Burn- pigeon 16 by Nevada Barr

her.
    "She. The dog is quiet?"
    "Only barks when this one old cat comes over the wall to kill my birds."
    "She. The dog smells ripe?" Anna asked, remembering the silky brushed coat smelling of lilac.
    "No. He's okay, but she can get a little whiffy."
    Anna was still confused. "The dog is male?"
    "I guess." Geneva had lost interest in the conversation and Anna couldn't blame her. Anna's questions--those that weren't prying or downright rude--sounded like the musings of a dullard fixed on canine behavior patterns. It wasn't species that had her baffled; it was gender.
    A whirl of wind carrying bougainvillea blossoms and a few drops of rain rattled down through the trees into the courtyard. At the far edge of hearing, thunder murmured threats. Geneva threw back her head, face to the sky, arms open wide. "God, but I love thunderstorms," she exclaimed. "They make me feel like I could be lifted on the wind and fly."
    Anna laughed. "Probably because where you grew up that was true."
    "Tornadoes, I don't like," Geneva said.
    "So you live in hurricane country?"
    "Hurricanes don't sneak up on you and pounce. They don't single you out the way tornadoes do. Hurricanes aren't personal. I'll tell you one thing for sure," she said as she unlocked the French doors that led from the garden to the part of the house in which she lived. "Sammy and I are not evacuating again. The powers that be all got massive amounts of egg on their faces for screwing up with Katrina. Now every time a butterfly farts off the coast of Africa they issue mandatory evacuation notices."
    The doors blew open, and Sammy trotted in, his leash snaking behind him. Once Geneva was home he was officially off duty. The change was as obvious as if he ripped off his tie and threw his suit jacket over the back of the couch.
    "Do you want to come in for a drink?" Geneva asked.
    "Sure. This sounds weird--"
    "Everything you say sounds weird."
    "--but do you think Jordan is a woman?"
    "Jordan is a woman."
    "Nope," Anna said. "He's a man, pathetic excuse for a mustache and all. Didn't you ask?"
    "Right. 'By the by, now that you're going to be renting from me, might I inquire as to whether you have a penis or two? Could I see it? Oh, right, I'm blind. I'll need to feel it.' The name Jordan goes both ways; the voice does, too, I guess. Now I'm going to be all convoluted. For your information, I see quite clearly in my brain. I see this woman. Now it's like you snatched her up and presto change-o she's a guy. Thanks a heap."
    Sammy got kibble, Anna and Geneva a California sauvignon blanc. They sat side by side on the sofa, their feet on a wide ottoman, and watched the rain, illuminated periodically by flashes of lightning, sluice down into the courtyard. Or, rather, Anna watched. Geneva listened to the pound of the rain and thunder and saw whatever memories of storms her four-year-old brain had treasured up for a rainy day.
    An inky black cat, easily sixteen pounds, stretched across Geneva's ample lap, front paws extended so he could knead the edge of Anna's thigh whenever he felt her attention wandering from the admiration of his magnificence. M'Boya was never allowed out of doors. As a consequence, he never killed birds, and thus could he and the musician maintain a loving relationship.
    Anna enjoyed a sip of wine and watched the liquid night through the convex lens of her glass. She and alcohol had a long and rich history. In her thirties she had declared herself an alcoholic and eschewed the stuff. After nearly losing her life--and losing a good friend--in the bowels of Lechuguilla Caverns in New Mexico, she'd taken it up again, but it had never gotten the hold on her it had in the early days when she grieved for Zach. Now that she had apparently lucked into true love twice in a single lifetime, wine had become simply an old friend she visited from time to time.
    "I should go," Anna said finally. The rain had stopped falling from the sky, but there was still the passive drip from