Not until the door had shut behind them and the hush came down did I comprehend: this was the real world, this normality, we were safe again in the real world now, Avey and I were alone.
Her eyes were black, her skin a lake of shadows and cream. A thick green light had fallen on her, full of swirling motes. Her mouth, her lips, her teeth — she was all too terribly edible, so deceptive, so pure.
I imagined her finger along my teeth and over my tongue, and then another finger and another until soon her hand had eased down my throat, and then her arm, too, and other hand and arm, and her face, and head, and on, till she was all inside. I touched her mouth. Her eyelids drooped.
“So pretty,” I said.
She blushed. “Really?”
I plucked her nose and stuck my thumb between my fingers. “Really.”
Avey kissed me again, and we laughed.
“I like you, AJ,” she said.
“I like you, Mud.”
It was unbelievably quiet. Everything lay quiet, everything still. The room was a cave under water and all that was in it a merking’s things, silent as the depths, lovely and green, a silence only the gifted could know, the gifted and the drowned. Avey sat on my lap.
“I feel so greasy,” she said.
I put my face in her neck, her hair. We rocked to and fro. Such stillness, such quiet, what a world…
And the rain kept raining, down the mountains, into rivers and lakes…
“Speaking of which,” she said at last, “did you know there was some greasy spoon down the way?”
“I saw it.”
“Let’s walk down there.”
“What about Super?”
“You really like that old guy, don’t you.”
“He’s the kind of guy who scares you while he makes you laugh. But I feel sorry for him. I don’t know why.”
“He’s a lonely man.”
“His truck’s outside.”
“Come on.”
“I don’t want to be anything like him,” I said. Avey shook her head. “But then again, I want to be exactly like him.” Avey smiled. “You miss Dinky?”
“I started missing Dinky the day we met.”
“It’s like he’s on vacation,” I said. “Like he left on a train.”
“Come on.”
I took her hand. “I like you, Mud.”
Again she smiled. “I can see that, AJ. I like you, too.”
A DARK-SKINNED MAN WITH KRIS KRINGLE EYES and big gold teeth met us at the door and took our name.
“Is cold out there,” he said, “and warm in here. We take good care of you.”
Here was a place full of people who might never have known they were trapped in a storm. Families of all sorts had jammed the room to the gunnels. Maple syrup and waffles, hash browns and crepes, and pork chops and ketchup and muffins and toast, and burgers, too, and corned beef and sauerkraut on rye, and hot chocolate and tea, and onions and root beer and coffee and milk, and French toast, and raspberry jam. Smells swirled round us thick with the hum of satisfied speech, a great single body of glistening eyes and munching mouths, the clatter and clink of spoons in cups and forks on plates, and the steamy hiss of fryer and grill, and the banter of waitresses, children, cooks. An infant sat in her mother’s lap, feeding from a bottle. The mother herself was engaged in talk with a boy in a mask, waving a plastic gun, another, I guessed, of her many. The boy had asked about the difference between bacon and ham, whereon she took the baby’s foot and jiggled its toes. “This little piggy,” she said, “went to the market. This little piggy stayed home…” The boy tore off his mask and squealed. “Oink, oink!” he shouted. “Oink!” Two girls maybe seven or eight were playing a game of patty cakes. An old woman sat with her old man holding hands in silence, not for nothing to say, I could see, but for the glow that was The Real. Red and green crepe bunting festooned the place. Lights twinkled, music purred.
A woman approached. She was pregnant and wore her hair in a braid, tied up top with a bow of white taffeta. Around her neck on a silver chain hung a silver ball that tinkled as she moved. She was tall and thin, and her eyes gleamed with such joy, I had never seen. I recognized the song, by Captain & Tennille—I will! I will! I will!
“Hello, hello,” the woman said. I wanted to call her Old Lady Pear, but she wasn’t old, but like a pear. “I sure do hope you two are ready to eat, because we’re ready to serve you. Ready spaghetti!”
“I am no lie, eh?” said the man with gold teeth as the woman led us off.
“What’s your name?” Avey said.
“My name,” said the woman, and pinched the chain above her silver ball, “is Robin. Did I sprinkle magic dust on you yet?”
“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure,” I said.
“Never say never,” she said, and giggled. She leaned first to Avey’s side of the booth and then to mine and shook the ball so it tinkled. “All of us girls have them,” she said. “I was the first. Now every girl gets one on her birthday. We’re all fairy sisters!”
“You’re lucky,” Avey said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Robin said. She stood back and gleamed. “You two look like you could use a good strong cup of motor starter!”
“Is she cool or what?” Avey said when Robin had left.
“Straight from a book,” I said.
Robin came back with coffee and filled our cups. It was so hot and black and the steam so thick I almost didn’t want to drink it. Nothing, it seemed, had been so inviting for years.
“I’ve told you my name,” said Robin, “but you haven’t told me yours.”
“I’m Avey. That’s AJ.”
“Well, Avey and AJ, would you mind if I make a suggestion?”
“I don’t know…” Avey said, drawing out the words.
“Swiss Boysenberry Crepes.”
“You like those, do you?”
“Like them?” Robin wore heavy blue eye shadow that glistened when she blinked. “Goodness, AJ. I could eat those until they came out my ears!”
“Well what are you waiting for?” I said. “This guy’s starving.”
Robin’s smile never left. Avey touched her arm. “Don’t take it personally, but I’m kind of in the mood for eggs.”
“I do love eggs,” said Robin as her hand described a circle round her belly. “They make me think of how fast my little one here’s gone from being a little teensy egg to this.”
“When’re you due?” I said.
“Make me a promise?” Robin said.
“Depends.”
Robin giggled. “Think of me on Ground Hog Day!” she said, somehow able to laugh and talk at once.
“That’s it?” I said. “The big day?”
“The big day. Pop!” Robin poked her belly. “Now about those eggs,” she said. “We can make them any way you like, scrambled hard or soft, soft boiled, hard boiled, poached, sunnyside-up, over easy, over hard, what’s your pleasure, Avey? Speak now or I’ll have to come again!”
“Scrambled,” Avey said, “with cheese. And toast and hash browns and jelly. And orange juice, too. Doesn’t orange juice sound divine?” she said.
“Orange juice sounds just lovely,” I said.
“I can’t believe how perfect you two are,” Robin said. “It makes me all warm and mushy inside just to see you. How long have you been married?”
“We’re not,” Avey said.
“Well you should be,” Robin said. She spun round on her pediatric shoes and shouted. “Yoo-hoo, Ma-ri-a!” A curvy girl with kinky hair and tiny teeth pattered to the table. “Do they or do they not look like the perfect couple?”
Robin hadn’t lied about the silver balls. Maria pulled one from her blouse and shook it. “It’s your destiny,” she said.