And that was a problem.
When he had revisited the store the preceding afternoon, the other female, Maureen, had willingly discussed her employee, displaying none of the reticence that he had expected. The man whom she introduced as her husband was similarly helpful—but not the third man, the one Lilith Ann was speaking with now.
Around this man, Lilith Ann projected none of the angry fretfulness that she directed to himself. And as she was leaving yesterday, she had smiled at him. Why?
For the past twenty hours, his mind had compulsively ruminated on that one joyful expression. Even when his body slept, memories of that moment had invaded his dual-time—so much so that he had been questioned about it. More vexing still, he was not at all certain that he had manufactured a satisfactory explanation for why a human had permeated his thoughts. Which was another problem. He could not achieve his task if he called undue attention to his motivations—much less to his actions.
He had concluded that her show of happiness was merely an expressed predilection for the adam’s social customs, yet she had not responded in a similar manner at the coffee shop. The only practical reason that this mattered, was that she would be more forthcoming if she felt bliss in his own presence—yet if that was indeed his goal, he knew there was a more direct and timely method than psychological manipulation.
After the last time, though, he was loath to utilize it.
The adam was still watching her. Did he know . . . ? No, apparently not. Although the question had to travel through physical barriers and across a noisy street to reach his own ears, it was still audible. The adam’s inflection was kind, and she hesitated before lying.
Irritated, he sharpened his focus as she retreated to the back of the store. What was her connection to that man? A rush of intense heat flooded his chest and arms, and he reached for the water the timid waiter had left in lieu of a menu.
Ice rattled in the glass. She had generated a fractal. One, two, three, four, five, six . . . Surprised, he stopped counting and watched as it followed the adam out of the store and down the street. When the man turned right at the intersection, it seemed disconcerted and looked back towards where it had originated before disappearing.
The glass strained under the pressure of his fingers, and he placed the now tepid water back on the table.
Too Much Input and Not Enough Info
Another day had flown by, and I’d been surprised to spend most of it chatting with Maureen about her party. She seemed to enjoy my company, too, because she stayed all day and ordered lunch in with me. And as a bonus, her presence kept me from fretting over my awkward interactions with Mr. Olympian and Adam. In fact, the more I thought about it, it would be nice to spend an evening with adults. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d been able to talk about politics, or a scientific theory I’d read about—or even to listen to good music—with anyone other than my daughter. Then again, these were Maureen’s friends. And Phil’s . . . but still . . .
Ugh. Snobby much?
Right. What I should do is pay attention and learn from her. Maureen’s personality was so light and uncomplicated that she could easily weave herself in among other people—not a compliment anyone would ever pay to me.
It really was a quick day, and in no time I was picking up Eileen from school and bringing her back to the shop. Maureen left soon after so she could go inspect the day’s work at the new location, but as she was walking out, I reminded her I’d be more than happy to bring an hors d'oeuvre or something. For the third time, she said she was fine, so I let it drop. Not like I had experience, but I wouldn’t have thought throwing together a party was as easy as she was making it out to be.
Damn. I’d forgotten to ask her about the guy she wanted me to meet. Then again, maybe the less I knew, the better.
“What is it, Mom?” Eileen looked up from her perch behind the counter, one hand still in her backpack.
“Nothing, sweetie. Forgot to ask Maureen something.”
“About the party?”
“Yeah, no biggie.”
Eileen studied me for a second, then pointed. “What happened?”
I followed the line of her finger to where the tilted ladder was visible above the curtains. “Nothing. Track came loose.” She squinted at me, and I felt my cheeks warm. Reaching over, I grabbed a book from her bag. “What’re you reading?” My eyes widened at the spooky, moonlit mansion on the cover. “Poe? Isn’t that a little dark for eighth grade?”
“Whatever, Mom. Ms. Livingston’s class just finished reading Anthem . . . ” She flashed me a look.
Oh, right. Thirteen. My bad. “Wait. Ayn Rand’s Anthem?”
“Yeah. Callie told me that the government lines people up and pairs them off to have sex. Randomly. That’s so gross! Way grosser than some dead guy’s heart beating under a floor.”
Point taken. “Okay, Leeni. Nerd knowledge time. Did you know that Edgar Allan Poe was an amateur astronomer?”
“He wrote horror-scopes?”
My kid cracked me up. “Clever, my little punster, but no. An astronomer. I read that Poe was the first person to explain why the night sky was black, instead of white from the light of all the stars.”
“That’s cool. Why?”
I’d fallen into that one. “Um . . . I think it boiled down to the universe being so big that light from the farthest stars hasn’t had time to reach us yet. Those are the black spaces. I was more interested in getting to the part about whether the author thought multiverses could exist.”
“Ohhhh . . . ” She rolled her eyes so dramatically that her head followed. “That book on your nightstand. Do you really think that stuff is possible?”
“Sure.”
