“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“You’re going to ask him about Adam, right?”
“Yes, sweetie.”
“Adam’s important. Make sure he knows that. I mean, I know Cara is, too . . . but, especially Adam.” Her big brown eyes searched mine anxiously. “Does that sound bad?”
“No, honey. Adam’s your friend. He means a lot to . . . ” I swallowed and fiddled with her covers. “You care about Cara and the baby, too. We both do.” My fingertips smoothed the worry lines from her forehead, and for a selfish moment I wished someone would do the same for me. “Try to get some sleep, angel.”
“You haven’t called me that in a long time.”
“Hmmm? Well, you know you always are, Leeni. You’re my very special angel.”
“Do you think Sal knows about them?”
That stumped me for a second. “Hadn’t thought about it . . . ?”
“If he does, maybe he knows why you don’t see them around me . . . ?”
I wrapped her up in a hug, squeezing tight. Why was she thinking about this now? “We’ve talked about this, sweetheart. You are an angel! That’s why. That’s the only reason why . . .
“Now go to sleep. And don’t try to stay awake and listen at the door!” She pulled back with her trademark smirk, but I hugged her to my chest again. “I promise to tell you everything.” Everything that a mother can. “No more secrets.” Unless they keep you safe.
She surprised me with a kiss on the cheek before letting go and twisting into a ball on her side.
“Sheets are scratchy.”
“Clean, though.”
“Yeah. Could be worse.”
I held in a dark laugh. Could be. “I’m going to dry my hair and then I’ll just be in the next room, okay?” I smoothed a stray curl from her cheek, “Sweet dreams, my angel.”
“ . . . ’kay . . . ” she mumbled, sleep already thickening her tongue.
✽✽✽
Angels? He stared at the wall between the rooms. The cat leapt to his bed and rubbed against his side, trying to finagle her way into his lap. Angels. He looked at the oral hygiene implements in his right hand, and the bundle of synthetic fibers in his left. Thousands of years ago, that word had been attributed to his kind. That word and others.
The device whirred again in the other room, and he could hear air moving amid the louder sound of a compact motor. It reminded him of the violence suppressed in her agitation. At her home, her fractal had leapt like a lithe animal in defense of its young—and even once she restrained her emotions, her wild fractals had still encircled him, stalking, looking for an opening to attack. He had not thought she would have such a fighting instinct.
What could she see? What could he tell her? He had made her a promise, and would honor the spirit of it; yet the specifics of how to do so escaped him. He was risking more than she could know—had already risked more than she would ever want to know—but there was a way. And he could palliate the resulting psychological effects.
But should he?
In the past, he and the others had often intervened where they should not, and the reciprocal punishments were justly meted and accepted. As if modulators were not effective enough deterrents. He flinched, instinctively bracing himself—yet still felt nothing. Were they damaged?
He set aside her tokens and stepped to the wall. Trailing his fingertips across the peeling paper, he traced the wiring he could sense behind it. With a practiced deftness, he directed the modulators to pulse, and in response the lamps turned on and off and the air conditioning unit roared to life.
And yet he could not activate rudimentary vehicles because he had never learned the proper timing and voltage required for sparks to ignite the fuel mixture in the combustion chamber. He had to rely on the vehicle’s computer to do it for him! Unacceptable. Humans could do it by rubbing two wires together! He had seen it many times on television.
His modulators seemed to be functioning, however. And although—like any creature—he preferred to avoid excessive discomfort, he was grateful that they functioned, for without them he was physically attached to this existence. There was nothing to be done about being psychologically attached. What was done could not be undone.
The cat yawned in disagreement.
“Not without pain,” he clarified.
✽✽✽
I dragged my brush through my frizzy hair with quick, harsh strokes. I’d indulged in an extra minute with the hairdryer and now I was worried. What if he had to leave before I could talk to him? Why did he have to leave? What were we supposed to do once he left?
Too many questions reflected back at me from the mirror, and I hurriedly braided my hair over one shoulder. It needed to be out of my face while I focused on reading his. He was going to lie to me; but what I didn’t know was whether it would be to protect his own secrets, or to protect Eileen and me from the truth.
After checking to make sure she was asleep, I slid quietly into Sal’s room. I didn’t bother knocking, and it wasn’t until later that I realized I hadn’t bothered to feel afraid, either.
The room was exactly as I’d left it. Chillier, maybe. He stood with his back to me, facing the one large window.
“Please come here?” His tone was somber and polite so I did as he asked, putting my own intentions on hold for the moment.
The heavy twill drapes were open, and the scene from the window was one of turbulence and distortion. Rain was striking the glass in shearing streams, but I could still make out the tossing pines surrounding the lot below. Two streetlamps illuminated the windspray as it ricocheted off the asphalt, and I hoped the ancient pecan tree could weather one more storm without snapping—but for all that, the winds were only hoarse whistles against the heavy plate glass. Sal must’ve been right.
We stood side by side for a moment, watching the torrential emptiness; and I wondered
