Genevieve saw Joe’s expression darken and knew he wasn’t pleased, to say the least.
And yet, though she had enlisted Adam’s help because of Joe, she was tempted to say, “Hey, what about me? I need some help, too.”
But she had never mentioned her own strange experiences to Joe, any more than he had confided in her about what was preying on his mind and making him act so strangely. Maybe she was like him, determined not to acknowledge the reality of certain things. At the same time, the very fact that she had called Adam in meant she was at least a little bit more receptive than Joe was.
They hadn’t eaten yet, but suddenly Joe stood and said, “We’ll see. But you’ll have to excuse me. I just remembered something I have to do. Enjoy your lunch,” he added. Then he turned and left.
And that was it. Everyone else at the table was left staring after him.
“Hmm, that went well,” Nikki said, after a moment.
And Genevieve had to laugh, even if there was just a hint of a sob in it.
“No, I’m serious, that went well,” Nikki repeated.
“How can you say that?” Genevieve asked.
“He didn’t tell us all to go fuck ourselves, for one thing,” Brent said, offering her an encouraging smile.
“Brent…” Adam said.
“Sorry.”
Then Adam waved the waiter over, and Gen realized they were still going to have lunch, though she was sure she wouldn’t be able to eat a thing.
“How about you? How are you doing?” Nikki asked her, once they’d placed their orders.
Genevieve looked at the other woman, her senior by only a few years. She suddenly envied her tremendously. She was fully comfortable with her “gift,” whether other people believed in it or not, and she was also head over heels in love with her husband, who had an ever greater “gift” and who completely understood her.
“I’m sure it’s just the stress getting to me, because I thought…well, I mean, it’s not like anyone was really even there,” she said, then bit her lip. She hadn’t really intended to say that out loud, had she?
“What?” Brent asked, and flashed a glance at Nikki.
Genevieve winced. “I’m sorry. Like I said, it’s just the stress of worrying about my mother and the whole Poe thing.”
“I heard,” Nikki mused, obviously sensing Gen’s discomfort and willing to let her off the hook, at least for now, “there are Poe tours here in New York.”
“Are you suggesting we take one?” Adam asked.
“Why not?”
Genevieve was surprised to discover that the offer of the diversion was a welcome one, even for her.
While they waited for their meals, Adam made a call and set everything up, and as soon as they finished their meal, they were on their way. Their guide was knowledgeable, taking them around the city by minivan, pointing out Poe’s familiar haunts in Greenwich Village, and describing what the Five Points area would have been like in the eighteen-forties so well that they could practically see gangs like the Forty-Thieves and the Plug-Uglies running rampant. Then he took them up to Fordham, in the Bronx, where they visited the Poe Cottage, where his beloved wife—and cousin—Virginia had died, finally succumbing to tuberculosis.
Brent didn’t spend much time in the cottage. Genevieve came across him standing outside. It was a beautiful day, and his head was lifted up to the sunshine and the blue sky.
“You’re not enjoying the tour?” she asked.
“Not the cottage,” he said.
She hesitated. “Did, um, anyone in there…talk to you?”
He smiled at her, amused by her reticence to talk about something he considered totally normal, but he didn’t answer directly. “There’s just such an aura of sadness there.” He didn’t say anything else, but she felt that as if she could read his thoughts, and she knew that being inside the cottage was actually painful for him.
She almost told him then about her feeling that someone had whispered in her ear, asking for help, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say anything.
The tour ended at the cottage, and as they headed back into Manhattan, Adam suggested that they call Eileen and arrange to pick her up to have dinner.
“At O’Malley’s?” Genevieve teased.
Adam shrugged. “Why not?”
Still, when they returned to the Village and his driver picked them up, Adam leaned forward and gave him the address for Hastings House, rather than Eileen’s apartment.
“I…thought we were picking up my mother?” Gen said.
“I’ll call and tell her we’ll be a few minutes late,” Adam said.
By the time they reached the street where the historic house sat, the workday was at an end, darkness was falling and the neighborhood seemed almost eerily quiet. Adam’s driver parked and waited, while the rest of them got out and stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the house.
“It’s closed by now,” Genevieve said to Adam. “If you want to get in after hours, you can call tomorrow, and I’m sure the powers that be will give you a key.”