clicked down the hall. Alfe stepped back as the door swung open to reveal a small, pudgy woman in her fifties or sixties. “Anya? Carl? What are you doing in here?”
“The starfish are coming,” Anya said.
The woman in the doorway shook her head. “It was a false alarm. Evidently porpoises strayed too far up the river, and someone thought they were a starfish.”
Lila let out a burst of laughter. Porpoises? That stampede was started by some nearsighted putz who’d spotted porpoises.
“The looters were real, though. I walked right in on them—they ran off with armloads of automatic rifles.”
Lila felt incredibly foolish, but compared to what she’d been feeling a few minutes earlier, foolish felt good.
8
Oliver Bowen
July 12, 2029. Washington, D.C.
Oliver never tired of looking at her, at her dark eyes, the perfect slope of her jawline. That she was his wife never ceased to astonish him.
Noticing his attention, Vanessa glanced at him. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m just looking at you.”
She smiled, dimples forming on either cheek. “Cut it out; it makes me feel self-conscious, like I’ve got something sticking out of my nose.”
Oliver turned, watched the buildings pass outside his window. As they passed through the gate to the CIA compound, Vanessa said, “We did it.”
Oliver tried to think of what they’d done. “What did we do?”
She pulled over to the curb in front of his building. “We went a whole morning without once mentioning the war.” She held up her palm; Oliver gave her a high-five.
“That’s right. I forgot all about it.” They’d made the pact the night before; by morning it had gone out of his head, buried by a thousand thoughts and worries.
“In that case, you’re lucky.”
“What was the penalty again?” Oliver asked.
“Lip-synch to a song of my choice. In my underwear.”
“That’s right.” Oliver laughed. He leaned in, kissed her goodbye.
“It’s nice, getting a break from it. Almost like taking a vacation to the past, before it started.”
“It is. We should do it every morning.” They needed to come up with ways to hang on to at least some semblance of normal life.
“You’re on your own for dinner,” Vanessa said as he opened the door.
“Oh?”
Vanessa looked away, over his shoulder. “Paul and I are going to grab a bite after work.”
A surge of adrenaline hit him. “Why can’t you grab a bite at lunch?”
“Because then we’d have to hurry.” That familiar defensive tone leaked into her voice. “It’s not like I go out with friends often.”
Oliver clutched the door, wanting to think of something to say that would change her mind, but came up blank. “It’s not your going out at night that bothers me; it’s your going out with Paul. If he’s just a friend, why can’t I come?” Paul was a charming, handsome, muscular friend, the sort of man Vanessa would look very natural standing beside.
Vanessa leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and sighed heavily. “Can we not have this argument now? Why can’t you trust me? Have I ever given you the slightest reason not to?”
“No.” His voice was low, his tone leaking the defeat he felt. “It’s just that—” What could he say, that he hadn’t already said a hundred times?
“I’ll see you when you get home.” Oliver turned and headed for the gate as Vanessa pulled off.
Her friendship with Paul was the one thing their marriage couldn’t seem to get past. Oliver wanted to trust her, and he did with anyone else, but she and Paul seemed to share an intimacy that Vanessa didn’t share with Oliver. One of these days he was afraid she’d realize she was with the wrong man, and he’d lose her. He didn’t think he could handle this without her; she brought out the best in him, gave him courage he wouldn’t otherwise possess.
The Luyten was exactly where he’d left it, lying flat in the center of the cell, looking remarkably like a beached starfish.
“Good
“The starfish are coming,” Anya said.
The woman in the doorway shook her head. “It was a false alarm. Evidently porpoises strayed too far up the river, and someone thought they were a starfish.”
Lila let out a burst of laughter. Porpoises? That stampede was started by some nearsighted putz who’d spotted porpoises.
“The looters were real, though. I walked right in on them—they ran off with armloads of automatic rifles.”
Lila felt incredibly foolish, but compared to what she’d been feeling a few minutes earlier, foolish felt good.
8
Oliver Bowen
July 12, 2029. Washington, D.C.
Oliver never tired of looking at her, at her dark eyes, the perfect slope of her jawline. That she was his wife never ceased to astonish him.
Noticing his attention, Vanessa glanced at him. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m just looking at you.”
She smiled, dimples forming on either cheek. “Cut it out; it makes me feel self-conscious, like I’ve got something sticking out of my nose.”
Oliver turned, watched the buildings pass outside his window. As they passed through the gate to the CIA compound, Vanessa said, “We did it.”
Oliver tried to think of what they’d done. “What did we do?”
She pulled over to the curb in front of his building. “We went a whole morning without once mentioning the war.” She held up her palm; Oliver gave her a high-five.
“That’s right. I forgot all about it.” They’d made the pact the night before; by morning it had gone out of his head, buried by a thousand thoughts and worries.
“In that case, you’re lucky.”
“What was the penalty again?” Oliver asked.
“Lip-synch to a song of my choice. In my underwear.”
“That’s right.” Oliver laughed. He leaned in, kissed her goodbye.
“It’s nice, getting a break from it. Almost like taking a vacation to the past, before it started.”
“It is. We should do it every morning.” They needed to come up with ways to hang on to at least some semblance of normal life.
“You’re on your own for dinner,” Vanessa said as he opened the door.
“Oh?”
Vanessa looked away, over his shoulder. “Paul and I are going to grab a bite after work.”
A surge of adrenaline hit him. “Why can’t you grab a bite at lunch?”
“Because then we’d have to hurry.” That familiar defensive tone leaked into her voice. “It’s not like I go out with friends often.”
Oliver clutched the door, wanting to think of something to say that would change her mind, but came up blank. “It’s not your going out at night that bothers me; it’s your going out with Paul. If he’s just a friend, why can’t I come?” Paul was a charming, handsome, muscular friend, the sort of man Vanessa would look very natural standing beside.
Vanessa leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and sighed heavily. “Can we not have this argument now? Why can’t you trust me? Have I ever given you the slightest reason not to?”
“No.” His voice was low, his tone leaking the defeat he felt. “It’s just that—” What could he say, that he hadn’t already said a hundred times?
“I’ll see you when you get home.” Oliver turned and headed for the gate as Vanessa pulled off.
Her friendship with Paul was the one thing their marriage couldn’t seem to get past. Oliver wanted to trust her, and he did with anyone else, but she and Paul seemed to share an intimacy that Vanessa didn’t share with Oliver. One of these days he was afraid she’d realize she was with the wrong man, and he’d lose her. He didn’t think he could handle this without her; she brought out the best in him, gave him courage he wouldn’t otherwise possess.
The Luyten was exactly where he’d left it, lying flat in the center of the cell, looking remarkably like a beached starfish.
“Good
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