Daughters of Men: Chapter 6
Abnormally Sociable
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.
Abnormally Sociable
Cara seemed reluctant to get up from the table—not that I blamed her as huge as she was, poor thing—but after a surreptitious look at Sal, she pushed herself up to join us. I wondered what that was about. He hadn’t acknowledged her as if they’d ever met. Maybe he just reminded her of someone else—like an ex-boyfriend. A blast from the past was enough to make anyone nervous.
“Men!” Phil announced. “Time for a game of pool. Follow me.”
We split up in the foyer, and as Maureen led the ladies up the curving stairs, the plethora of angels dispersed. Whispering my thanks, I was grateful to be able to focus on human company.
Maureen glanced back, “Cara, sweetheart, sorry for all the stairs. I figured we’d do the upper levels before you get too tired, but tell me when you need to sit and rest, okay?” She might be well past tipsy, but nothing could make her an ill-mannered hostess.
We made our way through two of the spacious guest suites on the second floor, lingering to admire Maureen’s handpicked decorating treasures, but as we ambled into the master bedroom, it was obvious Cara needed to rest. Maureen guided her to a plush chenille chaise and insisted that she slip her shoes off and curl up for a few minutes.
Of course, like the other bedrooms, this one went well beyond the scope of its namesake function, so there were ample places for Maureen and me to sit, too. I selected a pearl-pink upholstered wingback beside an overflowing bookshelf. Mostly true-crime and romance stuff. A few inspirational, be-the-best-at-everything books. Not my idea of good reading. Disappointed, I tuned back in to their conversation just as Maureen brought up the baby.
“I haven’t seen you since the wedding in January. I didn’t realize you were so far along! Time flies!” Her smile deepened, but Cara just nodded. “And your gown was a beautiful choice. The empire waistline and scooped neck really drew attention to your lovely face…”
So much for alcohol not affecting her hosting abilities.
“Maureen?” I spoke up, “I hate to bother you, but I’d love another glass of water if you don’t mind.”
“Hmm? Oh, sure. Help yourself! We’ll be right here.”
Ugh. I’d thought she’d offer to get it. “Cara, would you like anything?” She looked so pale. I wondered if it was the pregnancy or Maureen’s hints. So it was a shotgun wedding. Been there, done that.
“No. Thank you, though.” She mustered a weak smile, and I mouthed “good luck” on my way out.
Back in the foyer, I paused, wondering whether I needed to hang out with the guys until Maureen finished poking into Cara’s premarital sex life. That girl! Friend or not, what business was it of hers? And I so didn’t want to think about this topic. My past was full of bad choices, and since Eileen didn’t have two parents, I’d obviously screwed up big time along the way. Too bad I hadn’t screwed up with someone who was actually a good fit for me, but since the one I had screwed up with wasn’t even alive anymore, it didn’t really make a difference. Either way, it seemed that Eileen and I were destined to be a family of two.
Not the best thoughts to have while you’re on a date.
I inhaled and took advantage of the foyer’s seclusion to roll my head from side to side to try and relax. Another couple of deep breaths, in through the nose, and out through the mouth, and that was as good as it was gonna get. I spied my purse on the table and wasted another minute checking for messages from Eileen, but there were none. I was out of excuses and it was time to face the facts.
Fact one, I was thirty-eight and supposed to be getting to know a much younger man who was just as alien to me now as he was the other day. And let’s not forget fact number two. No man in this world was prepared to deal with my package o’bizarreness. Even if it came all tied up with a bow and a disclaimer: Lilith Ann Givens, a.k.a. Lila. Not technically insane, but gives a fair impression of lunacy when overwhelmed by things no one else can see, hear, or feel. Suggested alternate: perky twenty-something hippie chick, complete with all the quirkiness, but none of the issues found in the older model.
I snorted. My all-too-vivid imagination had no problem picturing the fine print on a tag around my neck. Not be a bad idea, actually. It’d save me from having to explain why I didn’t date.
Damn it. I’d rather be at home, in my comfy pajamas and with my still-unfinished book, trying to wrap my brain around Schrödinger’s wave what’s-it. Anything that might push tonight—better yet, this whole week—out of my head. But I had to see this through to the end, because for whatever reason, this guy was interested enough to show up tonight. And suggest I switch to water, which was kind of sweet. I needed to at least make an effort so we could get the whole it-will-never-work thing over with.
I had no idea where the game room was, exactly, but Phil had been leading them down the hallway to the right. Recessed lighting cast sumptuous highlights along the detailed trim skimming the ceiling and doorways. The first door was closed, and the second framed what appeared to be a shared office space for the couple. I had better luck further along when I heard deep voices and the crack of cue sticks and ceramic. Although the hallway ended with a prim little bench and plants posing in front of a window, I realized the space to the left opened into another room.
I was about to walk in when I heard my name. The last thing I wanted was to be present when Phil tried to tease Sal into asking me out on an official date or something. I really hoped he’d stopped at that third glass of wine, but I doubted it. As I turned to head for the kitchen, Phil’s voice was suddenly clearer.
“I don’t know, man, you’ve been asking a lot of questions. Sure you’re not having second thoughts?”
He sounded close. If I moved, he might hear my footsteps, but if he came out of the room, he’d see me. Whoever had answered him sounded annoyed, but I couldn’t make out the words.
“Okay, okay!” Phil laughed. “Just thought Sal should be aware of the competition!”
Suddenly, the missing parts of the conversation clicked into place. Jesus. Y’all shouldn’t be allowed to drink.
“There is no competition.” Sal’s dismissive tone should have stung, but instead, warm relief flooded from my center out to my fingertips and toes. No competition, because he didn’t care. Perfect. This night would end soon, and Maureen would leave me alone for a while.
A resounding crack of balls echoed out, and I took advantage of the commotion to step back down the hallway.
“Phil? Y’all down here?” I called out.
Sure enough, he poked his head out of the room. “Hey, honey! We were just talking about you. Started a new game…want in? We can team up.”
“Yeah, I’ll play. Against you. My team’ll whoop your butt, too. It’s rude to talk about people behind their backs.” I happily joined them. Sal wasn’t interested, and pool with the guys sounded perfect.
As if synchronized with my mood swing, all the little angels I’d seen earlier popped back into view. Sal’s reddish one, and Adam’s and my shared galaxy of white ones—but now I welcomed them. I was free to be me, and if someone noticed me accidentally staring at nothing, oh well. I’d spit out a lie as usual. No biggie.
Adam handed me a stick. “Sal just broke, and you can go next.”
“Haven’t played in years. What’s the game?”
“8-Ball. Wanna wager?” Phil teased, “If we win, I get to talk about you all I want.”
“Hell no, old man. ‘Cause it’d be rude for me to dish about my gracious host when Adam and I win.” The high from my sudden release of stress was much better than the stupid glass of wine.
Phil and Adam laughed, but Sal was peering at each of us in turn as if trying to figure out the dynamics of our friendship. Funny how quickly I’d added Adam—and Cara—to my short list of friends, but they felt right somehow. I definitely felt like I’d known Adam for years, which was probably the significance of the angels between us. We had similar energies, maybe.
I twisted my hair into a knot at the nape of my neck and studied the angles for my shot. The pool table was a piece of art, meticulously crafted with a surface of thick burgundy felt. It perfectly complemented the rest of the man cave, of course. Dark oak paneling and mouldings, thick columns defining the wet bar area, black leather stools and sofas—the room was just the right blend of casual pub and old English gentleman’s club.
I could feel Sal’s eyes on me, but that didn’t make me uncomfortable any more. Once I’d lined up my shot, I called the left corner pocket and knocked the cue into the 1-ball, sinking it with a satisfying thwunk. Adam gave me a thumbs up, and I offered him the next shot while I went over to Sal.
He looked really out of place and awkward. Clearly, in spite of his good looks, he wasn’t any better at fitting in than I was; yet, as soon as I’d turned towards him, his expression had brightened with a gleaming smile. I settled on the stool next to him and soaked in his body’s ambient warmth. Who needed a day at the beach with him around?
“Having a nice time?” I asked.
He cocked his head as if giving serious consideration to my question. “I believe so.”
Adam missed the 2-ball and started harassing Phil, who was sizing up an overly complicated combo to sink it. I turned back to Sal.
“Your name…is your family Italian?” My question seemed to confuse him. “I was just curious what Sal is short for. I thought it might be Salvatoré.”
“Short for? Oh. Yes.”
“So your mother just liked the name?” Most people would open up with talking about something as simple as their name, but he seemed ill at ease. Maybe he was named after someone he didn’t like. I touched his forearm. “Not trying to pry, sorry. Names are just my thing. Salvatoré means savior. Rescuer. It’s a good name.”
He looked down at my hand and I pulled back. So much for helping him feel comfortable.
“Sal! Your turn, man.” Phil had sunk his ball and flashed me a what’s-his-problem look. I shrugged. Who knew?
While Sal considered whether to go for an even more complex double-combo bank shot—Men! Always one-upping each other!—Adam came over and took his place beside me.
“So what does my name mean?”
I’d gotten used to the angels traveling between us, but with him so close it was like being bathed in starlight. I looked away to gather my thoughts and saw Sal frowning at me. Had I really irked him that much by asking about his name?
“If you don’t know…”
“Sorry! Spaced out for a sec,” I grinned. “It’s past my bedtime.” The wash of angels surging over us was so thick that I could actually feel individual kisses of energy. “Most people interpret it to mean earth or just man. But I read one interpretation that included ‘to make’—like ‘earth to make man’ or ‘man made of earth’.”
“So, if I was a superhero, I’d be Dirt Man?”
His joke caught me off guard and I laughed. But not like a normal person. It was the trilling warble I never-ever use in public—not since the sixth grade, when I’d disrupted a school play, and everyone in the auditorium and on stage had turned and looked at me.
“Was that you, Lila?” Maureen appeared in the archway, one hand on Cara’s elbow and the other wrapped around a wine glass.
“Afraid so.” I rolled my eyes, but was glad to see Cara smiling. She’d survived the girl-to-girl chat fest. “Y’all have officially been introduced to my Mogwai laugh.”
“Mogwai?” Cara came over, and Adam jumped up to help her settle onto one of the leather sofas, propping two throw pillows around her for comfort. They were so sweet together. And now I could see that Cara had brilliant little white angels, too. Not as many as Adam, but they were there—minuscule bursts of light in the air over her head and shoulders.
“Whoa, Cara. Seriously. How young are you?” Phil was always ready to tease, but Maureen protested.
“Hey, now. I don’t know either.”
“Mogwai were the benevolent fictional creatures portrayed in the film Gremlins. If they consumed nourishment after midnight, they would retreat into visually and tactilely unappealing cocoons, and—after a subsequent transformative period—emerge as mischievous, murderous creatures called ‘gremlins’. Hence the title of the film.”
By the time Sal finished speaking, we were all gawking. His longest string of words the whole night was about a campy old horror flick?
“So…you’re a film buff?” I tried to position an encouraging smile on my face, but—as was quickly becoming the norm whenever I asked him a question—he seemed perplexed.
“The scene involving the kitchen appliances amused me.”
That did it for me. Out came another stupid Mogwai laugh, and then we were all laughing—even Mr. Olympian. His great shoulders shook, and he seemed to need the pool stick for support as his entire body rippled with laughter. Phil finally clapped him on the back in mock concern, and Sal bent back to the game, one last chuckle rumbling out across the table.
Unfortunately, the casual normalcy we’d finally achieved couldn’t last. At least not for Cara. While Sal now seemed at ease and was smoothly knocking in every shot he lined up, she’d retreated into a wan stillness far more notable than Sal’s inner pool shark. And whether he reminded her of an ex, or she was just in awe of his physique, she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off him—that is, until he glanced her way, then her gaze shifted to her knees.
When a new game began, I passed my stick to Maureen. Sal might be eye candy, and Cara might just be tired, but something felt wrong. Perching on a stool near the couch, I tried to engage her, but even chatting seemed to exact too great a physical toll, and her mouth opened and closed without breaths deep enough to project her voice. So when Maureen called out for us to watch Sal attempt a behind-the-back bank shot, my eyes obeyed, but my focus remained on Cara.
Sal’s arm bent to draw the cue stick back, but I allowed my awareness to slip sideways, flexing gently toward the young woman beside me. Sal missed his first shot of the night and looked at me in comic surprise, but the sensation on my right held my attention. Cara’s energy prickled like static electricity on a wool blanket; and I shifted, twisting my torso just enough to watch her without being too obvious.
A light sheen of sweat highlighted her features, and her stomach barely moved as she breathed. Adam came over and asked if she was feeling well, but at her small smile and nod, he returned to the game. Why wouldn’t he? He couldn’t see what I did.
As soon as I’d opened myself up, the spaces between her angels filled with black specks—or rather, dissolved into tiny blotches of nothingness. I’d never seen anything like it before. They weren’t simply black angels; I had no sense of sparking or vibration. Nor did they seem substantive. The only description my brain could assign was a notion of what the absence of everything might look like.
Was it a type of negative energy? Her shyness had struck me when we first met. Was this self-defensive somehow, because she was overwhelmed? Or was it making her sick? Maybe I was simply sensing dark matter, and it had nothing to do with anything.
Okay, that’s a stretch, Lila.
Maybe so, but physics wasn’t cause for worry.
I tried not to stare, but luckily everyone was focused on the pool game—except for Sal, whose head kept swiveling my way in between shots. Truth be told, although I was relieved he wasn’t interested in dating, I was still flattered. Here among friends, it was easy to see I’d misjudged him when we’d met. He was odd, sure, but not a psycho. And when a man that handsome looked twice, it was a compliment. It’d been more than eight years since my last date, and clearly, I’d forgotten what it was like to receive a man’s attentions.
And you’re naturally paranoid.
Yeah, that, too. Like now, with Cara. Maybe these black energies were just a different type of being than the angels I was used to. Sometimes I saw shadowy, human-shaped figures out of the corner of my eye—even if my sparkling friends were the norm. Dark didn’t necessarily mean bad.
Immersed in my own thoughts, I was at first only vaguely aware of Phil and Maureen trying to get Sal to talk about himself, but since questions seemed to make him uncomfortable, they switched to more indirect methods. Once I noticed, it was entertaining to watch two skilled conversationalists initiate and discard topics about everything from world events to the tourist season kicking off with next week’s Azalea Festival.
Adam joined in, but whenever the conversational flow shifted to Sal, he said things that were so boring and factual that he sounded peculiar. Almost as if he were a caricature of a foreign anthropologist, his apathetic observations and deadpan delivery made me want to laugh. It had to be nearly eleven o’clock, yet after three hours, I doubted any of us felt like we knew him any better than when he’d arrived—nameless.
Except for that one shared laugh. Poor guy just wasn’t normal—even within my oh-so-wide range of what normal included. If he always had this much trouble relating to other people, he was probably very lonely. I would be, if it wasn’t for Eileen.
I hoped she was having fun. She was nearly as socially challenged as me, but she was never afraid to be present in all her quirky glory. She wasn’t a leader, per se, but she was fearless—her nature both a catalyst for change and a support for others. Even her own mom.
The squeak of leather drew my attention back to Cara. She was attempting to rock forward, but the cushions were too deep and her belly was too big.
“I’ll help ya.” I slid off the stool and offered her a hand. “Not so easy, is it?” Eileen had been a huge baby, too.
“I need to use the restroom,” she whispered.
With one strong pull, I helped her to her feet—and screamed.
Dark specks seethed around her womb. Hundreds of them. In a panic, I swatted at them, but my hands passed through the voids and her angels alike—useless! The angels sparked and flared, and the black things continued to encircle her; and I was the only one who could see! What are they?! The baby!
Adam grabbed my wrists, wrenching me from my private terror. His pupils widened as I struggled for words.
“S-spider. A black spider! With a red spot!” I stuck my hands under my armpits and backed away.
“Oh, God!” Maureen raced over to prod the cushions with her cue stick. Phil flipped on a bank of recessed lights to brighten the room, and Adam gave Cara a quick hug before joining Maureen. Anyone who lived around here had a healthy respect for black widows.
Only Sal had remained near the pool table, his eyes cold and analytical again; but his issues didn’t rank high on my list of concerns. Cara had moved several feet from the sofa and was looking so pale I was afraid I’d made things worse.
I moved to her side and rubbed her back. “It’s okay, really. I’m sorry I scared you.” I put an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the hall. I had no idea how to help, but intuition said I should start by asking about Sal. “It was probably just a house spider, but let’s go check your dress.”
Now on his hands and knees searching, Phil looked up. “There’s a powder room down the hall beside the office.”
Maybe her nervousness around Sal was drawing negative energy. I’d never seen that happen, but my senses had been so much more active the past few days. I was seeing way more than was normal—even for me. I felt the weight of Sal’s stare as we left the room, but it was Adam that crushed me to a stop.
Both of his hands clutched a sofa cushion, and he was looking at his wife with a sadness that made me want to rush and wrap my arms around him. Squashing the deranged impulse, I pulled Cara from the room. Her eyes were unfocused and milk had more color than her face, but she seemed unaware I’d just dragged her away.
Ignoring Phil’s suggestion, I led Cara back upstairs to a bedroom we’d skipped earlier. I hated to make her walk that far, but she didn’t seem to notice other than to lean against me.
This room’s en suite was just as tastefully extravagant as the rest of Maureen’s house. Seriously, who else would have a guest bathroom with a slipper tub and a separate room for the toilet? But it helped us now as Cara removed her dress in the privacy of the water closet. She cracked the door just far enough to pass it to me, and I flopped it over my shoulder.
“Cara, I really am so sorry. Are you okay?”
The door clicked shut again. “I’m just glad you saw it.” Her voice was low and muffled.
Damn. I wished I could tell her what I’d really seen, but even if she believed me, it would terrify her. Look what I’d already done with my spider fib! And I couldn’t just push her into a conversation about Sal. I didn’t even know how to bring it up!
So…I noticed you staring at my über-hot blind date. Missing your single days? Or does he remind you of someone who made you feel, oh, I don’t know…sick, maybe? Not much of a plan.
“I haven’t asked about your baby at all!” My excitement sounded false. “How far along are you? Eight months?”
Silence.
Shit. She probably thought I was snooping like Maureen. I was at a loss for what to say next, but as seconds passed, I worried my gaffe wasn’t the problem.
“You okay in there?” Maybe she was sick. “Do you need me to get Adam?” After another anxious second, I heard a choking noise, and I streaked from worry to panic all over again. “Cara?”—my hand was already turning the knob—“I’m coming in!” I peeked around the door and found her sitting on the closed toilet lid, listing heavily to starboard like an overladen ship.
“Oh, no!” I knelt on the tile, draping her dress across her stomach and knees. The poor thing was so bloated, sitting there in her bra and pregnancy panties, her skin stretched around the mass of her womb in a way that was painful to see. Fat tears splashed on the dress, splattering the peach lace with salty misery.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. Are you crying about the spider?” More tears. “Or about…about how far along you are? You know that doesn’t matter, don’t you?” I patted her knees, afraid to hug her for fear she’d lose her balance. “Maureen would never in a million years have meant to make you feel bad or anything. You know that, right?
“It was the same for me with my daughter. It happens. But my marriage wasn’t like yours,” I hurried to add. “You’re in love, and nothing else’ll matter as soon as you hold your little one for the first time. I promise, okay?”
She didn’t answer, and suddenly I realized I hadn’t seen the angels or dark things since Adam had grabbed me. Was she was in pain? The baby! Maybe they needed to go to the hospital? I really didn’t want to try to see anything—I cringed just remembering—but maybe I’d overreacted? I didn’t have a frame of reference to make any judgments about the specks. And angels were there, too….
Cara’s silent tears continued to spill over her thick lashes and down her pallid cheeks; but just when I’d decided to get Adam, she seized my hand. Interminable seconds passed, but I stayed on my knees, sensing she was trying to decide whether to talk. If she would just tell me something—anything—that might give me a clue about those dark things, then maybe I could help. If she knew me, she’d know nothing would sound weird to me. And nothing could be as embarrassing as how much I embarrassed myself every day.
I felt a wry smile form just as she drew a shaky breath and closed her eyes. Leaning in, I strained to hear her words, but the combination of shame and fear was more than audible.
“I’m only five months pregnant,” she whispered. Her eyes opened, their brown depths dark with horror. “Not eight. And I didn’t…I mean, Adam and I weren’t—”
“Oh, honey, it’s—”
“No.” She barely breathed, her mouth close to my ear. “I shouldn’t be pregnant.”