***
Nora breathed a sigh of true relief when the Friday finally came that she had planned to spend with Jack. She ran to the door when she heard the bell ring that evening. He entered with a bag of Chinese food. They hugged in the hallway and giggled. Despite years of greeting each other in this fashion, it had never grown old. She breathed in the fresh scent of his cologne, cursing the fact that he was gay—something she had done many times throughout the years.
She was a grown-up though now, and such things were fun only to think about. She smiled as he pulled away and looked at her. They both knew it was not just an evening of food and wine, and the few seconds of eye contact they shared communicated this truth irrefutably. The smile faded, and Nora nodded at him almost imperceptibly as he passed her in the hallway, turning to look at her as he did. The lights in the hallway were dim, and Nora watched as his figure became a silhouette that disappeared into the kitchen.
Jane was at the cinema and wouldn’t be home until later. Nora closed the door and entered the living room, listening to the plates clank against each other as Jack retrieved them from the kitchen. Then she heard something crash to the floor. A few seconds after the ensuing silence, his voice came through the hallway.
“Can we please just eat with our hands?”
She giggled and sat down with her back against the sofa, placing a hand on her face. He entered the room, and again the uncomfortable eye contact ensued between them—the knowing, the spark of something coming in the near distance. Jack opened and closed his mouth, exhaling as he stood in the doorway. He started moving again and set the plates on the table. A few minutes later they were eating in silence. When the food was gone and the television switched off, the two of them faced each other for a moment without speaking.
“It’s Jane, isn’t it?” Jack asked finally. She looked up at him from her glass of red.
“Yes,” she replied without hesitating.
“She’s an ethereal, isn’t she?”
Nora’s jaw dropped open at the frankness of his question and the fact that Jack already knew this about her daughter. She stared back at him, then placed the glass on the table in front of her. “How did you know?” she asked sternly.
“I always knew, really. I saw a few small things over the years: flickering lights, doors moving, that kind of thing. I didn’t think much of it.”
“It didn’t bother you?”
“No. I find it fascinating. It’s interesting, isn’t it? I mean, aside from all the scary rumours about the facilities.”
“Yes. That part of it’s worrying.”
Silence came over them for a moment before Jack spoke again.
“So…what can she do?”
“It’s not small, Jack. It’s no small thing she can do.”
“So we’re not talking pencils and paper clips, then. Not the parlour tricks we see on TV?”
Nora’s jaw trembled. “No.”
“Psychokinesis? Telepathy?” The words fell from his lips as though they were alien objects. Even though the words and their meanings had gained mainstream awareness, they were still foreign and dangerous.
“Yes. Both I think. Definitely the first, not so sure about the second—to what extent, or how it works.”
“And the first, psychokinesis, just what are we talking about here?”
“I don’t know if you want to go there.”
He glared at her. “Try me.”
She looked down at the wine glass, lifted it to her lips, took another sip and then said, “Okay.” She nodded and placed the glass back on the table. “Uh…” she said, looking around the room nervously. As the embers of the fire traced dancing lights on their faces in the warm room, she began to speak about the past.