Daughters of Men: Chapter 4
Perspective
A closet psychic, a genius tween, a mysterious young man…and four generations of secrets.
This paranormal-meets-science-fiction novel is Book 1 in the Daughters series. Paid subscribers have access to the entire book.
Perspective
“Where have you been?!” Maureen’s impatience was at least one octave too high.
“I spilled coffee on someone.” My own tone was defensive. The shop didn’t even open until—
“Okay, whatever!” Dismissing a stranger’s ruined morning, she switched into the hyper-Maureen mode that made me wish I’d had time to caffeinate. “I’ve been here since eight because I’m having a party Friday night and you’re coming!”
“What?” Not at all the direction I’d thought we were going in.
“Promise me!” she commanded. “Promise now. That you’re coming on Friday.”
Like that wasn’t suspicious. I crammed my purse into its cubby and gulped a swig of latte. Clearly she was up to something, and clearly, I would consider it unpleasant once I knew her plan.
“And don’t try to use Eileen as an excuse! She’ll be at that hug-fest-lock-down thing.” She shook a piece of paper at me, and I recognized the school calendar that was usually crumpled behind my purse. She’d come in early to prepare her argument!
“Hey, now, it’s not like that,” I stalled. “It’s really great. The eighth graders all bunk down in the gym, and the teachers lead them through team-building exercises, and—”
“I don’t care! You don’t have to play mom, and you’re coming to my party. Now promise.”
“Geez, Maureen. Pushy much?” I hoped to tease her into backing off, but the look on her face told me the usual ploys weren’t going to work this morning. “Why are you having a party? And why do you even want me there? You know I’m not social.”
“You are social! You’re more than happy to chat with customers, and…” she evaluated my one raised eyebrow and hurried on. “Okay, so you aren’t good with more than a couple of people at a time. I totally get that. But it’s not that kind of party. It’s just a few people!”
“Like who?”
“Just friends. You’ve met Adam; and his wife, Cara, will be there.”
I sighed before I could stop myself. “All couples, then?”
“No. Well, mostly, but that’s just because Phil and I are friends with the same… Look. You have to come. Just suck it up and promise.”
“You’re trying to set me up with somebody again.”
“I thought we’d established you get in your own way and I should handle this.” She ventured a superior smile, and I rolled my eyes.
“Yeah, thanks, by the way. Really nice of you to talk about me in front of Phil and his friend.”
“Oh, whatever. Phil’s known you longer than me, and Adam…you really missed the boat with him. He’s perfect for you.”
“That’s just disturbing. He’s married and expecting a child! Your generation is warped. What if someone said that about Phil?”
“Stop trying to pick a fight, Lila.”
Oh my God. She was exactly like a kid sister. “Isn’t it time to open? Or are you becoming a full-time matchmaker now?”
“Fine. You don’t have to promise me. I’ll get Phil to call you.”
What the hell? We both knew that with one phone call Phil could tease me into going, so that wasn’t even fair. Why was she trying so hard all of a sudden?
Maybe she just wants to see you happy, Lila.
I am happy. Now shut up and let me think.
“Okay. You win. It’s…sweet. Misguided and annoying, but sweet.” I walked to the door and flipped over the Open sign. I’d just have to fake being normal for a couple of hours and then have a headache.
“Come see the outfits I picked for you!”
I whirled around. “You picked out clothes? What am I, seven?!”
“Stop being such a PITA. I bought them at the Atlanta show, but I knew you’d say you had nowhere to wear them. Now you do!”
I kept my mouth shut as I followed her to the dressing area. Was my attitude that bad? So bad that my boss—my friend, I amended—felt like she had to orchestrate even getting me dressed before I could meet someone? In the words of my generation, reality check. Big time.
“Am I really a pain in the ass?” On the back wall, the ladder hung askew, dangling from one wheel.
“You’re the biggest PITA that I know. Now come look at your clothes.” She snapped her fingers. “Stop frowning! Adam’s going to fix that. And maybe, thanks to—” she bit her lip, eyes shining. “Just come over here and see!” As if to add emphasis to her excitement, a pinprick-sized white light burst into being over her left shoulder.
There you are! My angels hadn’t given up on me. This one jaunted about Maureen with a festive flicker, and I knew I was supposed to give her a chance. I drew a deep breath and resolved to be open-minded. Well, to try to be open-minded. No need to over-promise.
She pulled aside the linen changing curtain for her big reveal. Two outfits hung, waiting for adoration, complete with matching shoes displayed beneath. She’d put a lot of thought into this. Of course, the clothes were beautiful since she had excellent taste, but they were so…flashy? No. Ostentatious? Closer, but not really…
“It’s called color, Lila. Some people wear it.”
Ah.
Both outfits were gorgeous, one in shades of earthy green and bronze, and the other in…peacock blue silk? Oh, please. I focused on the green one. Thin velvet had been sewn into a sumptuous blouse with a neckline that would skim the shoulders and a matching sash to shape the waist. Tonally dyed, it reminded me of leaves in the shade. I fingered it gently before turning to thank my friend, but I wasn’t quick enough. Maureen waited with one hand on her cocked hip—the very image of a ticked-off Hollywood stylist.
“You have such good taste. Beautiful!” I could be enthusiastic when I tried. “I adore this one!”
She beamed. “I knew you’d love it! It’ll look so pretty off your skin and hair—and aren’t the pants precious?”
Precious was not the adjective that came to mind. Bronze capris with a satin sheen, they were the kind of pants that hugged your butt and wrinkled where no sane woman would want them to wrinkle. Sometimes Maureen forgot that I was a decade older than her.
She gestured to the blue silk. “And you haven’t even looked at the dress! You have to at least try it on.”
“Why? I really love the blouse—and shoes.” The brown velvet wedges did look comfortable, if impractical. “Thank you for thinking of me. You’re very sweet.”
I hugged her, and her surprised smile spoke volumes. I wasn’t much of a hugger except for Eileen. In fact, that might’ve been the first time in the three years I’d known Maureen that I’d actually touched her on purpose. What did that say about me as a friend? Or as a human?
A summery yellow spark flashed just to the right of my line of sight, and I wished I knew whether the angel was chastising me, or assuring me that I wasn’t a bad person. It was a relief to have them back again. I imagined that losing them completely would be like a normal person suddenly losing their sense of smell. It wouldn’t be debilitating, but it would make every experience incomplete.
Maureen started to pull the garments down, and I suddenly realized just how thoughtful—albeit silly and pushy—she’d been to buy me clothes and arrange a party. Just for me.
“Leave the silk. I’d love to try it on. It’s really beautiful.” Her face lit up, and I felt another surge of guilt. “But I don’t know where I’ll wear it. Your party isn’t formal, right?”
Maureen pursed her lips. “This isn’t formal!” My eyebrow arched. “Okay, it’s semi-formal, but it was gorgeous and I couldn’t fit into the sample size, so I thought I’d live vicariously through you.” Her petulant confession made me laugh. She was petite and slim, but well-endowed.
“Lucky me! I’ll model it for you before we start getting customers.”
“Ooh! I should buy you more clothes and you can be my very own dress-up doll!”
“Ah…no. Hell no.”
“We’ll see!” she called back over her shoulder.
With a sigh, I adjusted the curtain for privacy and unbuttoned my blouse. Give ‘em an inch…. I hefted the mass of dupioni off its hanger, lingering over the fine detail work. The dress had a wide boat-neck with ruching at one shoulder and a knee-length pencil skirt with an accordion kick pleat. More for an Audrey Hepburn than me. Then again, if memory served, Audrey and I shared a proclivity for neutrals.
I maneuvered the dress over my head and slid my pants off as the silk fell around my hips. Turning to the mirror, I concentrated on smoothing the skirt. Seeing the vivid color next to my pale skin and reddish hair was overwhelming. It made my eyes look shockingly blue instead of their regular washed-out blue-gray. No way would I ever wear this; but the dress didn’t deserve to be hidden away in a closet. Maybe Eileen could wear it to prom in a few years?
I was weighing whether the style would be too mature when the chimes rattled. A second later Maureen called out.
“Lila? Could you come help?”
Ah, Jesus. Really? I stepped into my taupe pumps—which actually didn’t look too terrible with the dress—and ventured out. Two steps later, I froze. A muscular man in a light blue shirt was leaning over the jewelry case beside Maureen.
“Come here,” she waved impatiently, “He wants to know more about these pieces from Asheville.”
My feet started moving again when Adam looked up.
“Phil let me win at poker last night.”
“Good thing. Maureen believes men should bring gifts often.”
“Yeah, hello? Boss here. What do you remember about these?” She sounded affronted, but her twitching lips spoiled the effect. And as I neared, the blinding color of the dress got her attention. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “You look fantastic!”
I flushed from hairline to chest. More color.
“You do.” With Adam’s polite agreement, his hundreds of little angels came into focus, still exuberant, swirling around him just as they’d been yesterday.
“Maureen gifted me. Wasn’t that sweet?”
Her delighted smile prompted one of my own. I needed to do some serious soul-searching on this whole interaction-with-people-thing.
“So, you were wondering about Sarah Jane’s work?” I asked. “She uses reclaimed materials like plastic shopping bags and drink cans, and melts layers together to create this stained glass effect.” I reached in the case and pulled out a particularly unique pendant. “See how the white bags must’ve had red lettering? And here, you can still see gold and blue from a Pab can in the hammered metal.”
Adam studied the pendant. “So, trash is beautiful. Now I know.”
I shook my head at his little-boy grin and put the piece back. “Fine, then. You’re the expert. What do you think your wife would like?”
Maureen patted him on the arm and moved off to refold some t-shirts while I waited. He scanned all the jewelry twice as a dark rose tint washed under his tan.
“I really don’t know.” Even the tips of his ears turned red against his silver-salted black hair.
“Hey, no worries. Men aren’t supposed to know what a woman likes. It’s in our handbook. Big secret. Very hush-hush.” Poor guy. Newlywed and a kid on the way…probably worried about making a bad choice and hurting her feelings. God knows how hormonal I’d been when I was expecting Eileen. Her father hadn’t had a chance—assuming he’d even wanted one. “Just answer the questions, sir, and you’ll have the perfect gift in no time.”
Seven questions later, Adam had confidently selected the perfect pair of earrings; and, I suspected, was comforted by realizing he knew more about his wife’s tastes than he’d thought. All he’d had to do was consider the way she showed him her preferences every day. Did she like to dress up or was she more of a jeans-and-t-shirt kind of girl? Did she decorate the house in antiques? Collect shells at the beach? Things like that. The dainty, frosted sea glass dangles looked so tiny in his hand. I wondered if Cara was the girlish brunette I’d pictured.
Maureen approved his choice. “Those will look so pretty with the way her hair frames her face! Give them to me. I’m sure you’d rather me wrap them, right?” Scooping them from his hand, she disappeared behind the curtains. “Give him our discount!” she called.
“That’s your cue.” I steered him to the counter. “Time to pay up.”
“Gladly! You seem to have a knack for…” he frowned as he pulled out his wallet, “…reading into things?”
I turned to gather tissue paper and a shopping bag.
“Sorry, I meant it as a compliment.”
I shrugged as I tucked two sheets in a bag. “Comes in handy here.” After fluffing the tissue, I wrote out his receipt and jabbed the pegs on the antique cash register without meeting his eyes. It was this dress. It made me feel vulnerable. Exposed. I tried to concentrate on counting his change, but couldn’t wait to be in my own clothes again.
“Are you wearing that on Friday?”
Shocked at his timing as much as his words, I looked up to find him waiting. “Too fancy!” My response sounded appropriately airy; but why did he care?
“I figured since Maureen is determined to set you up….”
“You know him?”
“I’ve met him, but…no.” He was suddenly busy with putting his change in his wallet, and I shifted my gaze to focus on the empty space around him. As expected, the vivacious swirl still encircled him; but I was surprised to see even more angels than before, milling and spilling across the counter between us, connecting us like two giant planets in a miniature galaxy of stars. As I watched, their individual movements synchronized and became a slow tidal dance, pulling and pushing between us.
“What do you see?” He was studying me now.
He knows, Lila.
And for the strangest second, I actually believed he did. But the second passed, as seconds tend to do.
“Eyelash. Everything’s blurry.” I batted my lashes against a fingertip.
“All wrapped up!” Maureen reappeared, with her palm extended like a serving platter. The little box was perfection in white tulle with a raffia bow, and I plucked it from her hand and nestled it in the bag as quickly as I could.
“Hope Cara loves them! Be right back, Maureen.” Too abrupt, I knew, but I swooshed through the curtains without waiting for Adam to leave. Once again, his angels followed me, and I struggled to ignore them as the blue silk rustled to the floor.
His frustration increased every time she scrutinized nothing. Something in the space between her and the male was completely engrossing—so much so that even the other human had noticed—and yet his own superior vision was unable to detect anything noteworthy.
Admittedly, from this position, it was a challenge even for his eyes. But while in her proximity yesterday morning, he had also observed nothing. Today, he watched from a window seat in the cafe across the street. With sunlight refracting in the imperfections of two panes of tempered glass, his vision was hindered, but still keen enough to confirm that whatever she could see, he could not.
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, this adam, Lilith Ann projected none of the angry fretfulness that she directed to himself. And as she was leaving yesterday, she had smiled with such joy. Why?
For the past twenty hours, his mind had compulsively ruminated on that one 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 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.
With a delicate pop-pop, a thermal fracture crept across the glass and he placed the tepid water back on the table.