11
“I really wonder if you should be out,” Weezy said as she strolled along the sunny side of Columbus Avenue with the Lady and the dog.
Her long black dress and three-legged dog made it hard not to think of her as Mrs. Clevenger.
“You keep saying that. You think I should hide? I am the Lady. I do not hide. And besides, if the Fhinntmanchca is going to disrupt the noosphere, it will do so no matter where I am.”
Weezy couldn’t argue with the logic of that. The noosphere was all around, more ubiquitous than air. No one could protect it, no one could hide it, or hide from it.
Still, Weezy worried.
“But what if it’s after you—personally, I mean?”
“Then it will find me eventually.”
“Let’s hope Jack finds it first.”
The Lady nodded. “And for your sake—for everyone’s sake—let’s hope he can do something about it. But I fear he cannot.”
A warm feeling rippled through her. “Jack seems full of surprises.”
“A very capable man, but everyone has limits, even the Heir.” She pointed to their left. “Let’s head this way. We can walk along the edge of Taxidermy Park.”
Weezy smiled. “Why do you call it that?”
“A piece of the city’s wild past stuffed and mounted and put on display.” As they crossed the avenue she said, “You love him, don’t you.”
The words startled her. “We’re just old friends—dear old friends—and I care deeply for him, but I don’t love . . .”
Or did she?
The wall of denial she’d built collapsed, and what she saw staggered her.
Yes, she’d fallen for him. But she’d been vulnerable. The void Steve left had never closed. She’d tried to fill it with her probings into the secrets behind 9/11, but that hadn’t been enough. It wasn’t just that he’d come back into her life, it was the way he’d come back—at full charge, with such drama. Vulnerable? She’d been a sitting duck.
Or maybe nothing was really new about this. She suspected now that she might have loved him back when they were teens, but her neurotransmitters had been too screwed up, swinging her moods back and forth, up and down, to let her notice.
Or were her feelings now just a manifestation of a new swing of her bipolar pendulum? Were these true emotions or just another hypomanic oscillation?
It sucked not to be able to trust your feelings.
The Lady suddenly gripped her arm and pulled her toward the curb. “Let’s cross the street here.”
Weezy sensed a sudden urgency. “Why?”
“I do not wish to walk past that place.”
Weezy looked over her shoulder and saw a blue awning leading to glass doors. Sitchin Clinic was etched in the glass.
“What’s wrong?”
“Their screams.”
Baffled, Weezy looked again and saw Women’s Center in smaller letters. Women’s center . . . the euphemism for abortion clinic.
“You can hear . . . ?”
The Lady nodded. “They linger.”
After they’d walked a ways in silence, the Lady said, “His heart is taken, you know.”
“Jack’s? Yeah, I met her.”
And liked her, damn it. Not the kind of woman she would have expected to be paired with the man Jack had become, but their differences seemed to strengthen their bond instead of weaken it.
“But we were close long before she even knew he existed. I can claim first dibs.” When the Lady gave her a look, she added, “Only kidding. But who knows? They could split. Nothing lasts forever, right?”
She immediately hated herself for saying that. She didn’t wish anyone pain, especially Jack, but relationships fell apart every day.
“They have a special bond . . . a child.”
“Vicky? She’s a doll, but—”
“No. Another child . . . unborn.”
Weezy stopped walking and gawked at her. “Gia’s pregnant?”
The Lady shook her head. “Was. I will explain . . .”