“Red crow, red crow,” she whispered. “Fly inside me.”
She cocked her head to one side and listened, but the only wings out tonight were those of bats catching the last few bugs of the season. She doubted that they had any more interest in her than stupid old Alan did. And she knew why. It was because she wasn’t
“Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it,” she chanted, her voice a husky whisper, hands clasped around her knees as she rocked back and forth on the fire-escape steps.
“Don’t say what?” a voice asked from below.
Cosette stopped rocking to frown at the dark-haired young man she could see standing below her.
The shadow of the fire escape made a strange pattern across his features.
“What are you doing here?” she wanted to know.
He shrugged. “I could say I was just passing by and happened to see you sitting there.”
“Did you?”
“Or I could say I followed you here.”
“Why would you want to follow me?”
“I didn’t say I was.”
Cosette laughed. She rose to her feet and ghosted her way down the fire escape, her new shoes silent on the metal steps. She paused when she could sit with her head at the same level as his.
“But you’re here all the same,” she said.
“What were you doing?”
Cosette shrugged. She glanced back up to where light spilled from the kitchen window out onto the landing of the fire escape. Inside, Alan’s girlfriend was probably laughing while Alan told her about the strange visitor he’d had on the island this morning. Maybe they were taking their clothes off and touching each other. Maybe Alan was lying with his head upon his girlfriend’s breast, listening to the red crow beat its wings inside her.
“Somebody gave me new shoes and a sweater today,” she said. “For no reason at all. Just for being me. I think the woman liked me.”
“Maybe. But she probably wanted something from you.”
“Do you think so?”
He nodded. “They always want something from us. If not today, then tomorrow. It’s just the way they are. Everything they do relates to commerce.”
“What do
“To see you again. To remind myself that I’m not alone.”
“What makes you think you’re not?”
He looked away from her, down the street. A cab went down its long empty length, but the light of its headbeams never reached far enough across the darkened lawn to touch them.
“That was unkind,” he said when he finally turned back to her.
Cosette gave him another shrug. “You make me nervous when you start answering questions. The things you say make me feel bad. You always make Paddyjack cry.”
“I only tell the truth.”
Cosette cupped her chin with the palm of her hand, propped her elbow on her knee and studied him for a long moment.
“Rosalind says truth is like a ghost,” she said. “Nobody sees it quite the same.”
He met her gaze, but said nothing.
“And the reason you’re alone,” Cosette added, “is because you want it that way.”
“Is that what you think?”
“It’s what you told Paddyjack and he told me.”
“Paddyjack’s like a big puppy. He was always following me around until I had to tell him I wanted to be alone. I didn’t want him to get hurt and that could easily happen to him in the places I go.”
“But you hardly ever come by to say hello.”
“I’m here now.”
Cosette smiled. “But not because of me. You want to know about Isabelle. You want to know why she’s come back to the city. You know it’s not to visit, but you don’t know why, do you?”
“I’ll admit that I’m curious.”
“You see?” Cosette said, the disappointment plain in her voice. “You’re the one who wants something. You’re the one who makes everything into an object of commerce.”
“I never said I was perfect.”
“But you always pretended to be so happy.”
“I didn’t always pretend. I was happy once—but that was a long time ago.”
“Here’s a riddle for you,” Cosette said. “If love is such sweet sorrow, then why is it that people pursue it the way that they do?”
Before he could reply she closed her eyes and called up the painting of
“It’s because usually we don’t know any better,” the dark-haired young man said to the empty fire escape where she’d been sitting. “And even when we do, we can’t stop ourselves.”
What was that?” Alan said, turning toward the kitchen window. “What was what?”
“I thought I heard something out there.”
He rose from his chair and looked out the window, but between the darkness outside and the glare from the kitchen window, he couldn’t see anything beyond the fire escape.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Marisa said.
“I suppose it was just a cat or something.”
But he sounded doubtful and stayed by the window, gaze fixed on something that Marisa realized only he could see. There was something terribly for-lorn about the way he was standing. She wanted to get up and go over to comfort him, but she remained at the table, hands on her lap, fingers entwined.
“Some nights,” he said, “I feel as though there are ghosts out there—not just of people who have died, but of the people we used to be. The people we might have been.” He turned to look at her. “Do you ever think about things like that?”
“I guess so. Not that they’re ghosts or anything, but I think about the past and the choices I made.
And what might have happened if I’d chosen differently.”
Alan returned to sit at the table. He toyed with his empty mug. “Is marrying George something you wouldn’t have done if you were given the choice?”
Marisa shook her head. “If I hadn’t married George, I’d never have moved to Newford and met you.”
She watched him as she spoke, expecting to see him flinch, or withdraw behind his shell again.
Instead he reached across the table and took her hand. She knew he wasn’t promising her anything by the gesture. They were comforting each other, that was all, and for now it was enough.
Isabelle awoke to find Rubens kneading the pillow by her head his face pressed up close to hers, whiskers tickling her cheek. She turned slightly to see that Jilly was still asleep on the other side of the Murphy bed, before she pulled a hand out from under the comforter to give him a pat. The motor deep in his chest immediately started up.
“I know, I know,” she whispered to him. “You want to go out, but you can’t.”
When she didn’t get up, he butted his head up against the side of her face. “We’re not at home anymore,” she explained patiently, as though he could understand.
After a while, he trod daintily down to the end of the bed and lay down. She had to get up, just so she could get away from the reproachful look on his face. Once she was washed and dressed, she decided to forgo having breakfast here. She and Jilly had stayed up later than planned last night, just talking, catching up on gossip and each other’s news, so she was going to let Jilly sleep in.
