What I hadn’t voiced was the possibility that when Sal had gone back—or up, or wherever it was that he’d disappeared to—that the aliens had learned about my angels and had somehow taken them away. The idea sounded paranoid even in my own head, but how could I know? It worried me that Sal had even needed to research us. Even the phrase sounded disturbing, like we were from a weird throw-back culture or we carried a virus or something. Or like our DNA wasn’t normal. In the past few weeks I’d found myself thinking more and more about coincidences—and how rare they were. I’d seen Sal when I was seven, and my grandmother somehow knew of him—or his kind—before then, and on a planet with billions of people it seemed highly unlikely that Cara’s baby would be the first . . .
I stood, pulling my daughter up with me. “Shoo, child! Your mother needs to get dressed. How are the pancakes comin’?”
She passed me the mug. “Drink while it’s hot . . . ”
“Absolutely!” I took a cautious sip, and it was perfect—hot enough to clear my sinuses, and strong enough to make whiskey taste like sweet tea. “Good job!”
“Cool. I’ll go finish breakfast.” There was something impish about her smile, but before I could ask, she scampered out, closing my bedroom door behind her.
She had something else planned, then. My sweet kid. Dropping the towel to the floor, I sipped my coffee, eyeing the blouse warily. It waited for me like a miffed, long-ignored friend—the kind you hated to run into because the person they remembered didn’t exist anymore. It was a memento I’d picked up in Sedona, the eccentric little Arizona town that had been a stop on my cross-country trip after college. Back in the day, Sedona was a New Age Mecca and U.F.O. hot spot—perfect place to meet up with an extraterrestrial or run into a young woman claiming to be pregnant with an alien child; yet it was here, in Wilmington, North Carolina, where the strangest thing you expected to see was someone selling hot boiled peanuts from the back of their pickup, that I’d had a blind date with an alien and been left to console a mind-wiped friend.
I grabbed a pair of underwear and my comfy bra. Sooner or later, my thoughts always came back to Adam. And in the weeks since . . . everything . . . my thoughts had only become more complicated. I was starting to suspect that I might be a genuinely bad person. If my subconscious was any indicator—and hadn’t Freud and Jung pretty much covered that topic?—then I should be ashamed to even have Adam’s name cross my mind. Then again, if I was a bad person only in my nightmares, maybe I was punishing myself enough to balance things . . . ?
Not hardly. I yanked my jeans past my hips.
He’s just there, Lila. It’s not like you’re fantasizing hot sex.
It’s still wrong!
Great. Arguing with myself again. Joy, joy. Disrespectful and insane.
No, disrespectful didn’t cover it. Dreaming about Adam was embarrassing and disrespectful of his tragedy, but if he only randomly appeared in brain-jumbled story lines with Eileen or dogs or the house or something, it would be different. Or if I dreamed about helping him find Cara.
I tightened the belt, fluffed the shirt a bit, and finally faced the dresser mirror. Yep. Looked just as false as I felt. The woman in front of me was much younger and more interesting than I was. Her skin was pale but unlined, her damp auburn waves highlighted by white strands that hinted at a life well-lived.
Only her eyes were mine, filled with cyan shadows of sorrow and guilt. She knew that in my nightmares, in the dreams that were so real that waking was a struggle to reclaim my sanity, that it was usually Adam who saved me. In those harrowing dreams he was both the push and the pull that made me want to believe and convinced me that I was dreaming. In those dreams, he was mine. Had always been mine. Would always be mine.
So last night’s dream wasn’t so bad after all, huh?
My reflection’s mouth was taut, but she nodded.
But we’re pretty much assholes?
Another nod.
Thought so.
“Mom?”
“Coming!” I slurped the now-tepid coffee so I wouldn’t waste Eileen’s efforts and joined her.
She looked up from arranging place settings on the kitchen table. “You look really pretty, Mom!”
“You’re just saying that ‘cause it’s Mother’s Day.”
“Nah, I’m sayin’ it ‘cause I picked your outfit.”
“Nice.” I tipped my head toward the table. “What’s this? You hungry enough to need two plates?”
“Um . . . no . . . ”
Shit. I knew that look. “Eileen . . . !”
“But he’s lonely! And it’s Mother’s Day!”
“You didn’t!” But the rumble of his truck pulling into our driveway told me she had. “I swear to God, Eileen, you just can’t—”
“Shh! The door’s open!” she hissed.
“I mean it! You have no idea what—”
“Shh! He might hear you!” Her whisper was frantic. “You can thank me later.”
“Thank you?”
“Shhh! He’s been wanting to talk to you, but—”
“How do you know these things?”
She might have answered me, but by now Adam’s all-too-familiar body was silhouetted against the sunshine.
Company for Breakfast
“Hello, ladies!”
And here goes the ache in my chest.
“Hi, Adam.” I couldn’t quite meet his eyes as I opened the screen door. “She dared you to try her pancakes, huh?” My voice sounded light-hearted to me, but I felt Eileen’s glare smack my back before she pushed past me to grab his arm.
“Come in! We’ve missed you this week! Wanna see me flip a pancake?”
“You bet, but let me wish your mom a happy Mother’s Day, first.”
How could I not look
