The rest of the afternoon was quiet, with only the occasional customer, and I was grateful for the second day in a row of quality time with my favorite person.
✽✽✽
She was intrigued by the concept of parallel realities? That was unexpected.
The child’s chatter was not.
As he continued to listen through the shared wall, he found himself reluctant to leave. He needed to make his rounds through the hospital or to find a crowd to wander among. He needed to be listening for humans to make a mistake, to confess what a few had hidden so well; but instead he found himself staring at a display of grapevine wreaths and wondering at the woman’s silences and occasional interjections. Her parental affection was obvious as she indulged her loquacious child’s intellect—and propensity for drama. But what thoughts shaped her own mind?
He spun on his heel and stalked toward the door. Unacceptable.
“Were you hoping for a special arrangement?”
Surprised, he turned to the elderly woman standing beside the counter crafting bows from ribbon spooled around her ankles. She had not spoken previously, and this unprompted overture had him searching for an appropriate reply.
“I do not understand your question.” Insipid, but accurate.
She smiled, and her skin’s soft creases folded her face into an aged beauty, not unlike the full-blown sasanqua in the cut-glass bowl on the counter.
“I’ve been doing this for almost seventy years, honey. You have a woman on your mind, and you don’t know how to talk to her about what you’re feeling.” She made another loop with her dexterous, gnarled fingers, seemingly content to wait for him to admit that her assumption was correct.
Immediately, he focused his senses. She was not generating fractals, but her physique and visible aging were within the normal parameters. Intermingled with greenery and blossoms, her scent hinted at a typical American diet laden with sugars. Her words were . . . Insightful. Aggravating. Presumptuous. Accurate. The descriptors flooded his mind while another bow was formed and dropped in the basket at her feet.
Just an outspoken human elder.
“You are mistaken.”
He exited before she could respond, but that did not dissuade her.
“I’m afraid I’m not.” She spoke quietly, as if to herself, but her voice reached his ears as clearly as if he were still in her presence.
His long strides had already taken him three paces from the flower shop. Ten from the apparel store. Not acceptable. Not acceptable. Not acceptable. Not . . . His mind looped the words like the woman’s ribbon, over and back, twist and repeat, while he walked the streets, waited at the bus stop, and rode amid the weary humans. The echoing voices of the crowded shopping mall finally supplanted them, and he lowered himself onto a bench near the triple-tiered carousel.
✽✽✽
This was a mistake. Driving through SaltWynds with an oversized visitor’s pass dangling from my rearview mirror seemed stupid, like a spy cursing in the wrong language behind enemy lines. Of course, that thought in and of itself was stupid, because these rolling, landscaped lawns and tastefully excessive houses wouldn’t look like enemy territory to anyone else.
And it’s nighttime, dummy. No one can even see the pass. Relax.
But relaxing just wasn’t possible right now, no matter how condescendingly logical my subconscious wanted to be.
The fact that Maureen and Phil lived in the most exclusive gated community in Wilmington was no surprise. And the fact that I’d never been to their house was no surprise, given the whole lack-of-human-interaction-thing I was still exploring. What was a surprise was that it was eight o’clock on a Friday night, and—until I’d been interrogated at the gatehouse—I’d actually been looking forward to the party. The security guard hadn’t liked the looks of my truck much, and I’d had to pull out my ID to convince him that I was the same Lila Givens as on the guest list.
Once I’d allowed Maureen to coerce me on Wednesday, and seen how cheerful my cooperation made her, I’d spent the rest of that day and the next getting used to the idea. By Friday morning, with her so chipper at the shop, talking about what she was going to wear and the Japanese lanterns she’d hung in the yard, I’d realized I was happy to be part of something fun. She made it seem fun. The guard, however? Not so much.
Now I felt out of place and fake, overdressed and uncomfortable. I’d made the extra effort to twist my hair into sections as it was drying, and now it hung in tousled ringlets down my back. I’d even put on mascara and painted a redder lip than my normal nude gloss. Wearing the velvet top and heels just added to the effect. What a poseur I was. I didn’t belong here; I belonged alone, with my books, waiting for Saturday morning so I could pick up Eileen from her retreat.
She’d eventually figured out Maureen’s scheme and had caught me off-guard on the way to school Thursday morning.
“So there’ll be men at this party?” she’d asked at the last stoplight.
“Um, yeah . . . Phil’s a man, sweetie. Hadn’t you noticed?”
She’d snorted at my pathetic attempt to feign ignorance. “You know what I mean, Mother.”
Mother? I’d barely suppressed my own snort. I felt like I was about to get a lecture on boy-girl parties from my grandmother.
“No, Eileen, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Mother is old, dear. Don’t addle her brain any more than it already is.”
“Mom, come on. That’s what you’re worried about, right? Maureen’s trying to set you up with a guy.”
I’d sighed and given up. “Yep.”
“Well, maybe you should give him a chance. If you like him, I mean. I wouldn’t mind.” We’d been pulling up to school by then, and with a
