Pt. 085 — Day 9 Evening 2/2

Mara found Lizzy and Cassie on one of the long couches in the lounge. Lizzy had her legs tucked under her, and Cassie had wrapped herself in a blanket despite the comfortable temperature. They were talking quietly, but both stopped when Mara approached.

“Hey,” Mara said. “I was looking for you.”

Lizzy raised a hand before Mara could sit. “Before you come in, there are rules.”

Mara paused, a confused smile forming. “Rules to enter the lounge?”

“Rules for disturbing Cassie,” Lizzy answered her. “No asking if she's okay. No asking what happened. And no sympathy.”

Mara's expression changed. She glanced at Cassie, who was examining a seam in the blanket with far too much attention.

“That last one will be difficult,” Mara admitted.

“Yes, it will,” Cassie said. “Very difficult. An enormous burden. I appreciate your sacrifice.”

Mara considered her for a moment, then stepped around the end of the couch and settled into an armchair. “All right. I'll behave.”

Cassie made a short sound that might have been a laugh, then pressed the blanket against her mouth. Mara let the silence settle rather than trying to fill it.

After a moment Cassie looked at her. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For not asking.” Cassie's mouth twisted. “I know it's a pain. People worry, and then you end up trying to make them feel better about their end of the conversation.”

Mara nodded. “I can see how that would become exhausting.”

“And then they make the face.” Cassie demonstrated an expression of such extravagant tender concern that Lizzy nearly fell sideways laughing.

“Oh, that face,” Mara agreed. “I can avoid that.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered into her blanket. “We have achieved diplomacy.”

Lizzy's phone chimed on the cushion beside her. She glanced at the screen, then at Cassie. “Claire wants to know if she can join us.”

Cassie considered the question. “Is she going to follow the rules?”

Lizzy nodded, “She says she will.”

“Then yes.”

Lizzy tapped out a reply. Less than a minute later Claire appeared through the lounge doors carrying a tray that looked perilously overburdened with small bowls, paper twists, and pastries.

“Good evening,” Claire announced. “I come bearing tribute.”

Cassie sat straighter. “Is that candy?”

“Pixie sent it. She said she thought you might want something to nibble on.” Claire hesitated, her eyes moving briefly over Cassie's blanket. “She didn't want to interrupt.”

Cassie held out both hands. “I am extremely snack-motivated. Bring forth your offering.”

Claire laughed and set the tray on the table. There were crackers, little iced cakes, sliced fruit, and an assortment of sweets that Cassie immediately began examining with the seriousness of a customs official inspecting contraband.

“She knows us too well,” Mara said.

“Pixie knows all,” Lizzy replied. “It's unsettling.”

“Pixie knows that if she feeds me, I become much easier to manage.” Cassie unwrapped a piece of licorice. “An excellent strategy. You should all take notes.”

Mara leaned back in her chair. “Now I know. I'll keep a pocket full of candy for when I need some peace and quiet.”

Cassie flicked the licorice at her.

Mara caught it against her shoulder and looked down. “Was that supposed to hurt?”

“It was a warning shot.” Cassie pointed another piece of red waxy goodness like a knife.

Mara held up both hands defensively. “Terrifying.”

Claire picked up a little cake. “Van should be the one carrying candy.”

Lizzy blinked. “Why Van?”

There was a tiny pause. Claire looked at Cassie, then at the licorice in Mara's lap.

Lizzy's eyebrows rose as the joke finally assembled itself. “Oh,” Lizzy said. “To control her.”

Cassie rolled her eyes. Mara reached for her glass, and Claire's smile faltered as they all waited to see whether Lizzy would be upset.

Instead Lizzy shrugged. “That doesn't sound like Van.”

“No?” Claire asked carefully.

“Evelyn and Van just earned two points for linking arms.” Lizzy gestured vaguely with her piece of fruit. “I doubt he's plotting world domination with his elbows.”

The others laughed, the moment of caution passing. Cassie shifted her blanket down far enough to reach another sweet.

“Poor man,” she said. “An entire evening with Evelyn. He's probably apologized eighteen times already.”

Claire straightened in her chair and clasped her hands with elaborate humility. “‘Oh, Miss Cross, I'm terribly sorry. I appear to have moved my napkin.’”

Cassie lowered her voice into an imitation of Evelyn's measured authority. “‘Mr. Van, apologies at this juncture are excess to requirements. Kindly refrain from further disturbance of the table linens.’”

Claire shook her head. “‘Of course, Miss Cross. Would you prefer I ask permission before using my fork?’”

“‘Only if you intend to wield it irresponsibly.’”

Lizzy dissolved into laughter. Mara laughed with her, and Cassie leaned against the couch arm, looking pleased with herself.

“Now you're all being cruel,” Mara said.

“Affectionately cruel,” Cassie corrected. “It doesn’t count.”

Claire took another bite of cake. “I can just see him trying to be perfect for her.”

Mara's smile softened. “Maybe. But still waters run deep. I wouldn't be surprised if he makes more of an impression on Evelyn than any of you expect.”

Claire's hand stopped halfway to the tray. Mara didn't seem to notice. She was helping Lizzy rescue a runaway grape from the edge of the table. Cassie had turned her attention to a wrapped caramel.

“He has a way of surprising people,” Mara added.

Claire swallowed the last of her cake. “He certainly does.”

Cassie looked toward her. Claire offered an easy smile and reached for another pastry, joining the next joke a moment later. The conversation wandered toward the peculiar things Pixie considered snacks, but Claire's attention kept slipping toward her phone on the table.

The screen remained dark, her last message to Van still haunting her.

—--------------------

Van led Evelyn along the waterfront beneath a row of lamps that cast bright circles across the paving stones. Behind them the restaurant's music had faded into the general murmur of the evening. Ahead, a cluster of illuminated signs marked businesses facing the promenade.

“I believe I've been patient,” Evelyn said.

“You have,” he agreed. “Heroically so.”

She looked at him sideways. “I should like to know what, precisely, I have agreed to.”

He refused to look at her. “Something you wouldn't normally do.”

She could feel his restrained enjoyment. She knew he wasn’t being cruel but the not knowing was getting to her. “My agreement was provisional.”

“I remember.” He smiled. “Is the brave and powerful CEO and heroine afraid of the unknown?”

“Fear and dislike are different things, Van. I'm perfectly capable of disliking something without fearing it.”

“Good. Then you've got nothing to worry about.” He gestured at the path ahead.

The next building announced itself before they reached the door. A bright wash of color spilled through its windows, and a lively bass line vibrated faintly through the pavement. Above the entrance, an illuminated sign read CENTER STAGE KARAOKE.

Evelyn stopped in shock.

Van took another step before noticing and turning back.

“Van.” Her expression had settled into an astonished stillness. “You cannot possibly be serious.”

“I can. It's a talent.”

She looked at the sign again. A burst of laughter drifted through the door when a couple emerged, arguing cheerfully about whose turn it had been to sing.

“I must concede,” Evelyn said, “that your bravery cannot be understated. Of all the things gentlemen have invited me to do on a date, not one has ever suggested I perform for a half drunk crowd in public.”

“I know,” he said. Something in his voice stole the bite from his words. “That's sort of the point.”

She turned toward him, waiting.

“I've never dated before this week,” he said. “And you're Evelyn Cross. You're the kind of woman people rent out whole facilities for. They probably hire Michael Bublé to sing next to the table while you eat.”

“Something very similar did happen once,” she admitted.

Van pointed triumphantly toward the building. “See? I can't compete with that. I figured we'd try something where we can both be equally ridiculous.”

Evelyn looked at him for a moment longer. “I had been concerned that your mysterious proposal to do something uncomfortable was going to culminate in an attempt to make a pass at me.”

Van's face went red. Then he laughed. “I've got better odds of getting you to sing for a room full of strangers.”

The frankness of the answer startled a laugh out of her. She pressed her fingers briefly against her lips, then offered him her arm.

“All right,” she said. “You've persuaded me to make the attempt. But if a recording of this finds its way to the paparazzi back home, I shall hold you personally responsible.”

Inside, Center Stage was busier than either had expected. Small round tables faced a low stage edged with colored lights. An attendant directed them to an open table and demonstrated the touchscreen song catalog, the microphones, and the way requests entered the queue. Someone onstage was finishing a cheerful, catastrophically off-key number while a nearby group clapped in time.

Evelyn watched the singer bow as though accepting a standing ovation. “They seem remarkably forgiving.”

“I think that's the idea.”

The attendant left them with the controls and two glasses of water. Evelyn turned to Van. “I suppose we're committed now.”

“Nope.” He slid the catalog closer to himself. “You can still say no. I'll go first either way.”

She regarded him, surprised by the offer. “How chivalrous. I had not expected the coat across the puddle to make an appearance quite so soon.”

“I learned from our earlier discussion. I brought a plan that doesn't require me to lie in a drainage ditch.”

Van made his selection and rose before his nerve could desert him. Evelyn watched him join the short queue near the stage, where a woman in a sparkling jacket wished him luck. He smiled at her with such visible relief that Evelyn nearly laughed again.

Van discovered very quickly that singing to himself with the radio at work and trying to perform it were entirely different. He started one line too early, recovered a beat later, and made an ambitious attempt at the higher notes. He was clearly uncomfortable, he tried to move with the music but was too stiff. He never stopped trying though and by the end a broad grin crossed his face when he finally found something like a rhythm.

Evelyn sat with both hands around her water glass.

She had addressed international conferences and spoken to crowds large enough that she could barely see the final rows. She had given interviews while hostile reporters tried to pull statements out of context. She had negotiated with people whose displeasure could move financial markets.

Yet the prospect of standing beneath those colored lights made her stomach tighten.

The absurdity was difficult to ignore. The people around her were constructs inhabiting an artificial environment. No investor would reconsider a contract because Oracle sang badly. No government would withdraw its confidence in her. The consequences existed almost entirely in her imagination.

That didn’t make the act easier to stomach. Van attempted another high note, missed it with magnificent conviction, and received a cheer from the back of the room. Evelyn found herself smiling.

He was clearly enjoying himself. His cheeks were red, and by the final refrain he had abandoned any pretense that the performance was anything but a disaster. When the song ended, he gave an exaggerated bow.

Evelyn applauded before she realized she'd begun. Then she joined the louder cheers, laughing as Van looked toward her with a sheepish grin.

He didn’t return to the table. Instead he moved to the edge of the stage and reached down. Evelyn looked at his offered hand. There was a moment in which she could easily have declined.

She placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, his skin warm and dry. Something in his touch reaching deeper into her than any simple handholding should. She felt like she had, just for a second, touched a live wire. She smiled as he helped her up the short steps. The contact drew a quiet chime from somewhere above them.

EVELYN CROSS GAINED 1 VP

Held Hands with the Master +1 VP

“Oh, for heaven's sake.” Evelyn stopped to read the projection. “Apparently every courtesy you show me is now a taxable event.”

“At least they're paying you.”

The audience paid the notification little attention. Van stepped aside so Evelyn could use the catalog. She selected the duet category and scrolled through the titles, her hand still warm from his. Several songs looked unfamiliar. Others were simply too difficult or complex. She selected one that seemed manageable and showed him the screen.

Van examined it. “I think I know that one.”

“How reassuring,” she murmured.

The introduction started while they were still deciding where to stand.

—------------------

The pool had grown quieter as afternoon retreated into evening. At the far end a pair of swimmers were gathering their belongings. Their voices carried across the water, broken by the occasional slap of a wave against the tiled edge. Fiona and Naomi occupied the same bench where they'd been sitting when the lamps came on.

Naomi had stopped trying to open the conversation. Her hands rested together in her lap. Fiona stared across the pool and listened to the silence stretch until she could no longer stand it.

“What are you waiting for?”

Naomi turned her head. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” she spat. “You've been sitting there for ages.”

“I'm waiting.”

Fiona glared at her. “You just said you weren't waiting for anything.”

“There's a difference.” Naomi considered how to explain. “If I were waiting for something, I'd have a particular result in mind. A confession, perhaps. Or some acknowledgment that I had helped. Something that would tell me I could go away and consider the matter finished.”

Fiona's jaw shifted.

“I don't have one,” Naomi continued. “You don't need to say anything clever or grateful. I'm quite content to sit here with you.”

“While I process my feelings?” Fiona asked, thick with sarcasm. “If so, congrats. You can go. I’m all done.”

Naomi looked out toward the pool again. “I could,” she agreed. “But you’re not done. You’re my friend and you’re having an awful evening. I'd rather you didn't have to spend all of it by yourself.”

“Your friend.” Fiona gave a humorless laugh. “Are we really friends, Naomi? We barely know each other.”

“That’s true,” she allowed. “But, I would like to know you better.”

“You don't know a damn thing about me.” Fiona pushed herself upright, her boots planted squarely on the stone. “You grew up with money and people falling all over themselves to keep you happy. I grew up with people screaming at one another through the walls. You're the foundation princess who gets invited to fundraisers.”

Naomi listened without interrupting.

“You've got the name, the clothes, the perfect little charity career. People see you coming and open doors.” Fiona's mouth twisted. “People see me coming and wonder what's about to explode.”

“Sometimes people see me coming and move out of the way,” Naomi said quietly.

Fiona winced, but didn’t slow down. “That's not the same thing.”

“No. It isn't.” Naomi glanced at her folded hands. “I wouldn't claim we had the same childhood, Fiona. We didn't. I've been fortunate in ways you haven't, and you have experiences I can only imagine.”

“Then stop pretending you get it.”

“I didn't say I understood everything.” Naomi waited until Fiona met her eyes. “But I know something about watching people treat you like dangerous is all you are.”

Fiona turned away. “That’s bullshit. That’s not what my problem is.”

Naomi rubbed her thumb over the edge of one cuff. “I was thirteen when I had my accident.”

Fiona looked back. She had heard parts of Naomi's story, enough to know the general shape of it, but Naomi rarely spoke about the beginning.

“I could control my ability before that,” Naomi said. “I had accidents like every other Empowered child. But, the injury changed something. When I woke up, I didn't know how much.”

The pool's circulation system hummed beneath them. Naomi folded her hands again.

“When the doctors finally let me see my mom, she was covered in bandages. We both were, really, I should have known to be careful. I wanted her to hold me.” Naomi swallowed. “So I reached for her. I wrapped my arms around her before anyone could stop me.”

Fiona's anger drained out of her expression.

“I nearly killed her,” Naomi said. “I didn’t even realize what I was doing. I was just glad she was there.”

Fiona swallowed hard. “Christ.”

“They got us apart. They treated her. Afterward there were rules, of course. Gloves. Nurses watching the distance between us. Therapists who taught me how not to touch people. We went through specialists, coaches, facilities—whatever anyone thought might help me control it again.”

Fiona looked down at her boots. The toe of one was resting against a hairline crack between two paving stones.

“My mother made sure I had everything I needed,” Naomi went on. “I don't want to pretend she abandoned me. She paid for people who were very good at helping, and she made certain I was safe. But she stopped spending much time alone with me. When she did, I could see how carefully she watched my hands.”

Naomi gave a small, rueful smile that didn't reach her eyes.

“I used to think if we found the right doctor, she'd look at me the way she used to. Then another year would pass, and another specialist would tell us there was nothing new to try.” Her hands tightened together. “Eventually I stopped expecting it.”

Fiona sat perfectly still.

“I know that my power can hurt people,” Naomi said. “I won't insult you by pretending the danger isn't real. But for a long time now, when my mother looks at me all she can see is the danger I represent.”

She stopped there. Across the water a swimmer climbed out of the pool, laughing at something his companion said. They disappeared through the doors to the changing rooms.

Fiona dragged a hand down her face. “Jesus, Naomi. That's fucking awful.”

Naomi looked at her. “It wasn't a happy time.”

“No kidding.” Fiona tried to say something else, then stopped. She stared at the water for several seconds. “I didn't know.”

“I haven't told many people all of it.”

“Yeah.” Fiona rubbed the back of her neck. “And here I am telling you that you don't know a damn thing about me.”

“You weren't entirely wrong.”

Fiona shot her a look. Naomi's mouth curved slightly.

“You don't,” Fiona admitted. “Know me, I mean. And I don't know you either. I just figured—”

“That I'd never had to worry about anyone being afraid of me?”

“Something like that.” Fiona grimaced. “Turns out I can be a judgmental arsehole in more than one direction.”

Naomi almost smiled. “Not the words, I would have chosen.”

They sat quietly while the last of the swimmers crossed the deck. Fiona's shoulders had settled, though her expression remained troubled.

After a while she asked, “Did it ever get better? With your mum?”

Naomi took her time answering. “Some things did. I learned how to live with what happened. And I've learned things here that I didn't think were possible. As for my mother…” She glanced down at her hands. “I don't know what will happen when I go home.”

Fiona nodded. There was nothing useful to say to that.

“I meant it about the friendship,” Naomi added. “But if you truly want to be alone, I'll respect that.”

Fiona looked toward the doors, then at the vacant stretch of bench between them.

“You can stay,” she said. “If you want.”

“I do.”

“Good.” Fiona leaned back. “Just don't expect me to start spilling my guts because you won an argument.”

“I wasn't aware we were keeping score.”

“We absolutely are.”

Naomi laughed softly. They remained on the bench, no longer needing the silence to prove anything.

— — —

Evelyn missed her first entrance.

She had been so intent on finding the beginning of her part that she failed to notice the cue until Van gave her a startled look. He tried to cover for her and entered on the wrong line himself. The mistake sent them into a brief, spectacular tangle from which neither emerged with much dignity.

“Your part,” Evelyn murmured when the music permitted it.

“Oh.”

The chorus arrived before they could straighten out the problem. Van sang his section with all sincerity but very little skill. Evelyn concentrated on staying in time and keeping her voice steady.

She was not especially bad. She could hear the melody well enough to follow it and she had a naturally clear voice. What she couldn't seem to do was forget that people were watching.

Van, apparently, had forgotten almost immediately.

He turned toward her for the next exchange, eyebrows raised in exaggerated expectation. She delivered her line correctly. He answered with a flourish that was almost certainly not recommended by the original composer.

She gave him a look. He grinned.

On the next passage, she became so intent on correcting his timing that she missed her own cue.

Van looked delighted.

“Stop enjoying it so much,” she warned under the music.

Evelyn tried to maintain her stern expression. It survived for perhaps two seconds before she laughed, breaking the final word of her next line into an undignified noise.

A few people at the nearest table cheered. Van laughed with her, and for the rest of the song neither made much effort to disguise the mistakes. When they lost their place, they found it again. When a line overlapped, they pointed accusingly at each other. By the last chorus Evelyn was moving with the beat, turning toward Van to trade lines rather than standing squarely before the audience.

They finished together, more or less.

Van raised their joined hands in victory. Evelyn allowed it, laughing too hard to object as the room applauded. They descended the steps and returned to their table, where she accepted her water glass with a gratitude normally reserved for people rescued from a desert island.

“That,” she said after a long drink, “was an unmitigated disaster.”

“I thought we were pretty good.” He laughed and sat back. “Did you hate it?”

Evelyn considered the question. Her pulse had not quite settled, and she could feel the unfamiliar ache of laughing so much.

“No,” she admitted. “I had a rather wonderful time.”

Van's expression softened into such open pleasure that she found herself smiling again.

“I should make a note of this,” she added. “There may be future occasions when I require you to embarrass yourself for my amusement.”

“I'll need a schedule. Can't be making a fool of myself on demand.”

“I suspect you will find a way.”

While he drank his water, Evelyn reached for the catalog. The interface returned to the list of songs, and she scrolled without any particular purpose. Her eye passed over the familiar titles until one near the middle caught her attention.

She stopped.

For a moment she was no longer thinking about the stage. The title brought back a bedroom mirror, a hairbrush held like a microphone, the quick rhythm coming from an old set of speakers while she tried to put her hair up. She remembered having to redo it because she'd started dancing before the pins were secure. She couldn't remember the last time she'd deliberately listened to the song.

“Something good?” Van asked.

Evelyn looked up. “Something I used to love.”

“Want to try it?”

She studied the title again. “I used to sing this while getting ready in the morning. When I was much younger.”

She turned the catalog toward him, then drew it back and pressed the selection before she could begin listing objections.

Van stood, collecting his glass. “Another duet?”

“No,” Evelyn said. “I believe I'll do this one myself.”

He blinked. “Really?”

She was already rising. “Don't look so alarmed, Van. I have survived considerably more dangerous situations.”

“I wasn't alarmed.” He grinned. “I want to hear it.”

Evelyn gave him a look intended to convey dignified disapproval. It lost some of its authority when she had to suppress another smile.

The song was quicker than she'd remembered.

That was her first thought as the opening beat ran through the room. She stood beneath the lights with one hand around the microphone, her weight distributed evenly, shoulders straight. The opening lines came back easily enough. She remembered the tune, but her voice emerged careful and a little too precise, as if she were addressing a room of shareholders who had asked for a musical report.

Van clapped along from the table. He was off the beat for the first few measures, then found it.

Evelyn nearly smiled, but she concentrated on the next line instead.

The rhythm changed. She knew it would; she'd known it once so well that she could anticipate the change without listening. Her heel tapped against the stage. The following phrase came out with a little more life in it.

Then she reached a familiar run of notes and remembered a stupid little gesture she'd always made at that part. Her free hand moved before she thought better of it.

The motion startled her. She laughed into the next line, missed the first word, and caught up almost immediately.

Someone cheered.

The following chorus was impossible to perform standing still. She shifted from one foot to the other, then gave up the effort to remain in place. By the time the song came around again, she was moving with it. Her voice was not suddenly magnificent, and the quicker passages took some breath she hadn't prepared to spend. She didn't care enough to stop.

The music stirred fragments of mornings she hadn't thought of in years: sunlight falling across a dressing table, the nuisance of a stubborn hairpin, singing toward her own reflection while the rest of the house went about its business. She had been young and busy and full of plans, and sometimes a song had simply been a reason to dance.

Van was standing now, applauding in time, grinning at her from between the tables.

Evelyn pointed the microphone toward him for a refrain. He gave the line his best effort from where he stood. She laughed at his dreadful contribution, reclaimed the song, and sailed into the final passage with an enthusiasm that made several of the tables near the stage join in.

She missed a note. She threw up her free hand as though the mistake deserved its own ovation and carried straight on.

When the song finished, Evelyn was at the front of the stage, cheeks warm, breathing hard, and laughing before the applause began.

Van cheered loud enough to be heard above the nearest table. She found him immediately in the crowd.

For once she made no attempt to hide how pleased she was.

She gave him a bright, extravagant bow.