“It’s absolutely marvelous,” she said.
“You think?” I asked, surprised by her reaction. “I’ve always wanted to live in a Nick and Nora film. I’m afraid my current look isn’t quite doing it.”
Irene walked across the living room, blithely passing through several unopened crates and boxes of every possible size. She stopped inside the middle of one of my brass-tacked leather sofas and looked around. I was surprised to realize that I desperately wanted her to be impressed. I watched as Irene crossed to the room’s focal point-towering bookcases full of the finds I had recovered over the years. Last night’s bag with the Intellevision and games was still there. I didn’t know what she had expected, but as she marveled over the shelves, I could tell it wasn’t this.
“You’re certainly well-read,” she said, looking at all my books and grinning.
“It’s all lies,” I said.
She turned, puzzled. “How so?”
“Well, none of this space is really me,” I said. “I’ve developed a space for the type of guy Ihope to be-a man who wants space to think, to be cultured, and to be able to do it in comfort and style. It still feels a little like a ruse to me, though. I never feel quite at ease with the finer things I surround myself with.”
Still, I wanted Irene to appreciate it, and it looked like she did. I felt a rush of pride.
I cleared boxes from one of the leather Catalina sofas and stuffed handfuls of scattered packing materials into a tall wooden crate from which a Tiffany floor lamp poked out precariously.
“I’ve been meaning to get to all this,” I said. I straightened the lamp and secured it with a few handfuls of the packing material. “Really. It’s kind of gotten out of control lately with my caseload at the Department.”
Irene laughed, covering her mouth with one hand as she did so. “I completely understand your appreciation.”
“You do?” I asked. “How’s that?” I muscled a painting-shaped crate to the floor and shoved it toward the row of bay windows that ran down the other side of the room.
Irene started to answer, but paused instead and sat down in the space I had cleared. “You know, I’m not quite surewhy I said that.”
I stopped what I was doing and sat down next to her on the sofa. “Maybe you remembered something…?”
“It’s possible,” she said with a frown of concentration. “I’m really not sure.”
She was agitated by her lack of memory. I couldn’t imagine how I’d handle missing my entire memory. Hell, I got agitated when I couldn’t remember where my keys were, and Irene’s situation was worse to then th degree.
“Just relax and think,” I instructed. Maybe I could get something out of her with a little guidance. “You said it for a reason, Irene. Did something about my apartment trigger something for you?”
Her nose crinkled with even greater concentration as I watched, but I didn’t smile in case it distracted her.
Finally, with a hesitant look of triumph, she said, “I…I think I may have been a lot like you, Simon. A collector. When you were talking about how you never could find the time to take care of all these things or get them put away, well, it struck a chord in me.” She thought for a moment longer. “I think that’s something that I may have been doing with my own life. Or if I wasn’t, I think it’s something I would have been very much interested in doing.”
“Well, that’s certainly a start,” I said encouragingly.
My stomach rumbled loud enough for both of us to hear. “Are you hungry? I’m going to cook something.”
She laughed and shook her head. “No, thank you. Given my…condition, I’m not exactly sure how I would manage that anyway.”
“Right,” I said, feeling the fool once again. “Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing, Simon,” she said sternly. “It’s okay.”
It was the first time she had said my name, and a smile crept upon my face.
“It’s terribly sweet of you to offer, though,” she continued. “For your sake, I couldtry to eat but I have a strong suspicion it would end up all over your couch, like Mr. Christos’s drink back at the cafй.”
There was an awkward moment before I took that as my cue to get up off the couch and made my way to the kitchen. I worried about leaving her alone, but I could still keep an eye on her over the counter that divided the two rooms.
I stripped off my gloves and pulled some questionable-looking chicken from the fridge. Living dangerously, I set it in a skillet over low heat while I chopped up a mix of garlic and portabella mushrooms. When I was done, I poured balsamic vinegar over the veggies and threw the mixture into the skillet as well. I started in on a zucchini as I noticed that Irene had moved herself to one of the stools on just the other side of the counter, where she seemed content to watch me work.
“No offense,” she said, “but that seems like more of an effort than I’d expect from a typical bachelor.”
“I used to eat take-out nearly every night. Enough MSG in my system for seven heart attacks, probably.”
“So why did you learn how to cook?” she asked.
“The curse of my life,” I said. “Women. I’ve never had luck with the ladies, but I thought I might keep them around a little longer if I at least learned to impress them with cooking. It didn’t really work, but I did get used to eating well. Even though I’m alone, I don’t feel like going back to my menu-collecting days.”
“Well, I’m impressed,” she said, clapping. “And just what do you call what you’re making?”
I threw the zucchini into my countertop steamer and leaned over the counter conspiratorially. “I call this mealThird Date with Jessica. Better known asLast-Minute-Download Number Sixteen. Not terribly romantic sounding, I’m afraid.”
“I’m sure it worked like a charm,” she said. “I know it would have worked with me.”
I looked at her and her body flickered as she blushed. I suppressed a smile. As usual, I had made quite a mess in such a short time in my kitchen. I set about cleaning up the remnants of my handiwork as my food cooked. I hoped keeping busy would help me avoid any further dorkiness on my part.
“Do you miss it?” she asked, resting her chin on her open palms. “Cooking for two, I mean?”
I turned on the faucet and let the warm water run over my hands while I thought about her question.
“Do I miss having someone around is what you mean,” I said. “I don’t know. I’ve never gone long enough dating someone to really feel the ties of cohabitation. I’ve gotten pretty used to the hermit life. I like my space. It’s set up the way I prefer it, except for all that packing clutter. I’m comfortable in it.”
Irene waggled her finger at me. “That doesn’t really answer my question, now does it, Simon? Shame on you!”
“Okay, okay!” I said with a grin. “I admit it. I like having someone around. I miss the company, the sound of another person’s voice, someone to cook for. But what am I going to do, you know?”
“What do you mean?”
It had been a long time since I had confided the truth about my powers to anyone. I took a deep breath. I held up my soap-covered hands and flexed my fingers at her. “I mean, what am I going to do about these?”
“You mean, what you did with the PEZ dispenser back at the cafй?”
“You watched that?” I asked.
She grinned sheepishly. “I was eaves-watching.”
I nodded. “Well, psychometry doesn’t really make being with someone an option.”
“I’m sorry,” she said with a shake of her head, “but I’m afraid I still don’t quite understand what that is really.”
I washed my hands and slipped my gloves back on as I stepped to her on her side of the counter. I headed for a carton sitting behind the couch, grabbed it by its flaps, and rested it on my lap as I sat on the barstool next to hers.