by Gini Koch
“That was fun, can we do it again?” the little girl asked.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Kimberly and I’m three.”
“Nice to meet you Kimberly, I’m Kitty.”
“Are you gonna marry my Uncle Jeff?”
“That’s the issue of the day, there, Kimmie.”
“Kimberly,” Lucinda corrected.
I looked at Lucinda. “Which do you prefer, Kimberly, Kim, Kimmie?”
“I like Kimmie!”
“Then Kimmie it is. Lucinda—if you don’t want me calling you Luci and giving every single person in this house not one, not two, but at least three nicknames each, don’t correct me. Ever again.” I looked back at Kimmie. “And, really, what we are or aren’t going to do is no one’s business but mine and your Uncle Jeff’s.”
“Okay. Will you sit by me at dinner?”
“If we ever see dinner before midnight, sure.” I looked back at Lucinda. “Seriously. Make a choice. I’m gonna eat the kid raw.” Kimmie giggled.
“Dinner will be on the table in five minutes,” she said quietly. Then she turned and went into the kitchen. The other women, other than Claudia, Lorraine, and Doreen, went with her.
Barbara started to come around. “Someone keep her away from me, or I’m going to pretend she’s Beverly and go to town.”
One of the men I hadn’t been introduced to wandered in, looked down, and sighed. “She gets like this.”
“Daddy,” Doreen said, “I’m marrying Irving!”
“Fine, fine. I heard the proclamations.” He looked at me. “You’re going to destroy our race, you know.”
“No, actually, I’m going to save it. But I don’t expect you to understand. Closed minds, brilliant or not, can’t comprehend new ideas.”
He picked Barbara up and left. I hoped they were leaving for real, but who knew? I figured I’d better be prepared for Barbara to come up behind me with a butcher knife.
“So, we staying?” Martini asked me. “She didn’t apologize.”
I shrugged. “I don’t care. Food is here.”
He nodded. “Fine.” Martini looked at his father. “Thanks for the head’s up.”
Alfred shook his head. “I had no idea they were really going to try to go through with it. Been a little distracted the last day or so.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Kitty. I apologize on behalf of our entire family.”
“I don’t care. The person you should be apologizing to is Jeff.” I stalked out of the hallway, still carrying Kimmie. “Where’s the dining room?”
She pointed through the kitchen. I walked around the various women and did my best to ignore them completely. “Mommy, I’m going to sit with Kitty!” Kimmie said to Marianne.
“Good,” she said quietly. “I’ll just help you two get settled.”
We walked into the massive dining room. Clearly the Martinis were used to feeding small armies. “Nice place to grow up.”
“It was fine. I’m sorry about my mother and Barbara. Despite how it looks, my mother doesn’t hate you.”
“She’s faking it really well.”
“She’s afraid for you.”
I looked at her. “Come again?”
Marianne shook her head. “Empathic children are the most difficult.” She led me to a spot somewhere in the middle of one of the two big tables in the room. “The closest comparison I can come up with is autism. Only it’s worse with an empathic.” She sighed. “I can remember how much my parents wanted a boy and how happy they were when Jeff arrived. And then ... ”
“Then he was a little work?” I tried not to sound huffy and failed.
“No. You don’t understand. Babies can’t filter anything. Most empathic talent shows up later, but Jeff was empathic at birth. And Jeff was so powerful—if our mother was tired, or cross with us, or angry with our father, he could feel it all. It was horrible. If Aunt Terry hadn’t been able to take him, we’d have had to institutionalize him, for his mental safety.”
“But there’s nothing wrong with him.”
“Now. Oh, unless you count someone having to shoot adrenaline into his hearts to keep him alive.” She was trying not to cry. “He’s my baby brother—we all wanted him so much. And then we couldn’t be around him, couldn’t even hold him, because we couldn’t keep all emotions from him. And we could see it was killing him.”
“Okay, so it’s difficult. But isolation chambers, medical, learning how to get to the Happy Place. You all have a lot of empaths, not just Jeff, and I know some of them show their talent earlier than puberty or adulthood Surely you have techniques.”
“It’s rare to get an empath of Jeff’s power in a nontalented family, but, yes, there are things to do. Things that are easier for an A-C to do than a human.”
“Jeff’s pretty good at all this stuff,” I said dryly. “I’d imagine he’ll be able to do what Terry did.”
“If he’s alive.”
“What do you mean?”
Marianne shook her head. “We know what kind of jobs you do. Jeff almost died how many times today?”
“Three or four.” I’d lost count.
“One day, he won’t be lucky. The bullets will hit him, the superbeing will be too much for him, the adrenaline won’t get to him in time. And that will leave you with a child or children you can’t hope to take care of. That’s what our mother’s trying to protect you from.”
“By alienating her son?”
“By driving you away.”
“I don’t roll like that, sorry. I’m really stubborn. If I’m told ‘you can’t,’ then that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Oh, and that includes taking care, proper care, of any children I might have.” I was clutching Kimmie to me, I realized.
The little girl patted my back. “It’s okay, Kitty. You don’t have to be upset. Everyone likes you, even though they were pretending not to. Well, other than that mean lady. But she doesn’t like anyone, not even Grandma, though she pretends to. I don’t like her. I’m glad you hit her, she wanted to hurt you.”
Marianne’s eyes widened. “Kimberly. . . . ”
“It’s okay, Mommy. You don’t have to be so scared.”
“That’s right.” Martini said from behind me. He took Kimmie out of my arms. “We took care of all that, didn’t we?”
Kimmie hugged him. “Yes. I do what you taught me every day.”
He kissed her. “Good girl.” Martini looked at Marianne. “She’s empathic. Not as strong as me, but pretty close.”
“But, Jeff, how . . . ?” Marianne sounded close to fainting. He shrugged. “I was there when you delivered her. I handled it then.”
“Handled what?”
“I implanted what she’d need to survive until she was old enough to protect herself. Just as I’ve done for all the other kids in our family who are empathic.” He gave her a small smile. “Mom and Uncle Richard might not have talent, but no one’s stopped to realize that dear unlamented Granddad was incredibly powerful. It skipped their generation, but not ours, and not hers,” he nodded to Kimmie. He looked at me. “Aunt Terry taught me.”
“I figured.” As fascinating as this was, I was wondering what the holdup on the food was.
“They had to make more food, reheat other food, figure out how in the world to apologize to you without sounding like the most interfering bunch of biddies the world has ever known,” Martini said, rather cheerfully. “You know, routine.”
“Food?”
He bent and kissed my cheek. “Coming. Nice move on Barbara.”
“I’m making a decision to hate all A-C women whose names start with B.”
“Could be a sound policy.” Martini put Kimmie into a chair and pulled out the one next to it for me. “I understand one seat next to you is already taken.”
I sat down, and he pushed my chair in. I felt a moment’s panic until he sat next to me. Marianne sat next to Kimmie. She looked pale. “Jeff . . . how many of the kids are empaths?”
“Half. The ot
hers are all imageers. Don’t worry, Christopher’s taken care of them.”
On cue Christopher came in and sat down across from me. “Thought we weren’t going to tell anyone.”
“I like to break the rules.”
“Every day in my memory. Kitty, you okay?”
“Hanging in. About to faint, but great otherwise.”
Martini was up and then back in seconds. He had a bowl of rolls. “Here. Go to town.”
I grabbed two and started wolfing them down. “V’ry good. Th’nks.”
“Can’t have you fainting on me unless I cause it.”
“Mmmm huh.” I was on rolls three and four.
“Jeez, you ever feed your woman?” Reader pulled up next to Christopher. “Paul and ACE are having fascinating discussions with the elders. I don’t think ACE is clear on the whole ‘body needs fuel to survive’ concept. Oh, girlfriend? Toss me some rolls.”
I did, reluctantly. I gave one to Christopher and Martini, too. And Kimmie. Marianne said she could wait. Only one roll left.
I ate it and shoved the bowl back at Martini.
He grinned. “Yes, master.”
CHAPTER 51
DINNER WAS FINALLY ON THE TABLE, and everyone was seated. I was never so happy in my life to have them pass on the blessing. I managed to ignore the “due to our guests’ overwhelming hunger” gibe and just dig in.
True to its hype, Lucinda’s meat loaf was to die for. The rest of the meal was pretty great, too. I had a few more rolls, two helpings of mashed potatoes and gravy, a good portion of corn, some odd jello-type salad that tasted nothing like it looked but was still food, and a variety of other side dishes I ate too fast to contemplate.
In the middle of my third helping of meat loaf I realized Martini hadn’t eaten much. I thought about it—he didn’t make food like this whenever he cooked, and he didn’t order food like this when we went out.
I got up without fuss, told Martini I’d be right back, and went into the kitchen. It was huge, but I figured I could spot a refrigerator without too much trouble. Did, and it was fully stocked. Grabbed six eggs and then looked for where they hid the spices here. Found them near the pots and pans, which hung decoratively from a ceiling rack. My other best girlfriend in high school, Amy, had come from a wealthy family. I recognized the way the kitchen was set up—Amy’s mom had hers done similarly. The rich all thought alike, which made it easier for the middle class to make their man an omelet.
This was the one dish I made with reasonable frequency, and only because Martini genuinely liked them and loved that I made them for him. True, I usually served these to him in bed, but I knew everyone on our team had been starving, and he hadn’t eaten enough to stay healthy. Besides, I had no clear idea of how to quickly make anything else that he liked.
Found the right pan, got to work. Decided to see if there were additional ingredients he liked about. Mushrooms, check. Cheese, check. Several varieties, double-check. Chicken livers, not a check and not a surprise, either. Same with lox. He liked those, but he had only been introduced to them by me and my family. Well, couldn’t have everything.
I was good at this, didn’t burn the pan or anything. Found a plate, slid my pretty good-looking omelet onto it. Turned off the stove, moved the pan to cool. Miraculous. No fire alarms had gone off, the pan wasn’t burned, no kitchen tools had been harmed. It was a cheerful cooking moment.
I got back to the dining room in time to hear Lucinda ask Martini why he wasn’t finishing his food. He was playing with it, just staring at the plate. I walked over, kissed his head, took his old plate, put his new plate down, and went back into the kitchen. I ate his meat loaf in there, then came back out. I mean, it was really delicious and I wasn’t sure when I’d see another meal again on this trip.
Returned to the dining room and sat down. The omelet was almost done. “You want another one?”
He grinned at me. “No, this is great.”
I looked over at Lucinda. “He really hates meat loaf. Not just yours, everyone’s. And, if I made it, which I don’t, he’d hate mine, too. He hates my mother’s. The thing is . . . my mother, having made it once and discovering Jeff hates it, has never made it again when he’s been over. If, for some reason, there is a meat loaf on our table, she has something else for Jeff as well.”
“That’s catering to whims,” one of the older men said. He was sitting with Sylvia, but I couldn’t remember his name.
“Yeah. What’s your point?”
Sylvia rolled her eyes. “As if I don’t cater to you.”
“Maybe I was raised wrong. My mother caters to my father. He caters to her, too. It’s part of how they show they love each other.” I wasn’t sure if this was a great line in front of Martini’s entire family, but it didn’t get the outrage it might have an hour earlier.
“It’s everyone else’s favorite,” Lucinda said.
“Yes, I can see why. It’s great. Caviar is great, too. So’s sushi. But not everyone likes them. He’s thirty, not three. He’s not going to like it, ever.” I looked down at Kimmie. “Just remember, you should always try things, but if you don’t like them, for real, then you shouldn’t have to eat them when you get bigger.”
“I hate potatoes,” she said.
“Well, sometimes your tastes change. It’s worth it to try things again, every once in a while, just in case.” Me, I loved potatoes, but I was also of the “more for me” mind-set.
The other children took this as an opportunity. “I hate peas.” “I hate mangos.” “I hate beets.” Soon the room was ringing with food hatred. I snagged another roll.
“You like these rolls?” I asked Martini.
“Yeah.”
“Can you make them?”
“Yep.”
“Good. Plan on it. My parents will think you’re a culinary god. No one makes decent rolls in our family, and these are to die for.”
Martini put his arm around the back of my chair. “This is possibly the best family dinner I’ve ever had.” The listing of hated foods had gotten the adults caught up. Everyone was sharing what they didn’t like to eat. I even caught a couple mentions of “meat loaf” in there.
I was feeling full, finally, but still took another roll, just in case. I was ready to suggest going to the hotel, wherever it was, when my phone rang.
Dug it out, but not a number I recognized, again. “Hello?”
“You’ve started something you can’t win.” It was a man’s voice, muffled, but menacing all the same. “You’re going to end up with bullets in your brain, just like your friend.”
“Did you kill Karl Smith?”
“Stay out of my business, or you’ll find out.” The phone went dead.
All our team were sitting near me, or near enough. They’d all stopped talking and were looking at me. “Kitty, who was that?” Christopher asked quietly.
“Someone in charge of things.”
“How do you know?” Martini asked, his voice taut.
“He said ‘my business.’”I looked at Reader. “Ten to one I just got a call from Howard Taft or Leventhal Reid.”
“Give me the phone,” Kevin said. I passed it down the table to him. “Not a Kennedy number.” He pulled his phone out and called someone. “I need a trace on a number, stat.”
“I’d really hoped to nap before we had to roll again,” I told Martini.
“You have your little stalker friend to deal with, too.”
“I think she should just pass on that one,” Reader said. “Seems like the least of our worries.”
“No, Psycho Chick’s got skills. She could cause problems or kill us. I mean, she almost did already.”
“Nothing much on the number,” Kevin said. He sounded frustrated as my phone moved back to me. “More than we got on Serene’s cell phone, but only just. It’s a payphone in Miami.”
“Not exactly next door.”
“Not that far, in reality.” Reader said. “Few hours’ drive or a quick flight to get from Cap
e Canaveral to Miami.”
“Or Orlando,” Kevin offered. “Could have gone in and out of there, too.”
“Fabulous.”
I felt a tug on my arm. Oh, hell, I’d forgotten Kimmie was right there. “Will you bring Uncle Jeff back soon?”
“What?”
“I know you’re all leaving. Will you bring him and Uncle Christopher back soon?” She seemed preternaturally calm.
“I implanted blocks,” Martini whispered. “She can’t feel anything but top layer emotions and even those are muted.”
“I’ll do my best,” I told her.
Kimmie nodded. “Good. We miss them. Grandma cries about it a lot.”
Oh, really? I shot a look at Lucinda; she was trying to pretend she hadn’t heard this exchange. Maybe she hadn’t, but like all small children, Kimmie wasn’t clear on the concept of Inside Voice. I had to figure most of the room had heard her.
Families were weird. It seemed logical to me that if Lucinda wanted her son and nephew around, she’d make them feel they were wanted. I’d only been in their house a short while, but it was pretty clear Martini hadn’t exaggerated anything.
“Well, they miss you, too.” I figured this wasn’t a lie. Martini and Christopher probably did miss the kids.
“We have to go,” Martini said, in his Commander voice, happily moving the conversation off uncomfortable family things. “Alpha and Airborne, move out. Michael, Brian, we need you, too.”
Everyone got up, said thanks, and we headed to the entry room. “Where are we going?”
“The hotel’s secured, so we’ll go there. If we’re lucky, we can sleep at least a couple of hours.” Martini gave me a wide smile. “Or at least relax.”
“I like how you think.”
CHAPTER 52
SECURED HOTEL MEANT HOTEL WITH a gate in alien-speak. This was a relief—the last thing I wanted to do was put more time between me and a bed or Martini and a shower. Or, preferably, me and Martini in a shower and then in the bed.
Alfred had taken care of everything, so we just walked to the front desk, got room keys, and headed off. We were all on the top floor, but the hotel was only four stories, so we weren’t looking to have much of a view.