Weavers

by Aric Davis

  The Teslas were ungainly and likely unnecessary inside the walls of the TRC, but they were still required. The helmets looked like a mix of a forward-facing toaster and a knight’s basinet, with their edges flowing with red lights so that other people could verify they were activated. Since TKs could seize a normal’s brainwaves and influence them, the Tesla provided a constantly flowing stream of interference, each thread of which appeared to be normal brain function. A really good TK like Frank might be able to grab onto one or two real threads of consciousness even through the screen, but he would be able to do little more than give the helmet’s user a headache, much less control him. Despite the helmets and the other safety countermeasures inside of the TRC, firearms were forbidden past the first floor, and there were no exceptions to this rule.

  Jessica walked past reception and headed straight to the conference room, where on a typical day Howard would be waiting for her. Today the room was empty and dark, and though the motion sensors handled the lights, Jessica felt a little weird sitting without being invited to by Howard. Staring at the rarely used drink cart across from her, Jessica realized that she wanted to be anywhere but here, that the job really was wearing her that thin, and this might be the time to hang things up. As she buried the thought into the pit of her stomach like some ugly marble, Howard strode through the door.

  “Question,” said Howard as he walked in, and Jessica raised her eyebrows to let him know she was listening. “If I said we had six months to either get Frank to play nice or we needed a new TK, what would you say?”

  “That six months isn’t a lot of time.”

  “That’s true,” said Howard, “but according to the vice president, we’re going to lose funding in three if we don’t figure something out. There’s a big job coming down the pipe, and if the TRC can’t be made to be useful in order to help, this office is closed.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Cynthia had lived with her parents in the yellow house on Glenwood for as long as she could remember, and though she had heard her parents laugh on more than one occasion about their previous apartment, she didn’t even own fleeting memories of the place. The yellow house was home, but as she watched Mom stuff their things into shopping bags and a battered suitcase, it began to dawn on her that the yellow house would be her home no more.

  Sleeping in the motel the night prior had been odd, but Mom had said to think of it as a little vacation, and she had. Now that Dad was at work and they’d come back to the yellow house for their things—it had felt funny going there, like they were sneaking, breaking into their own house—the reality was hard to deal with. Mom had started with her own things, and Cynthia had been fine watching that happen—it was like Mom was just packing for another trip—but when they moved to Cynthia’s room, that changed.

  Watching Mom cram Cynthia’s toys and clothes into a few grocery sacks gave Cynthia a sinking feeling in her belly. This was her room, but it was becoming less and less hers by the second. Cynthia didn’t feel any connection with her mom that went beyond what she was used to, unlike the way she had at her grandparents’ home, but the awful weight, like cement, in her belly stayed there. Mom was alternating between crying and shivering like she was cold. Cynthia wanted her to feel better, but she also knew that Mom was part of the reason why they were all sad and were going to stay that way.

  Cynthia had no idea where the threads had come from at her grandparents’ house—the threads that showed people’s feelings in a way she had never experienced before—nor did she know how she had been so certain about divorce before her parents came out with it. She had been right about that, though, and the threads had been there. Cynthia could still feel the place where she’d seen them snap away from her, and it made her head hurt a little. Still, that was a minor pain compared to the one she felt in her belly as she watched Mom pack.

  Why isn’t Dad here? He always helps. They do everything together. Cynthia knew that divorce meant that moms and dads didn’t live together anymore, but her parents were best friends. They said it all the time. Wouldn’t friends help each other with heavy boxes?

  The packing took forever, and then they were in the car and the yellow house on Glenwood was fading, and the packing felt like it had taken no time at all. Cynthia watched the house disappear behind her with a cold feeling in her stomach. There were no threads this time, even though she felt a lot more attachment to the yellow house than she ever had to the one her grandparents lived in. The house was gone in just one turn, and Cynthia spun to face the front of the car and the back of her mom’s head.

  “Where are we going, Mommy?”

  Mom ran a hand over her tear-streaked face and then looked into the rearview mirror so that she could see Cynthia.

  “We’re going to get an apartment, a little place just for you and me,” said Mom. “I’ve already found a nice one. It will be cozy and a little snug, but we’ll have each other, and you’ll have all of your toys.”

  Cynthia nodded. That wasn’t all bad. And then a shot like red lightning raced through her mind. “Did you pack Sammy?”

  Mom nodded. “How could I ever forget Sammy the squirrel? Of course I remembered Sammy. How else would you be able to sleep?”

  “Good,” said Cynthia. She’d had Sammy since she was a baby, and the thought of going without him was even worse than how she’d felt as they left the yellow house. “What are you going to do, Mom?” Mom’s eyes appeared again in the rearview mirror, and Cynthia clarified. “I always sleep with Sammy, but you sleep with Daddy. Are you going to be able to sleep without him? Is he going to be able to sleep without you?”

  Cynthia paused to let Mom respond, and when there was no answer, she said, “Is Dad moving to the apartment with us?”

  “Dad and I are taking a break, Cynth,” said Mom. “Maybe a little one, but I don’t want to get your hopes up—I think we’re going to be taking a long one, maybe even a forever one. Your dad and I just aren’t seeing eye to eye on a few things, and I don’t know that we ever will again. That doesn’t mean we don’t love you. It just means that you and I are going to go live somewhere else. You’ll still see your dad, but not all the time like we’re used to.”

  “I like how it used to be,” said Cynthia. This was the sort of thing that she’d known not to say at Nan and Pop’s house, but she wasn’t there anymore, and the strings were gone. “I like living in the yellow house, and I like living with Daddy, and I like everything how it is! I don’t want things to change, not even for a little while.”

  Mom was nodding in the front seat, tears streaming again. “I know,” she said. “I know. This was the last thing that I wanted either, Cynthia. It’s just what had to happen.”

  “Is this because of divorce or affair?” Cynthia asked, and Mom jerked the wheel hard enough that the car swerved and almost hit a parked van before she got it under control.

  “Your Nan needs to learn some sense,” said Mom. “She doesn’t need to be giving you her opinion about anything like that.” Mom shook her head. “She only has his side of the damn story, anyway.”

  Cynthia considered telling Mom that Nan hadn’t given her opinion on anything and that the only things she knew for sure about Nan were that she was very sad and very worried, but she knew she couldn’t. There were some things that even a mother couldn’t understand, especially a mother still wearing warning signs of divorce and affair.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” said Cynthia finally, and Mom smiled at her in the rearview mirror.

  “It’s all right, baby. You don’t have anything to be sorry about, not ever. This is between your father and me. You’re just caught in the middle.”

  Cynthia didn’t say anything to that. There was nothing that would make a bit of difference. Of course I’m caught in the middle! She wanted to scream it. You put me there! Cynthia stayed mum, though, and after just a short drive, Mom was pulling into an apartment complex. It looked sort of like t
he hotel they stayed at near Disney World, but it was a lot bigger, and the people she saw milling around outside didn’t look nearly as happy as the ones in Florida had.

  Mom parked near a building that had a sign on it that said “Leasing,” then shut the car off.

  “Stay here, Cynthia,” said Mom. “I just need to sign some papers and get a key.” Cynthia nodded earnestly, and then Mom shut the door and left to go inside.

  Cynthia watched her mom disappear into the building and, when she was gone, began to take stock of her surroundings. She didn’t see any kids, but there were so many doors with numbers that there had to be some kids here. Still, it was a little odd—summer break was only halfway done and there should have been someone outside playing.

  Cynthia let the lack of visible kids slide as another thought took over: What if she had to switch schools? Her best friends, Maryanne and Audrey, went to her school, but what if she had to switch? The thought of having to go without them was almost as bad as divorce or affair, and for the first time in her life Cynthia realized just how quickly everything could change around a person, whether they wanted it to or not. Like with Mom and Dad, inserted a voice in her head. Neither of them seem very happy. The voice was right: Mom and Dad weren’t happy, not at all, and now they were going to live in different places. None of it made any sense.

  Cynthia watched as a heavyset woman and two little kids emerged from one of the numbered doors. The woman had a pleasant look on her face and a laundry basket under each arm. Cynthia couldn’t figure out what in the world the woman could be carrying, and as she got closer to the car, Cynthia realized there was nothing but laundry in the baskets. Cynthia couldn’t think of a single reason why a person would want to bring their dirty laundry outside for everyone to see, and then the woman and the two kids disappeared into the same building that Mom had, and the mystery faded.

  Cynthia watched as a pair of little brown wiener dogs were led on leashes, one blue and one pink, by a small woman who made Nan look young by comparison. Cynthia wanted to run and pet the dogs. She couldn’t have explained why she wanted to so badly even if she’d been asked. They were just cute, and she wanted to touch them. Cynthia looked at the door handle and then at the door of the building Mom had entered. She unbuckled her seat belt, gave another look to the door and then back again at the dogs. They were closer now than before, and the woman walking them was smiling, with a long cigarette hanging from her lips. Cynthia took a deep breath, decided Mom couldn’t get that mad at her for just wanting to pet a couple of wiener dogs, and opened the door.

  Cynthia looked both ways for traffic before heading across the parking lot toward the woman and the dogs. The woman was moving toward her as well, almost as if she could somehow sense there was a little girl who wanted nothing more than her yellow house and a smiling mommy and daddy, but who was going to have to settle for a pair of little dogs in boy and girl leashes.

  As Cynthia got closer, she extended her hand, prepping herself for the dogs to smell her in the way Dad had always told her to greet a pooch, and then the woman said, “Look at this. Someone wants to meet you two. Come here, young lady. They don’t bite, not these two.”

  “Hi,” said Cynthia as she knelt close to them so that the dogs could smell her outstretched fingers. The dogs were on her hand instantly, quickly going from an inspection to a lickfest on her palm, and Cynthia giggled despite the wound in her heart. “What are their names?” Cynthia asked as she alternated petting the little dogs.

  “Stanley and Libby,” said the woman, “and they are very happy to see you.”

  Cynthia took turns petting Stanley and Libby, switching between them as each dog became jealous of the attention their new friend was showing the other.

  “My name is Cynthia, and I think I’m just as happy to see them.”

  It was true, and Cynthia was shocked to feel that part of the hurt she was feeling was gone.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cynthia,” said the woman. “It looks like Stan and Lib agree. My name is Mrs. Martin. Are you moving in here? I know I’d remember seeing such a pretty little girl around before, and my pooches would remember, too. They never forget a good rubdown.”

  Cynthia nodded, still petting the dogs. “Mom and I are moving in, I think. We used to live in a yellow house with my dad, but now we’re going to live here. Mom says it’s maybe only going to be for a little while, but she also says it might wind up being for longer than that, maybe even a really long time.”

  “Well, that must be difficult, but I think you’ll find North Harbor can be a pretty happy place, too,” said Mrs. Martin. “Maybe not as happy as your old house, at least not at first, but still pretty happy on its own merits.” Mrs. Martin smiled, and Cynthia smiled back at her—the real thing, not like in the car with Mom.

  “I hope so,” said Cynthia. “My mom is really sad, and if she could be happy here, that would be good.” As the words fell from her mouth, Cynthia heard a door behind her, and she spun to see Mom walking out of it, looking first in the car and then wearing a panicked look on her face. “I’m over here, Mom,” called Cynthia, and then Mom was walking toward them.

  “Jesus, Cynthia, I told you to stay in the car,” she said as she raced toward them. “Ma’am, thanks so much for finding her. She’s not normally much for wandering off, but we’re going through some family things right now, and she’s probably just a little bit off.” Mrs. Martin extended a hand, and Cynthia watched as Mom took it, thinking how odd it was that humans met a dog in the same way that they met one another.

  Mrs. Martin took her hand back, then drew off of her cigarette and exhaled smoke. Normally Cynthia hated the smell—it was how Dad’s store smelled most of the time, stale and gross—but this was different. Mrs. Martin’s smoke smelled almost flowery, and the smell enveloped her like sheeny gauze.

  “It’s no trouble,” said Mrs. Martin. “Cynthia and I were just getting acquainted, though I have a feeling she was a lot more excited about meeting the dogs than she was this old woman.”

  Mom nodded, looking as though she was noticing the dogs for the very first time, then turned back to Mrs. Martin. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m Ruth Rob—Ruth Sherwood. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Cynthia looked up at her mother. She’d told Mrs. Martin the wrong name for some reason. They were Robinsons, all of them. What in the heck was a Sherwood?

  “It’s a pleasure, Ruth. My name is Henrietta Martin, and the two little moochers down there are Stanley and Libby. As you can see, they’ve taken quite a shine to your little girl. Maybe I’ve finally found the dog walker I’ve been looking for.”

  “Maybe,” said Mom quickly, before Cynthia could get a word in edgewise. “It was very nice to meet you, Henrietta, but Cynthia and I need to get settled in. This day has been long enough already.”

  “Of course, dear, I completely understand. I live in apartment 1138, and if you need to borrow a cup of flour, you be sure to look me up.” Mrs. Martin turned to look at Cynthia. “That goes for you, too, Cynthia. These dogs are spoiled, and you’re just making things even worse for me. They’ll be talking about you for days, so don’t be a stranger.”

  “They don’t really talk to you,” Cynthia said, though she said it halfway like a question.

  “Of course not, Cynthia,” said Mom, shaking her head. “Thank you again, Henrietta. We’d stay to chat longer, but we need to go see our place.”

  “Of course,” said Mrs. Martin with a smile, and Mom gave her a half smile back. “Cynthia, you come see me and these dogs, all right? They could use a young person like you around, especially when it comes to playing ball. They wear me out after just a few throws.”

  Cynthia smiled and nodded. She could tell Mom was unsure about Mrs. Martin, but Cynthia knew that she was going to do everything in her power to see the funny-smelling woman and her little dogs again. Mrs. Martin gave them a wave and th
en walked off in a plume of smoke, the two dogs leading the way out of the North Harbor Apartments parking lot.

  “Come on, Cynthia,” said Mom. “Honestly, I don’t know why you couldn’t just stay in the car.”

  Cynthia took Mom’s hand and walked back to the car with her without a word. She wanted to tell her that Mrs. Martin and her dogs were the only good thing that she’d seen all day, and that once she’d seen them she knew she needed to meet them.

  Mom won’t understand, though, so don’t even try. Cynthia listened to the voice. It was different than the one that had told her about divorce, but Cynthia knew it was correct. Flying under the radar was the best bet, especially for small children, but sometimes there were little dogs that just needed a good petting.

  CHAPTER 6

  Darryl was sweating when he finally turned away from the computer. Austin could get hot, and the air conditioner in the window was kicking out the cold air, but Darryl’s perspiration had nothing to do with climate. Terry bounced from the couch, ran to the kitchen, and returned with a pair of beers. He set them on the desk by Darryl’s left arm, pulled the tabs on both, and then sat back down on the couch. Terry stared at Darryl, forcing himself to be as patient as he could while Darryl worked through the beers.

  Finally, Darryl was ready.

  “I can get in, I think,” said Darryl. “Not in all of them and not every time, but some of them and a lot of the time. It’s not foolproof, though. There’s still a lot to be worked out.”

  “We’ve worked out hard things before,” said Terry. Some of those things were buried in shallow graves, small burn piles with the remains of their ID and credit cards left next to them. “If we could make them work, we can make this work, too, I know it.”