The City Series (Book 2): Peripeteia

  Indy levels her knife at me. “I take it all back.”

  “You know what?” Grace says. “I love that we’re in this kitchen making soup. We’re women in a kitchen making soup together, and it’s awesome. Because women are awesome. And our soup kicks ass.”

  Grace wears her overcome-with-the-wonder-of-the-universe expression. But I like the company, if not the cooking. And we do make kickass soup.

  Indy’s dark eyes glitter. “Womyn with a Y. I don’t need any ‘man’ in my woman.”

  “Or womben,” Grace says. “W-O-M-B.”

  We crack up just as Brother David enters. He’s trimmed his beard and, though thin, after three days his eyes have returned to a deep sea blue. “What’s funny?”

  “We’re plotting to overthrow the patriarchy,” I say.

  “A noble cause. Count me in.”

  “You are the patriarchy.”

  He spins with a wink, brown robe swirling. “I’ll be the first to admit it’s a tricky situation.”

  It’s possible hunger took its toll. Although with what Sister Constance said about him, if he hasn’t starved his brain into senselessness and is down to overthrow the patriarchy, it’s no wonder I liked him at first meeting.

  “It smells good in here,” he says. “What can I do?”

  “Maria says you’re to do nothing,” Grace says. “So you can do nothing.”

  “I learned the hard way not to argue with Maria,” he says. “Thank you. Thank you for this food, and for coming, and for staying when you were needed.”

  The three of us shrug. “It’s what anyone would do,” Indy says.

  “If that were true, we wouldn’t be standing in here with Eaters outside. No one would have been stupid enough to create them. You’re doing good here.”

  “A mitzvah,” I say.

  Brother David bows his head. “Indeed.”

  “Well, you did rescue me and Grace,” I say, with finger quotes at rescue. “We owed you.”

  “I’ll never live that down.”

  “Not with Sylvie,” Indy says. “My brother kidnapped her and she brings that up every chance she gets.”

  “You do realize you just used the word kidnapped?” I ask. “And then acted like I’m the crazy one?”

  “It sounds as though you’ve had an interesting time since we met,” Brother David says to me.

  “Hasn’t everyone? But all trespasses and kidnappings have been forgiven.” I glare at Indy. “As you well know.”

  She goes back to her zucchini with an innocent expression. I retrieve the bowl she’s chopped thus far and purposely knock her with my hip. “Goodness, forgive my clumsiness.”

  Indy whacks me with her knife handle as I stroll away. I dump the zucchini into the large pot and turn to where Grace watches with a half-smile. “What?”

  “You two,” she says. “You hit each other instead of hugging.”

  We’re alike in that way. Grace and Indy get along just as well, though differently. Indy does yoga with Grace and Eli sometimes, and she likes vegetables and cooking, but she also draws a firm line at vision boards. I’m surprised at the way she’s fit easily into me and Grace, as if we really had been waiting for her.

  I put my arm around Grace’s shoulder. “Indy is the perfect third friend. It’s the trinity of friendship.”

  “I think I like her more than I like you. Maybe if you tried some yoga I’d like you more.”

  “It was nice knowing you all these years.”

  “Asshole,” Grace says, then turns to Brother David. “Sorry.”

  “I think we covered the cursing thing once before.” He waves her apology away and hastens toward the hall at the call of his name, then stops in the doorway. “You can tell me your plan to overthrow the patriarchy later.”

  After he’s dashed out in a sweep of brown cloth, Grace says, “For a priest, he’s pretty cool.”

  “Apparently, some churchy people didn’t like him,” I say.

  Indy comes to the counter and leans on her elbows. “Why?”

  “Sister Constance didn’t say, but I’m guessing it had to do with overthrowing the patriarchy or something like that.”

  “Damn,” she sighs, “I thought you had gossip.”

  “Stay out of people’s business, India,” Eli says from the doorway. He strides in, shaking his head. “Little Miss Nosy is still alive and kicking.”

  “That’s what our mom called me,” Indy tells me and Grace, then says to Eli, “You know I can’t.”

  “Indy would listen to grownup conversations so quietly they’d forget she was there,” Eli says. “Or she’d hide. Remember the time you asked Mama if she was a cheating whore like Francine Thomas?”

  “I didn’t know what it meant. We were six!”

  “She was always in my business. I had to lock the connecting door to our apartments.”

  “Please. You locked the connecting door because you were always entertaining someone.”

  Eli throws her a dark look. Indy answers with the perfect white-toothed smile of a toothpaste commercial—and, apparently, starred in one years ago.

  Grace pokes Eli across the counter. “I think I believe your sister on that one. You must be bored these days with no ladies to entertain.”

  Eli’s fingers tap the counter before he raises his eyes to Grace. The brown is luminous, his lips bent in a tender smile, and any doubt he might not be into Grace vanishes. This is a man in serious like.

  “I’m never bored with you,” he says quietly.

  Grace’s frozen smile and horror-struck eyes make my heart wither—I can only imagine what it’s doing to him. Indy stirs the soup like her life depends on it. I wipe off the counter with a hand, walk to throw the nonexistent crumbs into the garbage can, and stand with my back to them while I silently beg Grace to say something, anything.

  “I came to tell you the outhouse is done,” Eli finally says, his voice all business. After the gentle tone of before, I’m glad I can’t see how his expression has likely changed. “Three more days here and everyone will be strong enough to make the trip. I’ll see you later.”

  I turn after his footsteps fade into the hall. Grace stands with her hands flat on the counter, head bowed. “Gracie—”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.” Her voice is high and faint. “I’m going to find crackers for the soup.”

  She’s out the door a second later. Indy and I gawp at each other while we digest what we just witnessed. “Do we even have crackers?” I ask.

  “No.” Indy pulls her shirt away from her back. “Are you as sweaty as I am?”

  “More. That was awful. For everyone involved.” I drop my cheek to the counter to cool it off. That was the first time I’ve ever seen Grace one hundred-percent flustered. Or unwilling to analyze something to within an inch of its life.

  “Did you see Eli’s face?” Indy asks, and clutches at her heart. “It was—it was like he was expecting a birthday present and he got a pile of dog shit. What do I say to him?”

  I moan in sympathy. Figuring out what to say to Grace will be bad enough, and I’m very glad Eli isn’t my brother. Indy pats my head. After a minute, one corner of her mouth lifts. “On the bright side, that was some good gossip.”

  I laugh, though I shouldn’t. “You are the worst person on Earth, I hope you know that.”

  ***

  At night, I climb into bed and lie beside Eric, where his body heats me ten degrees warmer. This twin bed, set in a sparsely furnished room in the rectory, is too small. Neither of us has suggested separating, though Eric wakes hanging off the bed because I’ve pushed him away in my sleep.

  Eric runs the tips of his fingers down my arm, then up my back and down again, sending pleasant little chills through my body. When it ventures lower, I say, “Don’t even think about it. Not here.”

  “Here, as in…?”

  “Here as in church. Here as in the giant crucifix on the wall.”

  His hand doesn’t stop. “Since when do you
care about church?”

  “I care more about the nun in the next room.” I face him and whisper, “Sister Constance is right there. She might hear us, or the bed creaking, or something.”

  Eric’s smile turns to laughter. I shush him to no avail. “Oh no, Sister Constance might think we’re having fun,” he says between chuckles. “This is great. We’ve found your area of prudishness.”

  My push at his chest only results in more glee on his part. I cross my arms. “There are other areas, for your information, and I will create more if you don’t stop laughing at me.”

  “It’s cute. You don’t want the nun to know you have sex. But I’ll let you in on a secret.” He cups his hand by his mouth. “She already knows.”

  “But she can’t have any. It wouldn’t be fair to flaunt it. Besides, I stink, and it’s the least sexy feeling ever.” I lift my arm. “Take a whiff.”

  “I can smell you from here.” I groan, and he says, “I like the way you smell. You smell human. Grow out your armpit hair. Revel in it.”

  “Sometimes I forget you’re a freak who did things like hike the Appalachian Trail for months. Or spent five days on a mountain in the same clothes.”

  Though I have nothing against other people’s armpit hair, I am a devotee of razors. But Eric’s hippie side works in my favor, since we live in a no makeup, barrel-shower world. Sadly, a steaming hot bath is out of the question.

  “Does that mean I’m getting some?” Eric asks.

  “No, freak, it does not. Did you see Grace?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “Eli made it very clear he likes her, right in front of me and Indy.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes. And she just stared at him, and he went away and now she’s—I don’t know what, but she won’t talk about it. And they’re not talking to each other. Why did he do it like that? He knows about Logan. And now I think Grace broke his heart.”

  He makes a choking sound, face screwed up in apology. “Yeah, so I might’ve had something to do with that.”

  “Please say you didn’t. How?”

  “All I said to Eli was that you never know what the answer might be, so patience isn’t always a virtue. I knew he liked Grace. I was trying help him out.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I forgot. It was the day before we came here.”

  “It was good advice. It backfired miserably, but the thought was there.” Eric winces, and I pat his cheek. “You were only trying to make him happy. Because that’s what you do.”

  “I make people happy?”

  “You try your hardest. Maybe too hard sometimes.”

  “How about you? Do I make you happy?”

  It sounds casual, but the curvature of his lip makes his question a serious one. I ponder the best way to answer, in words I can actually get out of my mouth. “Yes,” I say. “Exceedingly.”

  “You make me exceedingly happy, too.”

  He strokes my arm with feathery fingers and then kisses me, lips light and tongue teasing. My mouth is the cleanest part of my body, but after a minute all the dirty parts begin to deliberate on whether to involve themselves, too. A cough comes through the wall. Directly on the other side of the wall.

  I pull away. “Nope. Goodnight.”

  Eric’s finger traces the underwear I’ve worn to bed with a tank top—my attire for non-air-conditioned New York City summer nights. “I like these,” he says, his mouth on my neck, which by now he knows does me in. “We’ll be so quiet even God won’t hear us.”

  I can’t help a sigh when his teeth find my earlobe, but this is not happening with Sister-freaking-Constance two feet away. “You like me in these?” I whisper. He murmurs his approval. I move my lips to his ear and breathe softly, “They’re your sister’s.”

  His hand stops its exploration and his head drops to my shoulder. “You are evil personified.”

  My laugh is loud enough to make Sister Constance clear her throat. Eric exhales in defeat, and I peck him on the lips. “I’ll make it up to you so hard you won’t know what hit you.”

  “I already don’t know what hit me,” Eric says. The fondness in his smile makes my heart warm and the rest of me feel safe—makes me feel loved. He flips me over and pulls me close. “Goodnight, evil personified.”

  “Goodnight, freak.”

  Chapter 51

  Brother David’s congregation brought our number to over a hundred, thus making us more likely to starve to death come spring. A scavenging trip acquired beehives at Brooklyn Homestead—a rooftop urban farm—along with potatoes that were already growing. It was the one place we could enter without being eaten, but we’ve mapped out other promising sites for later exploration.

  That map sits in the office where people sign up for work shifts, get vital information they need, and bitch at Guillermo about slights both real and imagined. I step onto the parlor floor and stop at Denise’s voice. The closed pocket doors muffle words, but I can hear her heated tone and Guillermo’s calm yet firm replies.

  I avoid that woman like the plague since I will punch her, and that would cause more trouble than it’s worth. Maybe. Punching Denise would be worth a whole lot of trouble. I climb the staircase to the top floor and sit hidden from view on the upper steps. Bird follows me, ears perked and eyes dark with shock that anyone would speak to Guillermo that way.

  “I know,” I whisper, and stroke his head until he relaxes onto his haunches. “She’s a terrible person.”

  The pocket doors rumble open. Denise comes into sight, stops at the glass doors to the stoop, and turns to where I assume Guillermo stands. “This place is a fucking joke. Like Communist Russia.”

  “Sorry you feel that way,” Guillermo says calmly. She storms out, and he mutters, “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass, puta.”

  I laugh. I think puta means whore, but it’s also bitch, and it’s Denise all the way. Guillermo leans over the banister and peers up the staircase. “What are you doing up there?”

  “I came to say hello, but I was hiding until she left.”

  Bird and I follow him into the office. That map of Brooklyn is tacked to the wall behind a desk, with various food sites circled and pinned. Some have an X through them, others have colored pushpins, and a few, like Fort Hamilton’s supermarket, have red circles. Red circles are what might be the motherlode but can’t be reached until the Lexers move, die, or freeze.

  “I came in and she was here,” Guillermo says. “I don’t trust her. Did you see if she had anything?”

  “Nothing I could see. So, how are we like Communist Russia? That’s a new one. Is it the shortage of toilet paper? Was she planning on starting a corporation?”

  “Don’t ask me. All I know is that bitch is crazy.” He drops in a desk chair and runs a hand down his face. “You know what I miss? Being able to escape people.”

  I note the puffiness under his eyes. The way his smile is tired. He’s early twenties and looks thirty. Even his normally immaculate facial hair is untidy. I sit in the chair across the desk and put up my feet. Bird leaps into my lap. “Tell me about it. But you really don’t get to escape. Everyone wants something from you.”

  “It’s killing me, Sylvie. What was I thinking? Look at how simple shit is for him,” he says, eyeing Bird, and then he shakes his head. “Man, you know it’s bad when I’m jealous of that cat.”

  “Not another word about my beautiful feline,” I say, lifting a fist in warning. “You were doing what you had to do to save everyone you met. Which makes you an incredible person. But now you don’t have to do it all. Eric is in charge of the garden. Put Eli in charge of guard. Or Felipe—he seems like a good guy.”

  “He is. Felipe and I went to school together, but he and Elena got married young. Then he had kids, and we didn’t see each other much. You know how it goes.”

  “It sounds like he’d be perfect, and then you focus on whatever you want to do. Delegate. That’s what I had to do at my job.”

  “What’d you do?”
/>
  “I worked at an advertising agency. And I was supposed to do one thing, but once people realize you can do more than one thing, they try to give you more work. The trick is to do one indispensable thing really well but pretend to suck at everything else.”

  “So, I should pick my thing?” he asks.

  “Yup. Choose wisely.”

  “I like the solar, maybe I’ll choose that.”

  While we were at the church, they retrieved every available battery from the golf course, along with two golf carts. Guillermo lifts his chin. “What was your thing at your job?”

  “I helped write ads and campaigns and stuff.”

  “Like Mad Men and shit?”

  “Close enough. Though not quite as exciting.”

  “Anything I’d know?”

  “Nope. Mostly little ads,” I lie, and change the subject. “You’re tired because of all the new people. Finding them houses and clothes and worrying about more food. You need to relax.”

  Guillermo leans back in his chair, gazing wistfully into the distance. “Remember when we drank the thousand-dollar vodka? That’s what I need.” He nods to himself. “That’s what we all need.”

  I have no idea how we got to the subject of drinking alcohol, but I’m not going to dispute his logic. “Micah and Carlos want to have a housewarming party, and they were asking about alcohol. If we can find some, we—”

  Guillermo jumps to his feet. He puts a finger to his lips and leads me to the basement door on the garden level. “What I’m showing you is top secret.”

  He grabs a lantern off a hook on the wall, flips it on, and we descend into cool basement air. If I wasn’t afraid of roaches, I’d spend August in a basement. Preferably this basement, since one corner is cases of beer, another corner boxes of wine, and shelving units full of hard alcohol make up the wall in between.

  “Guillermo, you’ve been holding out on us while you get the good stuff? This is like Communist Russia.”

  “Hey, I’m not drinking it, either. But you know if I let everyone at it, it’d be gone. People would fight over it. So I kept putting it down here. Then it was too late, like I’d been lying to everyone so I could keep it for myself.” He holds the lantern by his anxious face. “Don’t tell anyone. If they knew, they’d kill me.”