He turned his hands upwards in his lap and watched his palms redden with the heat rising in his body. Surely not.
But if she is . . . ?
No. He scrubbed his hands across his thighs. These ruminations were pointless. The one decision had been made long ago, and now he was committed to executing the remaining steps.
Objectively, it was possible that she was a mistake, but it was unlikely. It would have been difficult for her to have lived in anonymity this long. Then again, she was not unknown to him . . . and so perhaps others knew as well.
The lilting cadence of youthful voices and laughter spilled from a side street, and he turned his head to watch a group of children rush over to one of the fountains. Two adults kept them corralled, and a third was attempting to convey historical facts, with animated gestures and descriptions of river trade and wartime fleets, but the young ones only wanted to splash each other.
Their fractals were capricious, and so joyful that he felt his lips stretch. Glimmering shapes pointed at clouds, raced around the fountain, or spun in circles with arms flung wide and free, their tiny, shimmering faces turned up to the sun.
A female child had noticed him. Thinner than the rest, she blinked from beneath unruly black hair, staring openly. Her fractals reflected and disappeared so quickly that even his eyes weren’t able to qualify their movements. None of the other children paid him any attention, though, and eventually the child lost interest and allowed herself to be distracted by a classmate.
With a heavy sigh, he rose from the bench.
✽✽✽
My ridiculous morning had finally ended. After Maureen’s last round of hysterics, that is.
“Oh, my God, Lila! You don’t seem to get it! You could’ve broken your neck!”
“It’s not like I was trying! We’ve both used that ladder for months, and—”
“He saved your life!”
“Oh, pl—”
“You should’ve offered to take him to dinner!”
“Fat chance of—”
“What about Eileen? You have to be more careful!”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “When we get the ladder fixed, we’ll move the heavy boxes to the lowest shelf.” Opening my eyes again, I was surprised to see hers were a little red. “You’re right. We should both be careful.”
She sniffed. “Fine. There are better ways to thank him than dinner, anyway.”
I shook my head and turned toward the rattle of bamboo, but as I greeted the next customer, I couldn’t help but remember that odd little feeling in my stomach.
We were fairly busy for the next hour with regulars stopping in to see the spring collections and to chat about the new location; but by one o’clock we’d had a lull, so Maureen had gone off to meet her husband for a late lunch. At last, I was completely and blissfully alone.
A blue spark zig-zagged in my peripheral vision as I sank onto the stool behind the counter. Mostly alone.
Propping my elbows on either side of the computer, I let my head droop against the screen and cupped my hands around the back of my neck. In the absence of shoppers and Maureen’s chatter, fatigue meandered through its familiar haunts and squatted in my spine, settling in for a long visit. The pressure in my bones was almost welcome—like a heavy blanket encouraging me to play hooky for the day—but my skull was another matter.
Working my fingertips from my neck up into my hair, I kneaded and rubbed. Eileen. I’d leave to pick her up from school soon. Usually I brought her back to the shop while I worked until five, but I’d been such a lousy mom lately—
Lately? Try this year.
My shoulders started to ache, but I couldn’t make myself sit up. Maureen’s jab had struck deeper than she’d intended. What about Eileen? My child had no choice but to rely on me, and I was barely going through the motions these days. How long had it been since I’d let her have a fun afternoon? Or made her pancakes for breakfast? Had I signed the permission slip she’d left out for me last night? I couldn’t even remember what she was wearing today.
Shamed by my own admission, I turned my face. Sunlight was streaming across the lacquered countertop, highlighting the morning’s accumulation of fingerprint streaks. She shouldn’t have to be cooped up in here this afternoon. I usually gave Maureen more notice if I planned on leaving early for the day, but I doubted she’d mind. Besides, she owed me after her nonsense this morning. And if I left early, I could shop for groceries, and maybe cook Eileen a real dinner.
The screen brightened, and I straightened. My forehead had opened the browser. A red news alert was scrolling across the home page, but I closed the window with a swipe. Another politician and another scandal. No doubt the details would be fascinating and convoluted—and add more fuel to some of my favorite conspiracy theories—but after last year, I was consciously ignoring “news” more than I was absorbing it.
The recent global recession—and all the finger-pointing that had gone with it—had nearly invoked a world-wide socio-political crisis. And that was just one dish in the buffet of apocalyptic scenarios. There were the usual religious prophecies and environmental disasters, plus freakish weather, solar flares, mass animal die-offs, disease, and of course war, hate, and more war. Even an increase in UFO sightings. Zealots embraced their inner terrorist, survivalists stockpiled weapons and food, and almost everyone else just froze like deer in headlights and waited.
I could never quite make up my mind what I believed, and my sparkly friends weren’t very forthcoming, so I’d done what any parent would do. I’d hugged my kid more than usual and kept our conversations focused on what could be learned, instead of feared. Luckily, by Christmastime, the media conglomerates stopped putting an end-of-the-world spin to every story; and, whether by coincidence or design, the New Year began with a shared sense
