woman who lived somewhere in the neighborhood. Lindsey could see her now up ahead, her tiny, slippered feet visible just beyond a camellia bush. She seemed to be waiting, slowly biding her time—for what, Lindsey didn't know. She never said anything, but now that Lindsey spotted her, the snow-haired lady began to walk. Today she wore a lacy periwinkle shawl that rested on her sparrow shoulders, and the silky fringe of her wrap brushed the sidewalk, barely skimming the concrete.
Lindsey was fairly used to seeing the woman around, but each time she encountered the lady on the route to or from home she felt a skin-crawling twinge. The woman was like the garden statue of the prowling jaguar that Lindsey sometimes passed on Steiner Street. Both were gray specters that never touched her, but seemed to be watching her every move. Any time Lindsey passed either of them they bid a silent hello, one carved in still stone and the other, the human one, gazing through her with sparkling, amethyst eyes.
She didn't know the woman's name or where she lived, but Lindsey watched as she shuffled slowly in her low, silver shoes. When the woman turned and tilted her head a bit, Lindsey re-crossed the street and disappeared behind a hollyhock to avoid being followed.
Many blocks later, Lindsey spotted the rounded turret of her apartment building. She ran up the steps and slipped the key into the lock of the brass faceplate. Once behind the leaded-glass panel of the front door, she finally felt safe.
Michael came home about an hour later and flopped down on the sofa, smelling of burnt plastic and fake butter.
He said, "One of the protein-starved interns forgot about her popcorn in the microwave and set off a trans-fat explosion in the office kitchen."
"Let me guess, she was smoking on the stairs while reading
Optimal Health.'"
"Actually, someone told me they saw her in the bathroom trying to purge herself of some lime-flavored Pop Rocks because she realized they contained gelatin and hence, weren't vegan."
Lindsey smiled, almost missing the antics of her former workplace. She and Michael had met at
Vegan Warrior
magazine, where he was an editor and she had been the receptionist. She never really fit in with the group of militant vegetarians and could barely tolerate the mandatory "lifestyle sessions" on Friday afternoons, when they had to endure poetry slams and hackeysack tournaments. She couldn't understand how Michael could stand it, and she was actually kind of glad when she was ousted after being caught red-handed gnawing on a pork chop she had brought for lunch. Working at St. Maude's now, at least all she had to worry about was not eating meat on Fridays instead of hiding her carnivorous habits every day of the week.
Michael stretched out on the couch and patted the cushion beside him, signaling for her to come sit near him.
He rubbed his chin. "What else? The Druid wants me to use up all my rolled-over weeks of vacation time. Says it's a financial liability or something. Can you take time off? Maybe we could go to New Orleans and visit my parents."
Lindsey shook her head. "I'm too new at both my jobs. I haven't accrued any days off from either St. Maude's or the museum."
"Oh," Michael said. After a moment, he sprang off the couch. "I skipped lunch today. Are you up for an early dinner?"
"Sure," she said, and went to grab her jean jacket.
They walked hand in hand to their favorite Chinese restaurant. After sliding into a booth, they noticed an elderly Chinese lady at one of the front tables. Although she was sitting with her entire family—husband, children, and grandkids— the world seemed to melt away when she set her eyes on Michael. She stopped mid-chopstick and gaped at him.
A waiter came to their table and took their order, after which he collected their menus and shuffled away. The old woman from the front of the restaurant craned her neck for another eyeball-full of Michael, then put down a steaming beef bone and
Lindsey was fairly used to seeing the woman around, but each time she encountered the lady on the route to or from home she felt a skin-crawling twinge. The woman was like the garden statue of the prowling jaguar that Lindsey sometimes passed on Steiner Street. Both were gray specters that never touched her, but seemed to be watching her every move. Any time Lindsey passed either of them they bid a silent hello, one carved in still stone and the other, the human one, gazing through her with sparkling, amethyst eyes.
She didn't know the woman's name or where she lived, but Lindsey watched as she shuffled slowly in her low, silver shoes. When the woman turned and tilted her head a bit, Lindsey re-crossed the street and disappeared behind a hollyhock to avoid being followed.
Many blocks later, Lindsey spotted the rounded turret of her apartment building. She ran up the steps and slipped the key into the lock of the brass faceplate. Once behind the leaded-glass panel of the front door, she finally felt safe.
Michael came home about an hour later and flopped down on the sofa, smelling of burnt plastic and fake butter.
He said, "One of the protein-starved interns forgot about her popcorn in the microwave and set off a trans-fat explosion in the office kitchen."
"Let me guess, she was smoking on the stairs while reading
Optimal Health.'"
"Actually, someone told me they saw her in the bathroom trying to purge herself of some lime-flavored Pop Rocks because she realized they contained gelatin and hence, weren't vegan."
Lindsey smiled, almost missing the antics of her former workplace. She and Michael had met at
Vegan Warrior
magazine, where he was an editor and she had been the receptionist. She never really fit in with the group of militant vegetarians and could barely tolerate the mandatory "lifestyle sessions" on Friday afternoons, when they had to endure poetry slams and hackeysack tournaments. She couldn't understand how Michael could stand it, and she was actually kind of glad when she was ousted after being caught red-handed gnawing on a pork chop she had brought for lunch. Working at St. Maude's now, at least all she had to worry about was not eating meat on Fridays instead of hiding her carnivorous habits every day of the week.
Michael stretched out on the couch and patted the cushion beside him, signaling for her to come sit near him.
He rubbed his chin. "What else? The Druid wants me to use up all my rolled-over weeks of vacation time. Says it's a financial liability or something. Can you take time off? Maybe we could go to New Orleans and visit my parents."
Lindsey shook her head. "I'm too new at both my jobs. I haven't accrued any days off from either St. Maude's or the museum."
"Oh," Michael said. After a moment, he sprang off the couch. "I skipped lunch today. Are you up for an early dinner?"
"Sure," she said, and went to grab her jean jacket.
They walked hand in hand to their favorite Chinese restaurant. After sliding into a booth, they noticed an elderly Chinese lady at one of the front tables. Although she was sitting with her entire family—husband, children, and grandkids— the world seemed to melt away when she set her eyes on Michael. She stopped mid-chopstick and gaped at him.
A waiter came to their table and took their order, after which he collected their menus and shuffled away. The old woman from the front of the restaurant craned her neck for another eyeball-full of Michael, then put down a steaming beef bone and
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