It’s Janet’s turn to lift her brow. I take some pleasure in unsteadying her. “Really?”
“Yeah, it’s some genetic condition, like a mutation. It’s rare.” I read the New York Times article. Twice. First, astounded, as if I were reading about a stranger. And then again with Jubilee in mind, trying to comprehend what her life must have been like. What it’s still like.
Janet rearranges her face back into its pleasant expression. “But she doesn’t have any psychic . . . abilities that you’re aware of, correct?” She offers a small smile, as if we’re in on the same joke.
I don’t return it. “No. Not that I’m aware of.”
She nods. “Aja seems to think that the mutation causing her allergy—which I admittedly didn’t think was real—marks her as some kind of evolutionary wonder, and that she perhaps has tapped or untapped supernatural powers.”
Even though I know this is the serious part, what I’m supposed to be concerned about, I can’t help but smile, picturing Jubilee as some superhero out to save the world. And my gut is back to wondering just how much therapy Aja really needs. Yes, I know he has some . . . issues, stemming from his parents’ death. But isn’t this just the overactive imagination of a ten-year-old boy at work?
I say as much to Janet, ending with: “He reads a lot of X-Men. It’s his favorite comic book—and that’s exactly what they are, genetic mutants with extraordinary capabilities.”
“Fair enough,” she says, revealing the palm of her hand. “I just don’t want to leave any stone unturned or miss something given some of the choices Aja’s made in the past. I want to make sure we’re doing everything we can for him.”
My guard lowers a tad. “I know, I understand. Me, too.”
I stand and pick my coat up off the back of the chair where I draped it. As I’m shrugging it on and walking toward the door, Janet calls out. “Eric?”
I turn. “Yeah.”
She fixes me with a kind but stern look. “Talk to him. You’ve got to keep trying. With kids it often takes multiple attempts.”
I nod, thinking of Ellie. Don’t I know it.
twenty
JUBILEE
DECEMBER IS FULL of surprises. The first week, Madison forced me to get a cell phone. “It’s weird that you don’t have one,” she said. “They’re practically mandatory.” Half a Xanax and an hour later I was excited to be in possession of one. But now it feels kind of pointless because the only person who ever calls me on it is Madison.
The second week, Eric invited me over for Christmas. I don’t think he really meant to—it was more that he was trapped into it and didn’t really have a choice.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” he asked, conversationally, on the drive home one night.
“When is it, next Friday?”
He laughed, and then realized I was serious.
“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Do you not celebrate or something?”
I gave my head a small shake. “No. I hate Christmas.” I didn’t intend to say it, but it just fell out.
“You hate Christmas?”
I nodded.
“Why?”
The first few years after Mom left, I made an effort. Put on the Now This Is Christmas! CD of terrible holiday pop tunes she used to bop around the house to. Got out the box of drugstore decorations that were half falling apart and put a few here and there. But when the day actually arrived, looking at them—especially the plastic Santa figurine missing half of his cottony beard—just made me sad. I never minded living alone—not really—except for that one day. That inescapable day where every show and commercial on TV and every song reminds you that you’re meant to be with someone. Because really, what’s the point of celebrating a holiday that’s all about giving gifts when you’ve got no one to give a gift to? My birthday’s not much better, to be honest, but at least there aren’t a thousand reminders I’m alone on that day.
Anyway, all of that sounds kind of pathetic, even to me, so I tried to explain it away with: “I don’t know—the commercialism. All the forced cheer. Oh, and the lights! Dear god, the lights. Look at this neighborhood,” I said, waving my hand toward the window. “It looks like an airport runway! Like they’re expecting a seven thirty-seven to land at any minute.”
Eric barked with laughter. “A real live Grinch. I never would have guessed. Are you going to sneak in all the homes and steal the children’s presents next?”
“Maybe,” I said, giving him a side grin.
“You should come over to our house,” Aja said. “Eric’s cooking.”
And that’s when Eric shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Yes, you should come. You’re welcome to come. I mean, if you want to. No pressure.”
So, see? I don’t think he really wanted to invite me, which is why I demurred before getting out of the car. “Offer’s open,” he shouted after me. “Unless your heart is two sizes too small!”
THE BIGGEST SURPRISE happens the third week of the month, when I walk into the library Monday morning and find Roger standing at the circulation desk, looking forlorn. Or confused. I can’t tell. “Louise got fired,” he says.
“What?”
“Happened first thing this morning. She came in. Maryann called her back and that was it.”
I can’t find words. Louise? I thought she was like a permanent fixture at the library. “How long has she worked here?”
“Since before I started. And that was eight years ago. I want to say, like, fifteen, at least.” He shakes his head. “It was awful—you should have seen her. And on a Monday, too. She was crying. Then I started crying.” He chokes up a little now as he talks and puts a finger over his mouth. Tears pooling in his eyes, he holds my gaze for a second and walks into the back room.
Stunned, I just stand there, coat and bag still on, behind the circulation desk. I’m not sure what to do next. How did Louise get fired? Why? If the city council cut funding it should have been me that they let go. Last one hired, first one fired, like Louise said.
Maryann comes out of the back room and she stops when she sees me. Her shoulders tense. “Hello,” she says. It’s oddly formal, but then she just fired a woman who appeared to be not only a coworker but a friend, so it I guess she wouldn’t be in a jovial mood.
“Morning,” I say.
“You heard, huh?”
I nod. “It’s awful.”
She gives a quick nod back and bites her lip, as if to keep from crying. “Well, we’re all going to have to step it up a bit more around here, seeing as we’ll be shorthanded.”
“Of course,” I say. “Anything.”
She clears her throat and moves toward the desk to pick up a folder, then returns to the back room without another word.
The day passes in a blur, and even though Louise and I didn’t always have the same work schedule, it’s weird to not have her there. Weird to know she won’t be back. It’s emotionally exhausting, and when Aja walks in at four, I give him my now-customary nod and then let him be for the afternoon. I don’t have the energy for our usual conversations.
“What’s wrong?” Eric asks on the ride home.