or grief. She was the good hostess, the very incarnation of hostessness. Then she went outside for some air. Some air, she thought cheerfully, and a cigarette.
Without her, it wouldn’t have been much of a party. The wounds were still too fresh, too many faces still absent. A few weeks weren’t enough time to adjust. However, they all needed some kind of release, some kind of acknowledgement, before they could go back to the real world, to their lives and responsibilities. Rebecca quietly removed the inhibitions that might have made this the kind of party where people drink heavily and grimly. By the time she made it outside the small dance floor was in use, the pool tables crowded, the conversation boisterous. She wondered idly how many people would get laid tonight because of her, and then she wondered bitterly why she was never one of them.
The restaurant had a small patio surrounded by a larger gravel-lined outdoor area, and it was far less crowded than the inside of the place had been. She nodded at a few people, glanced around at the little knots of smokers and conversation, and then she noticed him, standing on the other side of the gravel walkway, by the fence, at just the right angle so he could see in through the back window of the bar. He was so engrossed by whatever he was watching that he did not even notice her walk up next to him.
“You have a pretty good view of the dance floor from here,” Rebecca observed, lighting up her cigarette with satisfaction. Alex almost dumped the beer he was holding all over the ground in front of him.
“Don’t do that,” Alex said, glaring as if she had snuck up on him. “My nerves are fucking shot. I swear, after this last break, I think I need another vacation — hey, wait a minute. You are wearing a dress,” he said, looking her up and down, maybe a little shamelessly, before glancing back at the window. “You never wear dresses. It looks really good on you.”
In fact, she was wearing a grey skirt and top that matched so perfectly that they resembled a dress, but she was pleased with the compliment nonetheless. Sometimes, she thought, blowing smoke at the stars that should have been there, on the other side of the fog, it was easy to understand what Eerie saw in Alex. No one else had commented on her outfit. Moreover, he was always honest, so if he said it looked good, then it did.
“She’s a good dancer,” Rebecca remarked a moment later, stealing Alex’s beer when she realized that he was not actually drinking it.
“Yeah,” Alex said, obviously unaware of how much longing flitted briefly across his face at that moment. Rebecca winced at the thick, cloying sweetness of the porter he was drinking and gave it back to him. “Yeah, she is.”
Rebecca waited a little while longer, sensing that he had more to say. She was not disappointed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, turning to her abruptly, “I guess I’m being kinda creepy, just staring, right?”
“It could be,” Rebecca said, nodding. “It probably would be, if she didn’t know you were watching her.”
Alex actually jumped back, as if he was being attacked, and Rebecca was lost to a fit of giggling. He just stood there, trying to decide whether he was going to be embarrassed, angry, or amused.
“You can tell? Is that because you are an empath?”
Rebecca laughed again.
“Because I am a woman. It’s an instinctive thing. Also, she keeps looking over here. You just aren’t watching her eyes, per se.”
“I don’t even have a chance, right? She hates me, and I don’t blame her. I mean, there is no reason for me to go talk to her or anything. Because she hates me.”
“She buried one of the only people who she cared for not long ago,” Rebecca said tiredly. “It is unbecoming to make this about you.”
Alex looked aghast, and then, nodded slowly, in that way that he did every time he was confronted with a basic social lesson that he had somehow never received: confusion, followed by acceptance. Like it was all news to him, but he still deserved credit for trying.
“Sorry,” Alex said guiltily. “I have this tendency…”
“I know,” Rebecca said, internally forgiving him. “Don’t worry about it. Now stop being such a wimp, and go dance with her.”
“I don’t dance,” Alex said, shaking his head. “This is one of the many crippling obstacles to our getting along. I should go home now.”
“Oh, please,” Rebecca said, rolling her eyes as she pitched her cigarette onto the gravel. “If you are trying to reverse psychology me into giving you the courage to go talk to the girl you like, you are shit out of luck.”
Alex scuffed at the gravel with his sneaker and looked dejected.
“It would be great if you…”
“Fight your own battles, kid,” Rebecca said, smiling indulgently. “Besides, I thought you were through with letting empaths manipulate you.”
Alex looked at her in surprise, and then shook his head again.
“I’ll never get used to telepathy,” he said, sounding very down about it, for some reason. “I thought you weren’t that good at it, though.”
“Alistair locked me inside my head for weeks,” she said, shrugging and reaching for her cigarettes. “I had a lot of time to practice. Stop changing the subject. Go talk to Eerie. Work out whatever it is that is wrong between the two of you. I am tired of watching you mope, and she needs someone to comfort her. If you can fight Weir, you should be able to go talk to a girl.”
Alex looked over for pity, but she just motioned for him to go.
“This seems harder,” Alex said morosely, heading in through the door, holding his beer like a protective charm, clutched to his chest.
Rebecca smiled to herself, a brittle, somewhat happy smile, and lit another cigarette. She watched them while she smoked, looking through the same window that Alex had been using to watch Eerie dance. She did not acknowledge the woman who leaned up against the fence beside her, but she did take the beer that she offered. She was polite enough not to say anything until Rebecca finished her cigarette.
“If I watch them be all cutesy anymore, I’m going to be sick,” Alice declared, absently peeling the label from her empty beer bottle. “You being everyone’s fairy godmother this evening?”
Rebecca laughed, and it was a genuine laugh. It felt good, the first thing that had, really, since the series of funerals.
“Just trying to fix the things that got screwed up while I was out of commission. You know,” Rebecca said thoughtfully, “I was stupid to think I could do both jobs. Stupid to think that I could just go out into the field every now and then, to keep my hand in, and not get somebody killed. Stupid to think that I could keep this place running, only working part-time.”
“You are a terror out there,” Alice said fondly. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to give it up. Personally, I’ll never be able to walk away.”
“I might not have been able to see through Alistair,” Rebecca said softly, “because he was always a clever bastard. However, there is no way that a teenage girl should have been able to pull one over on me the way Emily did. None of that should have happened, and it wouldn’t have, if I had been watching closer.”
Alice put her arm around Rebecca, and Rebecca leaned her tired head on Alice’s shoulder. She smelled like the vanilla lotion that she had been using for years, and Rebecca found it profoundly comforting that she had started again. Rebecca was glad she had secretly stocked some in Alice’s bathroom.
“One good thing about forgetting everything — you learn, pretty fast, that there’s no point in regrets. Once something's done, there is no going back. That’s it,” Alice said quietly. “Nothing can be changed. All that’s left, really, is whatever you do now.”
Rebecca straightened up and laughed again.
“That was almost profound,” Rebecca teased. “And what about you, Miss No Regrets? You wouldn’t be hovering around because of who is working the grill this evening, would you?”
Alice look embarrassed, and Rebecca felt bad for her. She could not even imagine how strange and difficult this situation was for her.
“I read about it, you know,” Alice said morosely. “All about us. All the things we did together, when it was good, and then all the things we did to each other, once it went bad. I know Michael and I have a history. I know we are supposed to hate each other, and I know why, because I read about it. But, when I look at him, I don’t feel any of that. All that stuff, the good and the bad, it all feels like it happened to somebody else. When I look at him, I don’t see my ex. I don’t remember the fights. I just see a man that I cannot help but want. Thinking about him
