half the water, as he watched Viola pack up lunch for the kids. She stole glances at him through the process.

Dante leaned on the counter next to the refrigerator and searched for what to say to her.

“I’m not mad at you anymore,” Viola said, saving him from starting a conversation. She zipped up the second lunch box and placed both on the kitchen table. “There was a time I looked at you and I wanted to scream at you, but that feeling is gone. You’re quite frustrating, Dante.”

“I’m sorry,” Dante said, capping the bottle of water. He stared at the white tiles on the floor, and then at his neat brown loafers.

The one person he had wronged in this world was Viola. There was a time his relationship with her was too strained at best. At its worst, they could not stand in the same compound, no matter how many hectares one added. His fault, Dante acknowledged with an open heart.

He met Viola during his rebellion period. They were both at university in New York. He was twenty-two, working on his master’s degree in archeology, and training under an unforgiving Arturo Grandmaster’s guidance. He met Viola on a trip to Italy, to see the ancient buildings and excavations. She was twenty-one, wild and happy.

Viola talked with passion in every pore. Dante chose to sink into her zest for life, for a time, in order to cope with the pressures of his life. He allowed Viola to fall in love with him while he felt nothing for her. He let her live the dream of becoming his wife. A dream he knew he could never fulfill for her.

Viola was beautiful, passionate, and driven, yet she did not move his heart. She could not touch his heart, no matter how many times she professed her love. For some reason, his heart remained frozen cold, untouched. He could not explain it any other way.

They tried to stay together after Zachary was born, renting an apartment in New York together. They lived in that two-bedroom apartment until April was born. Dante was rarely home for Viola and the children. He went off on digs on a quest he dared not explain to Viola.

Soon, the great collapse of the illusion he wove for Viola began. Viola’s tolerance of him ended, and the hollow love holding their unregistered family together dissipated, and vanished. Viola moved out of New York. Dante moved back to the family home in Turkey.

His betrayal broke Viola and she would not forgive him for a long time. He once offered to take their children, but she slapped him for the suggestion, insisting on taking care of her children on her own.

“Sorry does not fix anything,” Viola said in answer to his apology, her voice steady and strong. “You’ve said sorry to me more times than I care to count. We’re finally in a place we can have a conversation. Don’t ruin the balance by repeating a useless phrase. Dante, I don’t know what makes your heart so cold. My children and I could not warm it, no matter how much we tried. I hope you find something to break the ice in you open. Maybe it will turn you into a decent man.”

“You think I’m not decent?” Dante asked, lifting his head to look at Viola.

She stood in the middle of the kitchen. Her hands were at her waist, staring at him with pity in her eyes. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was held in a tight ponytail. A mask rested at her neck, a habit born of having to wear a mask constantly these past two years, and her job making it mandatory.

Viola sighed and shook her head.

“It’s shocking but after all these years of knowing you, I feel like I don’t know much about you, Dante. You’re no father, not a husband, or even a lover. You don’t fit words like decent, kind, understanding, or even loving. I sincerely cannot use these words to describe you.”

Dante absorbed her tirade, already used to the bursts of frustration from Viola. It seemed he made her feel angry on sight.

“What words would you use for me?” Dante asked, curious.

“One word, Dante. Cold,” Viola said without hesitation. “You are locked away behind a cold wall where no one can reach you. Not even my sweet April is able to break in. It’s a tragedy. I’m sorry we could not save you.”

Dante nodded and dumped his half-drunk bottle into the trashcan under the chopping counter. He straightened up and adjusted his blue suit jacket, buttoning it over his white dress shirt.

“If I stand here longer, we’ll descend to insults. We’ve said all we can say to each other,” Dante said. “You have my numbers and those of my lawyers. If you need anything, call or message me. I’ll leave you to your warm house. April mentioned wanting to visit me at Artri House. If she ever asks, give her permission, Viola.”

“Will your mother mistreat her the way she did me when I met her in New York?” Viola asked. “Like an outsider who does not belong.”

“April is my daughter,” Dante said. “She will always belong to Artri House. Give her permission when she’s ready to visit. My mother will welcome her with open arms.”

Viola stared at him in shock.

Dante gave her a farewell nod, then turned and left the kitchen. He got his luggage from where he left it by the stairs. Giving the second floor where his children slept, one last glance, he turned and left a house he no longer had the right to visit at will. He got into his rented car and drove to the airport eager to return home.

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