Waking the Moon

“You know, the weather’s been so horrible this summer that if D.C. had been a factory, OSHA would have shut it down.”

Annie nodded. “Yeah. But it’s not the heat. It’s the humidity.” She stepped up behind me and put her hand on my shoulder. “Sweeney. Listen to me—

“I’m glad for you, about Dylan. You deserve to be happy, Sweeney, you really do. I know we didn’t know each other that well, and it was so long ago, but—you mattered to me anyway. You matter to me now.”

“Even if I slept with Angelica that once?”

She grinned wryly. “Probably especially since you slept with Angelica. You mattered, and Baby Joe of course, and poor Hasel. Even Oliver… I guess what really used to bother me about Oliver, and about Angelica and that guy Francis, about all of them with their secret society or whatever the hell it is, was that even if they seemed to be like us—you know, just kids in college getting high or whatever—well, they weren’t. They could just do whatever they wanted and not get caught, not get hurt or anything. People like Lisa, or you—they just threw you away,” she said bitterly. “The rest of them, though, they were always working with a net. No matter what they did up there, if they fell, somebody would catch them.”

“Oliver fell, Annie,” I whispered. “Oliver fell, and nobody caught him.”

An odd look crossed her face and I thought she was going to tell me something, something about Oliver, but the moment passed.

“Well, Dylan sounds like a prize, at any rate. I guess if you get ‘em that young, they’re easier to train, huh?”

I couldn’t keep from grinning. “Guess so.”

“And if you love him—well, that’s great, Sweeney. It’s hard to find someone, to find anyone, and I hope it works out for you. I mean it.”

Then, surprisingly, she took my chin in her hand. She turned my head, until I was looking down into her dark eyes. “But Sweeney—I came here because I was scared—for you, and me. And for Baby Joe, though it’s too late for him—”

I swallowed. “And now?” I asked.

Annie tilted her head toward the soft darkness occluding the garden, the velvety chiaroscuro of leaves and brick and the first faint threads of lightning, like cracks in a lovely old fresco. “Now I’m scared worse than before.”

“Because of Dylan?”

She nodded. Her gaze remained fixed on the sky, but her husky voice trembled. “And you, Sweeney. Especially you…

“Because if something really has happened to Angelica—if all this somehow means something—if she’s turned herself into some kind of a, a goddess, or demon, or whatever the hell she is—well, what does that make Dylan?”

She turned and stared at me, her eyes emptied of anything but fear. “And Sweeney?—

“What does that make you?”

Dylan came home not long after that. He seemed quieter than usual, but I was too drained really to pay attention.

“Hey, Dylan, I’d like to hang with you some tomorrow. Maybe after work, okay?” Annie croaked as she came out of the shower. She walked over to the couch in her soaked T-shirt, leaving puddles on the slate floor. “I’m just too beat now to appreciate how wonderful you are. I think I’m gonna crash. That okay with you, Sweeney?”

“Sure.” I leaned against Dylan, sighing, and he kneaded my shoulders. “I’m exhausted. You ready to turn in, kiddo?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

We said good night to Annie, then crept up the creaking stairs to the tiny bedroom. We fell asleep immediately, despite the ungodly heat. Just before dawn we woke tangled in one another’s arms, the sheets beneath us soft and damp as new green leaves, and made love without a sound, so as not to disturb Annie.

“Happy birthday, Dylan,” I murmured, letting my fingers catch in his damp hair. I kissed him, my tongue lingering on his mouth so I could taste him, all sweat and my own salt honey. “Nineteen: it’s all downhill from here.”

Afterward we showered and dressed quickly. I left a note for Annie, telling her to call me at work so we could arrange to meet later. Just as the sun was rising, Dylan and I left for the museum. We stopped for bagels and iced coffee, then walked down Pennsylvania Avenue together. There were already a surprising number of joggers out on the Capitol grounds, like us trying to beat the heat, but it was hopeless. By seven-thirty the sky was the color of a spoiled egg yolk. An unbroken mass of clouds stretched from above the Hill out past the Tidal Basin, dark lowering clouds that seemed low enough to snag upon the drab blade of the Washington Monument. The air smelled awful, like kerosene and rotting vegetation. Inside the museum it wasn’t much better. The air-conditioning was working fitfully, so it was cooler than outside, but even the upstairs curatorial wing reeked of a million sweaty tourists and greasy fast-food from the cafeteria.

“Listen,” Dylan said, leaning into the door of my office. “I really need to finish up that Kroeber stuff today. So maybe you and your friend should just meet for lunch, and then you and me can leave early.”

“Sounds good.”

“You remember the champagne?”

“I remembered the champagne.”

“So I’ll come by around four, how’s that?”

I stood on tiptoe to kiss his chin. “Sounds great. Later.”

“Ciao, baby.”

A few minutes after he left Annie called.

“I think I might just crash here today,” she said. I could hear her gulping coffee. “If that’s okay with you. It’s so hot, and I’m kinda into keeping a low profile right now, if you know what I mean. I figured I’d sit out in the garden later. At least it looks cool there.”

“Sure. Uh, listen, Annie—today’s Dylan’s birthday, and we had sort of planned an evening together—”

“Oops.” A clink as her coffee mug knocked into the phone. “Say no more. I’ll find something to do. Check out a movie. Maybe The Sorrow and the Pity’s playing at the Biograph.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Heck no.”

“Thanks, Annie,” I said, relieved. “I feel bad, but we had this all planned and—”

“Like, no problemo, Sweeney.”

“Okay. We should be home by four-thirty or so. I’ll give you a key and you can just let yourself in, then maybe tomorrow we can—”

Annie cut me off. “Sweeney?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Right. Later, Annie.”

The problem was, I didn’t have work to do. Because of the terrible weather and air quality both inside and out, the museum had put its Liberal Leave policy into effect; the place was almost deserted. With the Aditi gone, I couldn’t even kill a few hours with some Pink Pelican, and I knew Dylan had been feeling guilty about not getting the Kroeber project wrapped up before now.

I really wished I could just go back home. But Annie was there, and Annie’s arrival had me on edge. Everything had me on edge. I felt the way I did when Oliver and I used to drop acid: the same queasy mixture of terror and exhilaration, compounded when the drug started to kick in and everything got a little blurry around the edges. Only now it was a combination of not enough sleep, too much alcohol, too much heat, and far too many ghosts popping up. Like the end of a Restoration comedy, when all at once everyone shows up onstage, fools and diviners and soldiers and lovers and cuckolds, until you wonder whether the whole rickety platform will just collapse beneath them.

I wandered out into the corridor. Laurie wasn’t at her desk, and I figured she’d probably just left early for