Chapter 2

So she went to the office supply store instead. There was always something a person needed in the way of office supplies, and after a leisurely tour of the place, she ended up buying a package of sticky notes and a pair of scissors. The car was no longer flashing when she got back. She turned on her phone, which she had forgotten to do after the haircut, and drove back to Amanda’s house.

Virginia had read everything she could find on the internet about migraine auras, and none of them mentioned seeing flashes that carried messages or finding things in your mind you had no way of knowing. But it wasn’t really a problem—there was certainly no pain or discomfort—and she wasn’t sure how she would explain it to a doctor in a way that didn’t make her sound like a nutcase, so she didn’t even try.

As she parked in front of Amanda’s house, the phone dinged again. It was Amanda. “Are you all right? You weren’t caught in the big pile-up on I-70, were you?”

She quickly sent off a reassuring message, then searched on her phone and found the announcement about the accident. She was relieved to see that the pile-up was over to the west of them, so it wouldn’t have involved Dave, who was driving down from Cheyenne. It wasn’t surprising that the traffic he was in wasn’t moving though. Apparently at least 40 cars had plowed into each other. Something to do with a car going the wrong way and running into a semi.

At the door she was met by Anax, tail stub wagging, her curl-covered face welcoming, her eyes embedded in shag irresistible. The dog jumped hastily on an overstuffed chair and braced her little legs against the arm. “Down, Anax!” Virginia spoke as sharply as she could make herself, although it wasn’t enough to do the job. Anax was still delighted to see her. Virginia privately thought it was silly, as well as pointless, to forbid dogs to get on the furniture. They had as much right to be there as anybody else in the family. If the furniture needed to be replaced once in a while, it was only to be expected, and more likely to be on account of the spilled drinks and other careless habits of the humans.

“How about a walk?” she added, effectively erasing any hint of reprimand the dog might have perceived in her voice previously. Anax ran to the kitchen door, where her leash was hanging on the knob, and Virginia took her out for a quick walk around the little park across the way. Both of her grandchildren had after-school activities on Thursdays, which was one of the reasons she had chosen this afternoon as a good time for a date.

Nothing was flashing at the moment, although there were plenty of sparkles. She asked herself idly if there was a pattern to the sparkles, something that had never actually occurred to her before. While she was working full-time, she had never really had the leisure to think about the shimmers and the flashes and the associated oddities; she barely had enough hours in the day to keep up with all the tasks in a large, well-organized library. She especially liked helping students find what they needed, even when they had no idea what that was. It was like a wide-open game of twenty questions, zeroing in on the exact one of the many thousands of books on the shelves that would make their eyes light up when they saw it. It was only now, with the luxury of retirement, that she could speculate at some length on what was going on when she had these so-called auras. Anyway, it was time to get back to the house and get dressed.

In the end, she decided the jeans she was wearing were good enough, and she dug out a striped knit top she had only worn once since unpacking. She buried her nose in the underarm seam and convinced herself that there was really no odor at all. And it wasn’t as if they were going to be getting close to each other. She didn’t wear a mask any more, but it was still a good idea to keep the width of the table, at the very least, between her and another human who might well be teeming with infectious particles.

She picked up her tablet and got back in the car. It was best to allow a few extra minutes this time of day, and it didn’t hurt to get to the coffee shop first. Things didn’t seem to be shimmering so much anymore, but as she waited at the stop sign to make a turn, her peripheral vision began acting up. The approaching cars separated into two, so that twice the number of actual cars appeared to be streaming past, a truly frightening illusion the first time she had seen it. This too was a familiar problem. It tended to happen in low light conditions or when she was tired; the focus of her two eyes pulled apart and she saw double. She had had a long talk with the ophthalmologist about it. He said he experienced it himself from time to time. But the way to correct it involved special, very heavy lenses she wouldn’t want to wear. She had found it a little daunting to face such apparently heavy traffic, but over time, she had gotten used to it. In the evening, when they were all sitting around watching television, it was distracting to see two complete versions of her companions, but the lighted screen kept its shape, so she concentrated on watching it, even though it was hardly ever worth it.

At the coffee shop she asked for a decaf mocha and didn’t allow herself to even look at the pastries. She sat down near a window and opened the tablet to make it look as if she was reading. In reality she was tensing up. She took a deep breath or two and reminded herself that it was just an hour or so to get through with another dork, then she would have to make her way through afternoon traffic to the Chinese restaurant that enjoyed their patronage. They used to be able to do fine with three main dishes and an order of egg rolls, but lately Brian’s appetite had taken a giant leap forward, and they managed to finish off even four large dishes with lots of rice.

The door opened, and Dave came in, looking around. It was so obviously Dave, she almost laughed out loud. He was tall and gray-haired, with a discreet bulge at his waist. His eyes slid past her the first time around. She waved. He came over, glanced at her cup and hesitated, obviously thinking about moving to the counter to get himself a coffee, but she could see his features change as it occurred to him that might be on the rude side, so he painted an expression of delight on his face and paused long enough to greet her by name and apologize for the slow traffic.

Virginia asked herself if what was going through his mind was really all that obvious. She looked at his back, standing at the counter to place his order, and something about the way he held his body told her that he was thinking that it must be the hair dye that made her look a lot younger than he had been expecting. Or maybe it was a wig, despite the lack of style. Although she was a great believer in the communication conveyed by body language, this seemed more than a bit out of the ordinary. She closed the tablet and waited to see how he would start the conversation when he came back with his cup.

“Almost missed you,” he said. “I was looking for someone older—didn’t you say 65?”

“That’s right.” And I don’t shade the truth in my profile, like some people I could name.

“How do you like retirement?” He stirred the coffee and took a cautious sip. No tits, he was thinking. Strike one.

“I sure don’t miss the job. But moving my whole life halfway across the country—that’s not easy.” Haven’t we covered this ground before? On the phone? And I do too have tits, nice firm small ones, not like the droopy things other women my age have.

He nodded. “I’ll be taking that step soon too.” Should I tell her about the ranch in Idaho? Maybe not the right moment.

“Moving? or retirement?” What about Idaho? Is he moving even farther away? But he’s not planning to tell me. Typical. This guy is incapable of telling a straight story. And I mean, Idaho! Wyoming is bad enough, but why leave it for a place that is, if anything, even more unattractive and forsaken?

“Retirement. As soon as I turn 70. It’ll be a relief to quit the commute.” Which today’s drive was a particularly bad example of. Not that I’m usually on the road at this time of day. Probably should’ve left earlier. But I had to answer that one email right away, and the time got away from me.

“That’s right, you run a ranch up there. I’ll bet it keeps you busy.” Good going. My small talk machine is scraping bottom.

Brilliant. She has no idea. He covered his disdain with a quick smile. “I’ve done it all my life. I guess I must like it or something.”

How to continue? She knew nothing about living on a ranch. Of course this could be an opportunity to learn. But it was distracting to be listening to his thoughts. Were they real, or was she imagining them? This was a mistake, she thought. I should have known better than to make him come all this way when I already knew he wasn’t going to work out. I don’t know why, but I have an unaccountable prejudice in favor of truthfulness. On the other hand, nobody’s thoughts could withstand the scrutiny of being constantly on view. There was a word for people who said everything they thought, without anticipating the consequences. Disinhibition? Foot in mouth?

“I’m not good at small talk,” she added. “But I’ll give it a try. Tell me about your typical day.”

No shit, he was thinking. What kind of dumb-ass question is that? “Up early to feed the animals. Big breakfast, lots of paperwork. Watch the sun rise, check the fences. Move the cattle. I’m on the move a lot. You wouldn’t think I’d have a chance to put on weight.” He slapped his waist. “That happened when I was laid up with a broken leg a year ago.”

“Covid did it to me. I gained twenty pounds. But I’ve started losing.”

“Me too.”

Finally something we have in common. Okay, dig a little deeper. “Do you like to hike?” Not a deal breaker, but still important.

“Yup. When I can find the time.”

I could ask what his favorite place to hike is. Lame. He obviously isn’t that interested. This is getting to be a strain. Isn’t there anything he actually enjoys talking about? So far, ranching has given the best results, and I’m not up for more of that. “Seen any good movies lately?” She rarely went to the movies, but people who did always seemed to like to talk about them. Endlessly.

“Haven’t been to a movie theater in ages. And I don’t have Netflix.”

That took care of the go-to for date number two. As far back as she could remember, the second date had been a movie or a hike. No, wait, once there had been a sort of a lunch thing. With that guy who looked at a notebook full of her photos and didn’t find a single good thing to say. A guy who evidently was super anxious to avoid having to think about date number three.

“Neither do I.” She smiled, pretending to take this as a good sign. “I don’t even have a TV.”

He looked at her like she was some kind of freak. “Really? How do you know what’s going on in the world?”

“I subscribe to the New York Times online. That’s how I start my day.”

Who reads the New York Times? That wacko liberal outlet—the one where they write as if their opinions are news! “What about local news?”

“That’s all online too. I used to like reading a newspaper with my coffee, but these days you can’t justify killing a bunch of trees when you can get it all on the computer.”

Since when is using a computer saving the environment?

“You’re right,” she said. Oops, I answered his unspoken thought. Now what? “Oh, look at the time,” she said, although it wasn’t actually all that late.