012 — Lessons From New Friends

Ro left the Audi and gaped openly at the Smarts' house. In the backyard, behind a spiraea bush and a border of hostas, two dogs barked at the newcomers. Ro swallowed and followed Zee up the concrete stairs to the green front door. A decorative spring-themed wreath welcomed them. Zee's knock seemed to go unanswered forever. But the door pulled away and a young man's face was there. He opened the screen and let them inside, adding much gusto into his warm tones.

'You're Zee and Ro, right? Good of you to come. Dad's been worried you wouldn't. I'm Nat—Nathanial, but everyone calls me Nat. Come on inside, come on. Get down, Brandis! Down!'

Brandis was apparently the name of the mutt dog that had arrived to sniff the new arrivals. He had a long, pointed nose like a shepherd and a stubby tail like a schnauzer, but that is where the resemblance to any other breed ended. Multi-hued like a collie, in tan, russet, black, he fit in well with the surroundings, for the Smart house was all lived-in furniture and comfortable clutter. Brandis put his wet nose against Ro again and again, until finally hauled away by a woman in her sixties, undoubtedly the missus of the house. Dr Smart appeared from the back, from what Ro later determined to be the kitchen, and begged forgiveness for the antics of Brandis. He went on a tired explanation of why Brandis wasn't in the backyard with their other two dogs, about how he'd been given medicine lately and had to be sequestered . . . Eventually, Dr Smart threw up his hands, exasperated at the whole notion of being a caregiver to three dogs, and asked his guests to sit down while he fetched Ro a beverage. But Nat said he would get the beverages, and ran off to do so. Mrs Smart returned, letting her eyes roll as she related goading Brandis into the basement with a deluge of dog treats. Then she shook Ro's hand warmly, doing the same for Zee.

'I'm Orla Smart,' she said, a smile with endless kindness in it. 'Sam says you two are acquainted with a former co-worker of his. In fact,' she glanced at her husband, then to Ro and Zee, 'with old Iggy, if I'm not mistaken.'

Ro said she was correct, but that they only knew him as Dr Selig. Ro typically wanted to giggle at the mere idea of Dr Eli Selig being called 'Iggy', a nickname she supposed derived from the 'ig' in Selig. But perhaps Iggy had a hipper, more modern, less geeky sound than Eli. She could imagine a younger Selig being called Iggy much easier than imagining that he'd once answered strictly to Eli.

A lithe young woman appeared from the narrow hallway off the living room, and stopped to be introduced by Orla. 'This is Darien, Nat's fiancée.'

'Hi,' Darien said, taking their hands. 'I'm very glad to meet you. Sam said you were thinking about moving here for a little while. I hope you do. It is a nice town. Some might think it's conservative, but it isn't at all, really. The people here just know what they want and they do what they can to get it.'

Orla continued to beam. 'Nat says this place attracts misfits.' She laughed. 'I guess it does.'

Nat returned a moment later, with a cola in a glass of ice and cherries for Ro. Funnily enough, he brought Zee a beer, and left it on a coaster on the cocktail table. None of the three present, knowing of Zee's eating habits, bothered to say anything. Ro wished again that Zee had some way to eat. He'd done a lot of improvements to himself over the last two years, but he hadn't been able to find a way to eat. Not for the first time, definitely not for the last, Ro thought some of the designs of Infiltration Units ridiculous. How was Zee supposed to accurately portray a human, above suspicion, when he couldn't eat a Philly cheese steak sandwich or popcorn at the cinema?

Darien sat for a while, with Ro asking about her wedding, its date, how big it was, which kept Darien in badinage. Ro didn't particularly care about girly stuff like the style and hue of a bridesmaid's dress, but she did care about locking wariness away from Zee. She wouldn't have anyone leering at him, his peculiar habits and his inability to clearly grasp the idioms and axioms prevalent in American culture. When the screen door opened anew, Ro was relieved of her duty for a moment, and could observe rather than hide.

Entering the house was Dr Smart's daughter, a woman perhaps a touch older than Nat, with a cascade of wavy dark brown hair, a long face, lengthy legs, and sunglasses on her brow. Behind her came another woman, with wild blonde hair highlighted in punky pink, in a black sundress and a hand-knitted maroon shawl, black boots up to her knees. Ro was struck dumb for a second, unnerved at the sight of someone, a stranger walking into her life, whom she resembled so closely, in hair and eye colour, and all round facial features. She recovered from this numbness superbly, but glanced significantly at Zee, to see if he'd noticed. He didn't appear to, but Ro thought, for a phase of a cloud moving across the sun, that the young woman had.

'Oh, good, Dad's friends came,' the daughter said. She kissed her mum and dad on the cheeks, as did the second woman. 'I'm Aubrey Smart, the older and wittier—not to mention prettier—of the Smart progeny.' She shook their hands with a firm grip, then set aside her voluminous rattan bag on the floor next to the armchair. When the second woman came over, Aubrey tugged at the maroon wrap's sleeve. 'This is my girlfriend Colette.'

'Hi!' Cheerful and fascinated by them, Colette grasped their hands with both of hers, as though it wasn't enough just to shake their hands: she wanted to hug their hands. She looked steady at Ro, a sense of recognition sweeping between them, undeclared by words. 'I'm just so glad to meet you. Sam said you might be staying in town for a while. That'd be nice. Aubrey and I would love to take you out sometime if you do. We have our own haunts—and we can tell you which are the best places to eat—'

'If you don't grow too fond of my mom's cooking, that is,' threw in Aubrey. 'Mom, what are you cooking? God, it smells amazing in here.'

Zee struggled to sniff the air, and find some of this delicious odour. There was a scent vaguely onion and garlic, and a weaker whiff of chicken charring on a grill on the back deck.

'The usual spring time feast, I guess,' Orla announced, modest in the same manner as Dr Smart. 'Potato salad, one half with dill, one half without, because I know Colette likes it without dill—'

'You didn't have to do that, Orla!' whispered Colette, embarrassed to be treated so. Orla waved a dismissive hand at her.

'Phoo! Let's see, what else . . . Nat's got chicken on the grill, and a couple of hamburgers. Some homemade applesauce left over from last summer, I've no idea how good it'll be, but we'll give it a try. Sam loves it, anyway, and this is supposed to be his feast. Oh! And all sorts of pickles from Aunt Mona.'

Aubrey's eyes circled upward at this announcement. 'More rejects from her attempts to find a fair-winning recipe?'

Colette giggled, and Ro found it contagious and giggled too.

'That must be why she dropped off two full crates of them last week,' murmured Orla. 'I keep trying to tell Sam the woman is crazy, but he just won't listen to reason.'

'Well, if he won't listen to reason, maybe twenty pounds of pickles will spell it out for him,' Nat said, entering the room with tongs pinched in his hands, bits of charred chicken stuck on its end. 'Hey, Aubrey.'

'Yo, bro.' Aubrey patted him on the arm. She pulled out a small, flat square from a spot next to her on the chair, and handed it to him. 'A bit of something for your upcoming nuptials.'

'We put it together in a hurry,' Colette said. 'Sorry if it's all—not good.'

Darien was next to Nat as he unwrapped the little artefact. From where she was sitting, Ro determined it to be a jump drive—or 'jumper'. Darien looked up at her future sister-in-law.

'What's on it?'

'The home videos and photos we called your mother and blackmailed—I mean asked—for,' Aubrey said, simpering her way through the hint of naughtiness. 'And lots of a younger and much thinner Nat.'

'Thought it'd be good to play at the reception,' said Colette, enthusiastic about the idea. 'Something in the background, you know, on one of those big projection screens. For when the guests are arriving. You can't expect to entertain all the guests yourself, Nat, even though I know you have enough jokes to attempt it.'

'Hey, Colette, don't encourage him,' said Aubrey.

'Yes,' agreed Darien, smirking, 'please don't encourage him.'

'Bah!' Nat put the jumper down and kissed Colette on the cheek. 'Thanks for the thought, sis. You do realise people are going to throw things at the screen once my ugly mug's up there, yeah?'

'The thought occurred to me once or twice. I think we'll risk it.'

'Or you could just bolt down everything on the table,' added Ro, aware of her own nerve at speaking so to people she had just met. Prized with a couple of chuckles, Ro thought these people the salt of the earth. Everyone acted as they had before, as though Zee and Ro were not there, but, identically, pulled them into the conversation by making eye contact accompanied by an overall sense of hospitality. While on the road, Ro and Zee had met many "Mary and Josephs", as they came to call ordinary strangers that were not in the NSA or attached to Selig in some way—but members of the Smart family were nowhere near the same predictable class of Mary and Josephs.

Ro relaxed a little after her remark. She snuggled into the soft, squishy cushions, listening to the conversation and occasionally making a comment. She wished Zee wouldn't be so quiet, but Nat found a way to inveigle the reticent man into conversation. Nat stole him away from the "cursèd womenfolk" and took him to the deck. And there, in Nat and Sam's company, Ro could only wonder what they talked about. She didn't worry about it, as sitting with the women was mind absorbing in its own right. Ro learned their individual trades: Darien did managerial work for a local company; Nat fixed up rental units; Colette owned her own specialty store in the heart of town; and Aubrey was a freelance graphic designer who usually was too busy helping Colette run the shop to work on any kind of art.

Aubrey's chocolate eyes took in Ro. 'What sort of work do you do, Ro? I realise you're probably unemployed right now, unless you're a freelancer. But what would you do—if you stayed?'

'I don't know,' Ro answered honestly, feeling her cheeks go hot. 'I'll give it some thought and get back to you.'

'Good idea,' said Colette. 'We know lots of people in and around town. I'm sure we could find something for you. Where are you two staying?'

Ro told them, and Colette was pleased while Aubrey tried hiding a scowl. 'You two can't stay there forever,' she said, much pleasanter in voice than face.

Ro had no plans to stay anywhere forever, yet the secret stayed within. It could hardly be discussed, that painful wanderlust that had always consumed her, deep from the inside. 'Well, Zee and I haven't really made any final plans yet. We might still wake up tomorrow morning and leave. You never know with us.'

'It's good to embrace freedom,' Orla Smart noted, smiling delightedly so that her small eyes were as little half moons in a rosaceous sky.

'Freedom,' the weary word repeated itself automatically, and Ro looked at her hands, 'yeah, it's great.'

She was relieved when Nat sauntered in, still carrying the tongs, donned in a gingham apron with 'Kiss The Grillmaster' printed on its front. 'Ladies! Chow's on!' he called, and waited to be sure all had heard him. With his stentorian wail, hearing him was hardly difficult.

Ro's spirits picked up considerably when she made it to the backyard. The two other dogs, who'd barked at her while she stood, an apprehensive stranger, in the driveway forty minutes ago, greeted her with flapping tongues and sniffs plenty. Ro found out their names were Cassidy and Carney, sister and brother from the same litter of pups four years back. Zee, not overly fond of dogs, found these two spaniels tolerable, though kept a distance from them as often as possible. In turn, Ro, too pained by what she'd thought of while leaving the motel room, kept her distance from Zee. But the absence of commenting to him about the night began to wear her, ever so slightly, and she gave in after finishing her chicken, and stood in front of him.

'Everything okay?' She felt like he ought to be the one asking her. His stoic expression failed to charm Ro's desultory spirit. 'You don't look as anxious to stay as you did this afternoon.'

'If I appear apprehensive at all,' he started, 'it's for your sake, not mine.' Zee resumed his pleasant face, regarding Ro, the way the trailing tails of a dimming sun changed the hue of her hair, and how the scent of lilacs on the caressing breeze seemed to make her wild and fey, as a dryad of old. Again, he was struck by a unique fascination with her, looking at her as he might a painting. Nature, a magnificent brush in her hand, painted white-gold highlights in Ro's tresses, touched her lips with rare shades of pink and red, her eyes in atmospheric blue. 'But you seem to be enjoying this dinner party—in spite of yourself. And you like them.'

'They're funny,' she kept her voice low as she said it, though Nat had the majority harnessed in a story he was telling about work buddies, unlikely to overhear.

Zee frowned, his mouth tightening a little as it did when anxious. Ro resisted the urge to pinch his chin and tell him to lighten up. Three days ago, she would've committed such a gesture without questioning it; now it was too full of innuendo and emotional confusion. She wished he'd stand in the shade, not in full sun, like some fiery spring crocus. His hologram took on an otherworldly sheen, blurring his edges and sharpening his colour. The deep blue eyes, so steady in observation, were now whisked to an inhuman shade. Zee was meant only to stand in shadows, in twilight, at sunrise—never in the harsh light of day. The thought brought Ro a glimpse of unselfish sadness. Regardless of her misgivings, she gave him a reassuring pat on his chest before walking away.

Zee watched her return inside, to the kitchen table, lit with an overhead lamp, and refill her plate with both kinds of potato salad. The image was one he wanted to remember. Ro didn't look any more beautiful than usual, but it was the environment that made her inner magic all the more alluring. Ro, having run with him as long as they'd known each other, deserved the chance to stand in Mrs Smart's kitchen and help herself to homemade potato salad, just like anyone else in the world. What he'd said was true, that he knew apprehension only by worrying for her. The reason he wanted to stay hadn't much to do with Andrea Donoso; it was really about Ro Rowen, potato salad, garden parties, and the scent of budding lilacs in a fitful evening wind.