At Risk of Being a Fool (28 page)

“What?” she said defensively.

“Just wondering.”

Brynna edged away. “Wondering what?”

“Just wondering how you knew about the trains behind Jeanie’s house.”

~*~

He leaned against a tree, every sense alert. The girl slipped away, her shadow merging indistinguishably with the building. His glance roamed the side of the building and the street beyond. There was no traffic. There were no motorcycles cutting the air with their power; no cars cruising the street, with the drivers trapped by windows and doors into a false sense of safety.

Only because he was listening for it, he heard the tiny click of a thumbnail against the inside of the dining room window. Once, twice, three times.

He slouched away, his hands in his jacket pockets. The ridges of the car keys were friendly to his hands, but their familiar texture was no comfort. One by one, he’d talked to most of them, by phone or straight out. He’d talked to another guy, too, one in a position to know stuff he couldn’t. He had no choice, once he knew she was going from house to house, to police, to schools, to everybody in the phone book. In class, at least, he could watch her, so he knew what she was up to. The knowledge settled like a weight on his shoulders, permanently.

Well, shit.

The thing was, she made him laugh. Funny stuff on TV, even the jokes of his friends had a hard edge to them, like practical jokes, and humiliations. They were funny, you had to admit. It was normal to him, just the way life was.

But there she was, with her little phrases, words twisted around on themselves, the twinkle in her eye, waiting to see if anybody’d catch them. He’d asked her once, early on, why the hell she bothered with a dog anyway. And she’d said, he’s cheaper than a tow truck. She’d been gone for several minutes before it hit him, what she’d meant. Like if she’d been walking and passed out, the dog would tow her home.

She’d die a lot quicker than the guard had. He had the touch now, could plan things better, to kill when he meant to, instead of just ripping off feet. It turned out that was enough with Torrez. He hadn’t needed to kill her, just take her out of action. With Jeanie, it was the mouth he had to stop. Rip her feet off, and the mouth would just keep going, and going, and going, like the Energizer rabbit.

It wouldn’t hurt her much. It would be fast; she’d never know.

But it bothered him somehow.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

Sorrel sat in the classroom, her books and papers spread in front of her, her eyes darting from Dillon, to Rosalie, Quinto, Brynna, and Tonio. They all looked strange to her, after a week away from class. They wouldn’t even be together now if it weren’t for testing day.

Sorrel had watched people all her life. She’d had to, or they’d get the edge on her. Look at all the shit Mama had to put up with, like those people trying to take Grandma away, and put her in a home. They’d tried to take Sorrel away a few times, when she was little. They said Mama drank too much, stayed out too late, and wasn’t a good mother. What did they did they know about it? Mama loved her like nobody else, and she loved Mama. Mama’d stolen food to feed Sorrel. Mama’d kicked out a boyfriend once for touching her. The shit had limped off with his dick in his hands, cussing a blue streak. What the hell, Mama said. He was just a shit, nothing like as important as a daughter.

They’d stuck Sorrel in foster care several times, but she’d raised enough hell the fake “parents” shoved her out, and she’d gone back to Mama. That was how it was supposed to be, mother and daughter. It hurt like hell, being away from Tiffany, but at least Tiffany had Mama and Grandma.

Kherra watched people, too. At first, Sorrel figured Kherra was looking for angles, ways to get the edge on people, but it wasn’t that at all. It was like Kherra looked for trouble spots and weaknesses, and fixed ‘em up before people knew they were there.

Kherra would look at a mindless woman drooling in a corner, and say,
Betsy’s fretting about her husband again.
Before you knew it, Betsy and Kherra were putting pictures together in a photo album, and Betsy was talking in her fragmented way about vacations she and her husband had been on. Looking at photos of a grinning young Betsy in
Hawaii
with a bald guy, seeing her fingers trace the man’s homely features, Sorrel had felt— Well, she didn’t know how she felt.

All those old folks, they weren’t just hunks of garbage tossed into a can. They had lives, and stories to tell. Sorrel had watched Kherra closer after that. She’d tried her own first mind-reading stunt a few days ago.

“Leda wants to cook again,” she’d told Kherra.

“How you goin’ manage that, girl? You can’t put her with no knives, or hot surfaces. It’s not safe.”

Sorrel raided Jeanie’s cupboards, brought in tortillas, cheese, olives, pickles, and a little bag of those tiny carrots. She’d hauled in Leda, and put her with the plates, and wedges of food. Sorrel chopped and microwaved behind Leda’s back, and stuck the results within reach. That old woman came alive, her fingers edging tiny snacks together, neat platefuls of appetizers, just like you saw on the cooking shows.

“Where’s the parsley?” asked Leda, looking for all the world like those women in the commercials who lived in their kitchens. They seemed to get such pleasure out of it, and Sorrel had always scoffed at the idea. But here was Leda, insisting Sorrel cut the carrots into flowers with four sharp strokes of a knife. It was tricky keeping the knife out of Leda’s hands, but the carrots had looked pretty.

Kherra ran off to the kitchen next door at the regular retirement home, and grabbed up parsley, radishes, and whatever she could swipe. Other ladies livened up, spreading tablecloths, napkins, trotting down the halls to invite their “good friends,” and somehow the whole thing turned into a church social or something. Bill and Edward, the only men in the building, responded with pleasure to the extra attention lavished on them as the only available hosts. Leda, beaming with pride, acted as hostess.

Kherra, the extra pair of hands, with “yes, ma’ams” and earnest nods, spared a moment for a long, glowing look at Sorrel. God, it felt so good. Not ever, in her life, had she felt that good, except when Tiffany was born.

But Kherra wasn’t blind, not like Jeanie was. She saw the bad stuff as easy as the good. Yesterday, that old lady Livia had been in a hell of a rage at Phyllis. Jeanie would have spent a lot of time in useless soft talk. Kherra hadn’t wasted time. With strong arms and stern talk, she’d enveloped the screaming woman, and moved her to a different room, while Nadezda calmed Phyllis.

Talk and action both, sometimes soft, sometimes stern: bunny rabbit and bulldozer, that was Kherra. Come to think of it, Jeanie was a bit of a bulldozer too, sometimes. Know-it-all Kemmerich hadn’t squeaked once since she told him off.

Now, when Sorrel looked around the classroom, it was like there was two of every person. There was the Quinto she knew, and there was the one that Kherra and Jeanie’d see. And the same with Brynna, Dillon, Rosalie, and Tonio. It was like looking out a window, and then somebody opened it and you felt the breeze, heard the kids playing, smelled the acrid scent of burning rubber, and whiff of lilac.

Sitting in her classroom chair, Sorrel felt a deep unease. They all seemed different from usual. Rosalie acted like she was stuck to her desk, eyes on her book, pencil moving steadily over the paper. Well, she would be different, Sorrel told herself; she was testing later today. Maybe that’s all it was, with Rosalie. Dillon was wound up, but he was testing, too. Mackie would be here in a few minutes, to drive them to the testing center.

Brynna was edgy, like a pig in a slaughterhouse. Now,
that
was different. As she watched, Brynna raised her head and looked back at her. Brynna darted a quick look at the guys, and back to Sorrel. Brynna’s fingers lifted to her lips for a nibble, and Sorrel scowled at her. She’d have to lay off those fingernails if she wanted to borrow Sorrel’s nail polish again. It was a waste of good polish, if she was just going to chew it off.

Tonio cracked his knuckles, and crossed his legs the other direction. Restlessness swept through him in waves. He’d be quiet for a bit, and then shift around in a flurry of sudden moves. That was different, too. At least Sorrel thought it was. She wondered what Kherra would make of him.

Watching Jeanie zipping around the room, trailed by Corrigan, that was the weirdest feeling of all. She’d known Jeanie for weeks, but she’d never thought about her. Jeanie wasn’t a threat, and that was all that mattered. But for all her jokes and smiles, Jeanie was hurting. Kherra said so. Watching the dog, Sorrel realized that even Corrigan knew it. Jeanie was fooling herself, waiting for Edward to get better again. He’d never get better, only worse. Everyone knew it. Jeanie said she knew it. But she didn’t believe it, Kherra said. In Jeanie’s heart, she didn’t believe it.

“Well, shoot,” Jeanie exploded. “I must have left your testing applications in the car. I’ll go look. If Mackie shows up, stall her until I get the papers. Hang onto the cat for me.” She bustled out the door.

Sorrel turned her considering gaze on Quinto, and frowned a bit. Quinto hunched over his desk like a scared dog, taking up as little space as he could. It was weird, thinking of Quinto like he was a real person, not just some clown who everybody made fun of, walked past, ignored. His claim to fame was his gang, and they were all miles away. His white knuckles clenched on the pencil as it drew disconnected doodles. Maybe she was wrong, and he wasn’t scared. Maybe he was mad, and hiding it. He had a lot more muscle than she’d thought. He’d get really buff, working on a construction site. He was small, quick, and probably strong.

The phone rang. No one answered it. She waited for Jeanie to come back, but the door stayed closed. Sorrel met Brynna’s glance, and then Rosalie’s. Sorrel got up, and crossed into the office.

“Yeah, hi.
GED
School
,” she added belatedly.

“Hello? Jeanie, is that you?”

“Uh, no, she’s gone outside. You want I should get her?”

“No, no. This is her sister, Michelle Connery. I’m calling from
Germany
.”

“
Germany
? No shit? Really?”

Michelle laughed. “No shit. Which one are you? Brynna or Sorrel?”

“Sorrel. How’d you know?”

“I know all of you. I’ll bet I could even describe what you’re wearing. Jeanie writes to me through e-mail.”

The idea jolted her. Descriptions of her floated halfway across the world. “Uh, let me get her. She just went to the car, to get the test apps.”

“Well— No, I guess not. I feel kind of silly, calling. Look, can you just tell me, Sorrel? Is she doing okay?”

“I guess. She’s maybe a little stressed about her husband, but he’s doing good. At least,” said Sorrel, remembering Kherra, “as good as you could expect.”

There was a sigh. “Yes, I know. But that’s all, as far you know? There’s nothing going on with the school?”

“No, not really, just usual stuff.”

“Good. You see? It was silly of me to call. Thanks a lot, you’ve relieved my mind.”

“Why? What were you thinking?”

“Oh. Well, I just got this e-mail from her. She wrote it last night, her time. I only just got in. It’s eleven p.m. here.”

Sorrel blinked. She checked a clock. Two p.m.

“And the more I read it, the more I thought she might be in danger.”

“Why?”

“It’s nothing, Sorrel. I’m sure if something’s going on, you’d know about it. And while I know you have your secrets, I do know this. You wouldn’t stand by and let my sister get hurt.”

Sorrel bit her lip, heedless of the lipstick. Her uneasiness grew. “How’d you figure that?”

“Because Jeanie knows it. It’s as clear as can be in her letters. I feel I know all of you as well as I know anyone here.”

“What am I wearing?” said Sorrel tightly.

“How’s that again?”

“My clothes. What am I wearing?” A pause. “It’s important.”

Michelle laughed. “Give me a clue. What’s the color scheme?”

“Blue.”

“Ah, let’s see. Hmm. Start at the bottom. Open-toed sandals, black. Dark blue polish on the toes. Then dark blue stretch pants, and a T-shirt, lighter blue, a little baggy, no slogans. How am I doing?”

“What else?”

“Yes, that was the easy part, wasn’t it? Bright blue nail polish, aqua, maybe, with glitter in it. Eye shadow the exact shade, with a shine to it. Dark mascara, startling black, I think Jeanie called it. Lipstick, glossy red, brighter than usual, more makeup than usual. Earrings, I think, big hoops, silver? Hair swept back, and up. In fact,” said Michelle delicately, “the entire effect is to draw the eye upwards. Jeanie says you’re astute. She’s got an amazing eye for detail, considering how little she cares for her own appearance. Tell me, did I get the entire thing wrong? Completely off base?”

“No.” There was a lump in her throat. “There’s no glitter. I got that airbrushed kind of nails, put ‘em on yesterday. But they’re blue.”

Michelle crowed. “Ha! The old girl guessed right! Well, thanks Sorrel, you’ve certainly brightened up my evening. I can sleep in peace. Though I bet Mackie Sandoval dashes in all worried. I left her a voice mail.” The rich chortle, so much like Jeanie’s, hung in the air as Sorrel put down the receiver.