connects guns with some unpleasant things in her past, but she agrees that Jules has the right to an education."
"I don't want to create a problem here."
"You're not creating it. Ah, here's the Juice now."
"The name is Jules, Alhambra," she growled in the mock disgust of a long-standing joke, and in an aside added, "Good morning, Kate."
Today's T-shirt read, in delicate gold writing: WHEN GOD CREATED MAN, SHE WAS ONLY JOKING. Kate grinned.
"Hey, J, like the shirt. Ready to go? Oh, hi, Jani."
Jani came into the room, dressed more casually than Kate had ever seen her (though rumor had it that when Al Hawkin had first met her, she'd been wearing nothing but a towel, no doubt an exaggeration) - in yellow-orange cotton shorts and a loose white blouse, both crisply ironed. There were also sandals on her feet, two pencils through the heavy bun she wore her gorgeous black hair in, and a pair of reading glasses in one hand. When she entered the room, her daughter immediately stiffened and looked out of the window.
"Hello, Kate. Have you been offered anything to drink?"
"I've got coffee, thanks."
"And you, Jules, did you eat breakfast?"
"I'm not hungry, Mother."
Ah, said Kate to herself, so that's how it is.
What a world lay in those four words, a minor salvo in the bitter civil war between mother and daughter, a family of two turned in on itself in dependency, infuriated at itself. The four words brought with them a flood of memories, of battles and uneasy peace treaties made all the more terrible by the love that lay beneath. Kate drained her coffee cup, still standing, and held it out to her partner with a smile that felt pasted on.
"Thanks, Al, that was great." He handed it to Jules.
"Put it in the sink, would you, Jujube?"
"Anything you say, Altercation."
When the child had left the room, Jani spoke quietly, with surface nonchalance. "Before I forget, Kate, Rosa Hidalgo would appreciate it if you could stop by before you leave today. Nothing terribly urgent, merely a question that arose concerning one of her young clients."
"But what --" Kate stopped, surprised at the stillness in Jani's posture, the urgency in her eyes. "Sure, be glad to," she said easily, and Jani relaxed and held Kate's eyes for a split instant longer, in warning, before nodding her head in an informal leave-taking and disappearing back into her study. Jules stood in the doorway and watched her mother's retreating back, glowering with suspicion.
"Shall we go?" Kate suggested.
"Have a good time, Emerald," Al said. Jules roused herself.
"I'll try, Allegheny."
"Be home by midnight, Pearl." He stifled a yawn.
"Or you'll turn into a pumpkin, right, Alcatraz? And by the way," she said as a parting shot, "I don't think pearls qualify as jewels."
He laughed and closed the apartment door behind them. On the stairs, Jules dropped the joking attitude as if it had never been and turned to Kate.
"What did she want?"
"Who, your mother? Oh, at the end there. She didn't want anything," Kate said easily. "Had a message from Rosa downstairs, probably about a case she asked me about a while back. Why?"
"She's always talking about me to people."
"That's hardly surprising; you're an important part of her life. It would be a bit strange never to mention you, don't you think?" Kate knew that her face gave away nothing - there were too many hours of interrogation behind her to let her thoughts be read by a twelve-year-old. Even this twelve-year-old.
"That's not what I mean."
"No? Well, in this case, I don't think your suspicions are justified. Your mom probably just thought it was a private message, that's all."
In silence, Kate and Jules walked down the two flights of stairs, Kate feeling absurdly on trial, as aware of the child's inner turmoil as if she could see it on a screen: Which side was Kate on? Kate wondered if it mattered, knew that it did, knew furthermore that she wanted Jules to trust her loyalty, and realized that she'd be a damned fool to
"I don't want to create a problem here."
"You're not creating it. Ah, here's the Juice now."
"The name is Jules, Alhambra," she growled in the mock disgust of a long-standing joke, and in an aside added, "Good morning, Kate."
Today's T-shirt read, in delicate gold writing: WHEN GOD CREATED MAN, SHE WAS ONLY JOKING. Kate grinned.
"Hey, J, like the shirt. Ready to go? Oh, hi, Jani."
Jani came into the room, dressed more casually than Kate had ever seen her (though rumor had it that when Al Hawkin had first met her, she'd been wearing nothing but a towel, no doubt an exaggeration) - in yellow-orange cotton shorts and a loose white blouse, both crisply ironed. There were also sandals on her feet, two pencils through the heavy bun she wore her gorgeous black hair in, and a pair of reading glasses in one hand. When she entered the room, her daughter immediately stiffened and looked out of the window.
"Hello, Kate. Have you been offered anything to drink?"
"I've got coffee, thanks."
"And you, Jules, did you eat breakfast?"
"I'm not hungry, Mother."
Ah, said Kate to herself, so that's how it is.
What a world lay in those four words, a minor salvo in the bitter civil war between mother and daughter, a family of two turned in on itself in dependency, infuriated at itself. The four words brought with them a flood of memories, of battles and uneasy peace treaties made all the more terrible by the love that lay beneath. Kate drained her coffee cup, still standing, and held it out to her partner with a smile that felt pasted on.
"Thanks, Al, that was great." He handed it to Jules.
"Put it in the sink, would you, Jujube?"
"Anything you say, Altercation."
When the child had left the room, Jani spoke quietly, with surface nonchalance. "Before I forget, Kate, Rosa Hidalgo would appreciate it if you could stop by before you leave today. Nothing terribly urgent, merely a question that arose concerning one of her young clients."
"But what --" Kate stopped, surprised at the stillness in Jani's posture, the urgency in her eyes. "Sure, be glad to," she said easily, and Jani relaxed and held Kate's eyes for a split instant longer, in warning, before nodding her head in an informal leave-taking and disappearing back into her study. Jules stood in the doorway and watched her mother's retreating back, glowering with suspicion.
"Shall we go?" Kate suggested.
"Have a good time, Emerald," Al said. Jules roused herself.
"I'll try, Allegheny."
"Be home by midnight, Pearl." He stifled a yawn.
"Or you'll turn into a pumpkin, right, Alcatraz? And by the way," she said as a parting shot, "I don't think pearls qualify as jewels."
He laughed and closed the apartment door behind them. On the stairs, Jules dropped the joking attitude as if it had never been and turned to Kate.
"What did she want?"
"Who, your mother? Oh, at the end there. She didn't want anything," Kate said easily. "Had a message from Rosa downstairs, probably about a case she asked me about a while back. Why?"
"She's always talking about me to people."
"That's hardly surprising; you're an important part of her life. It would be a bit strange never to mention you, don't you think?" Kate knew that her face gave away nothing - there were too many hours of interrogation behind her to let her thoughts be read by a twelve-year-old. Even this twelve-year-old.
"That's not what I mean."
"No? Well, in this case, I don't think your suspicions are justified. Your mom probably just thought it was a private message, that's all."
In silence, Kate and Jules walked down the two flights of stairs, Kate feeling absurdly on trial, as aware of the child's inner turmoil as if she could see it on a screen: Which side was Kate on? Kate wondered if it mattered, knew that it did, knew furthermore that she wanted Jules to trust her loyalty, and realized that she'd be a damned fool to
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