Chapter Twenty:
Out Walking
by Angie and Lori
She stared at the painted numbers on the door. Fiddling with the sleeves on her varsity volleyball jacket, the searing heat of guilt hit her once again. What was she doing here? She hadn't contacted Rayya for the longest time and now she was hoping that Rayya would forgive her? Ha. She would slam the door in her own face if it were possible. Sighing, she finally lifted her arm, closing her eyes against the possible rejection as she knocked firmly.
There was a long pause, seeming like a year to the young woman. Finally, there was the sound of movement on the other side of the door, the slapping of bare feet on hardwood floors. Then it opened, caught by the still-hung chain-lock, and a sleepy violet eye peered out curiously into the hall. “Yeah, ‘lo?” a slurred and thick-sounding alto voice muttered.
"Erm, Rayya?" Wilma mentally panicked, wondering if she had the right apartment. That voice just didn't sound like her Rayya. Moving over so that she was in slight view of Rayya's eyes, she put on her bravest smile. This was so much harder than she thought it would be. "Uhm, I was just in the neighborhood 'n' stopped by for a visit...a-are you busy?" Are you forgiving is what she really wanted to ask.
“N-no, I’m…” There was a tiny sigh and then the door closed again. With a rattle of chain, Rayya unlocked the door before opening it again. She smiled faintly at Wilma and stepped back in an unspoken invitation into the apartment. The older girl looked worn through in the dim light and the smile was tired. Her dark hair was bound back in a braid, a few loose pieces falling into her eyes but she made no move to push them away. “Hey, Wils,” she murmured as she tugged her silken dressing gown further around her slim figure. “Long time, hon.”
Wilma stepped in, suddenly nervous at the full sight of her friend. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she laughed, "Yeah, I know...life's been...busy for a while." Sticking her hands in her pockets, she glanced quickly around the apartment, not really taking anything in. Just fidgeting for lack of anything better to do. She suddenly wished her jeans weren't so baggy. They'd been her favorites for two years, but she'd lost weight during volleyball and such. She felt out of place in her body, and suddenly, out of place in the apartment. "How've you been?”
“… Living.” The brunette seemed smaller. When she turned her head to glance at the clock, Wilma could make out dark circles beneath her soft violet eyes. “You?”
Eyebrows furrowed, the younger girl studied her friend in the dim light before shrugging. "Living sums it up." Rocking back and forth in her Converses, she chewed thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek. Yum. "Listen, I found this little coffee shop not too far from here...coffee as good as Starbuck's but cheaper. Do you want to go? My treat." That's it, Wilma. Bribe her with caffeine.
Rayya actually looked surprised at the offer, turning to study the younger girl. She gnawed on her lip and reflectively pulled her robe even tighter; she too had lost weight since Wilma had last seen her. Slowly, she smiled. “That’d be nice. If you don’t mind going out with a living ghost?”
"It's a hell of a conversation starter." She grinned, shrugging. "You know I never mind hanging out with ya, Rayya."
The brunette nodded. “Okay, hon. Give me about twenty minutes to make myself more or less tolerable?”
"Yeah...I'll just wait in the living room." As Rayya headed in the direction of her own room, Wilma flopped unceremoniously upon the couch. Even if she was 18 and a legal adult, she refused to lose the loose movements of her teenaged life. She began clicking the silver ball in her tongue against her teeth in time with the second hand on the clock. She'd gotten her tongue pierced as an 18th birthday present to herself and had since learned to speak clearly once again. She hardly noticed it was there anymore. As boredom started to sink in, she began writing the alphabet in the air with her feet. Ah yes, to be a teenager.
Almost exactly twenty minutes later, Rayya reappeared. She stood for a moment, silently watching her friend, a tiny smile hovering on her full lips. Then she sighed, hardly audible, and smoothed down her loose, button-up shirt; it wasn’t the trendiest of fashions but she found herself caring less and less about staying in step with haute couture lately. What she wanted, more often than not, was comfortable. Softly, she cleared her throat. “Ready, Wils.”
"Good times." Slowly peeling herself off the couch, Wilma stood in all her worn out glory. Like Rayya, she'd sacrificed fashion for comfort. Hands in her pockets, she led the way down the hall and to her car.
Windows rolled down, light bits of morning rain hitting the wind shield, she drove along the gray streets of early morning Roanoke. The car smelled of stale cigarettes and coffee. "So what've you been up to?"
“Working.” Rayya shrugged slightly, eyes out the window. Then she shifted in her seat to study Wilma. “Getting a bit overbooked, I suppose. Worn, y’know, hon?” She paused. “And you?”
Upon further inspection, Wilma's face had thinned in the past few months. Her baby fat had been shed, revealing an older, somewhat sadder young woman. "Taking up bad habits." Gesturing to the rather full ash tray, she sighed. "My friends got me started. I should probably stop, but I don't smoke that often." Just after patrolling, she thought. "Other than that, not a lot."
Rayya made an eloquent face and shook her head. “That’s nasty stuff, you know. It’s bad enough putting up with it secondhand at the club. I can’t imagine actually choosing to do it.” Despite her words, there was a certain lack of true upset behind them. Rayya merely seemed to be tiredly repeating back credos long held. “You have to take care of yourself… Jackie doesn’t know, does she?”
"Actually, she does." Wilma grinned, turning into the parking lot of her new favorite cafe. "Andrew turned me in when I refused to tell him where I put his jacket. Such a loving brother." Parking and getting out of the car, she sighed. "She hit the roof, but she smoked when she was my age, so she figures she can't yell at me. She says that as long as the only thing I smoke is cigarettes, she's fine." She stood for moment, admiring the building. "This is it. My home away from home."
Suddenly, Rayya tucked her arm through Wilma’s as they stood still and smiled faintly in the same direction. “Well, I bet she still told my Dad about it, you know,” she confided. Then she sobered. “I have this nagging feeling that our parents spend way too much time talking about us and not enough about themselves sometimes. Lately.”
"Yeah...I know I'm worrying my mom to no end." She sighed, leading Rayya into the cafe. They were greeted with the pleasant smells of hot java, mocha and a tinge of vanilla. "That's actually how I found your apartment. Your dad tells my mom stuff and she's been keeping me somewhat posted."
The brunette nodded, hands jammed in the pockets of her light jacket. “Yeah, I’m sorry about whatever my dad’s been telling your mom, Wils.” She paused just long enough to order a hot chocolate with whipped cream and then continued, pulling out her wallet, “He’s worried, too.”
Wilma closed a hand over Rayya's wallet, dropping money on the counter to pay for her french vanilla cappuccino as well as her friend's hot chocolate, "My treat, remember?" As if to keep her from protesting, she led Rayya to an empty booth near the back and slid in with a sigh, "It's their jobs as parents to worry anyway...but...does your dad have reason to worry?"
There was a long moment of silence as Rayya stared into her cup as if looking for the proper answer to Wilma's question. She hadn't spoken to anyone other than Julius in so long. Even her talks with Gwyn had petered out, gone distant in her mind over the weeks. She didn't want to be a problem, though. Not for anything or anyone. Her fingers plucked, fidgeting, at a napkin. "... I don't think so," she said carefully. "I've just been a bit... Tired and all lately."
“Yeah...tired." Wilma sighed, sipping on her drink. She once again studied her friend as the warm liquid flowed down her throat. She seemed so tired, so diminished. Wilma was almost afraid that if she looked for too long, she'd disappear. Sighing, she placed her hand over Rayya's, keeping her voice low, "Listen, Rayya, I know that saying you're tired is a bullshit answer. I've been using it for a while. I just want you to know you can talk to me, inexperienced teenager that I am. I want to help."
“It’s just…” Rayya chewed on her lower lip and then, suddenly, looked up at her friend. “Thanks, Wils, I know… I just took a friend for granted, you know, and it’s still hurting.”
Lavender head bobbing up and down in an understanding nod, she clicked her tongue ring against her teeth before saying, "I gotcha...but y'know, I bet they'd be willing to talk it out with you. If you've seen the error of your ways, which I find it hard to believe you could hurt someone, they ought to forgive you." She sighed, adding almost as an afterthought, "But I won't give you a bunch of advice you've probably already heard from a bunch of other people." Leaning back in her seat, she took another sip from her drink, considering breaking her no cigarettes except after patrol rule. "I know what it's like to have the same phrases banged into my head. Gets annoying."
“Maybe.” Rayya smiled faintly and reached up to tuck a loose piece of chestnut hair behind her ear. “But so does hurting. Give me the advice any day… And the guts to ask for it.”
"You want my advice?"
The petite brunette nodded slowly.
"My advice is to confront your friend. Talk to whoever it is and make them see that you're deeply sorry and that you're hurting. It'll be hard, but if you want to stop hurting, you're gonna have to face up to your fears." She gulped down the rest of her drink. "Not that they'll need telling...if they look you in the eye, they'll be able to see it."
A funny-sad smile appeared on the other girl’s face and she lifted her cup, sipping. “It’ll take too much to be able to look them in the eye, hon,” she murmured. “I really messed up.”
“Well, that's something you're gonna have to face." Wilma peered out the window. Well, well, bigshot, maybe you oughta take your own advice. Sighing, she murmured, "Listen, Rayya. I haven't seen you in months and the look in your eyes is killing me. I don't know how any of your other friends can stand it. I just want to see you happier than this, and I think the only way you'll move on from this is to just...face them." Suddenly, she broke out in a grin, "Besides, if they're buttheads about it, I'll egg their house for ya."
“You do and I’ll tell Jackie that you’re not sleeping and smoking too much.” Rayya’s quick retort was accompanied with a vague mimicry of her usual smile; it was still more honest and warm than those earlier in the conversation. Reaching across the table, she chucked under Wilma’s chin. “Don’t worry about it, hon,” she added. “Tell me what’s up with you?”
"Just tired, I guess." Wilma grinned mischievously, then held up her hands, "Just teasing." She ran a hand through her hair, not minding the ruffled ponytail look she gained from her habit. "Just getting out of high school. Finding a college, getting accepted to the college. I dunno," she shook her head, a wry smile on her lips, "I guess...I guess I wasn't ready to decide what I wanted to be when I 'grew up'. Things just sort of jumped me all at once."
“They do that, don’t they?” Rayya leaned forward, elbows on the table and chin in hands. “Are you thinking of leaving the state for school?”
"No, I can't because of..." Senshi stuff, she finished mentally. "Mom. Don't want to leave her here with just Andrew. He'd drive her insane. I'm thinking about maybe Hollins."
“Hollins, huh?” A genuine smile curved Rayya’s full mouth and she half-giggled. “I can let you in on all the secret stuff if you opt for that. It’s a nice place, really.”
"I expect all the juiciest secrets about the place. I introduced you to the best coffee place ever." Wilma grinned, happy to have gotten a good smile out of Rayya. A quick glance at her watch told her she needed to cut her visiting short. "Er...Jesus...Rayya, I'm sorry, but I've got this art project due Monday and I really need to go get some supplies." She looked back up at her friend apologetically, "Okay if we cut this short and hang out next weekend? Oh, say a night of pizza and videos at my house?"
“Of course.” The older girl stood and readjusted her jacket, nodding as she pushed the lid down harder on her half-full cup. “If you promise me fluffy and sweet and silly and absolutely no anchovies.” She moved around the table to hug Wilma tightly. “Then I’m all yours.”
Returning the hug, Wilma grinned. "I'll be the luckiest girl in Roanoke."
After dropping Rayya off, Wilma drove along, the windows completely down, the radio blaring a scratched Backstreet Boys CD. That had not been what she'd expected. Then again, she wasn't sure what to expect in the beginning, but she certainly hadn't planned on finding a broken Rayya. Sighing, she parked behind an art store. Whoever Rayya had supposedly taken for granted...well, she hoped for their sake they forgave her. They might find their house covered in vines if they weren't careful. Wilma grinned to herself, pushing open the door and reaching up to tap the bells that hung over it in an effort to make herself more annoying than necessary.
At the end of the aisle closest to the door, a lanky young man looked up at the noise. Green eyes catching sight of the lavender-haired teenager, he half-smiled and neatly scooped up the basket at his feet, loaded with charcoal and newsprint drawing pads. He paused just long enough to adjust it on his arm and then he moved towards the new arrival. “Wilma?” he murmured, stepping behind her. “’Zat you?”
"How many other kids you know with purple hair?" Turning around, she smiled slightly. "Oh, wait, it's Jacks. You probably know some other ones..." Sticking her hands in her pockets, she looked down at her shoes to keep from meeting his gaze. "How've you been?"
“… Doin’.” Jack shrugged slightly and set his basket down again, leaning absently against the nearest shelf as he studied her. “How ‘bout you? Haven't seen you around much. You okay?” He offered her a lop-sided smile after this veritable speech.
"Okay as in mentally or okay as in going out every night and getting the crud beaten out of me?" She looked back up, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "Mentally, I've been better. As for the other stuff..." she smiled sheepishly and murmured, "Haven't been out to patrol in a couple months...Jace'd kill me, but I've found that type of shit brings on intense nicotine cravings."
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Jack patted his shirt pocket, resulting in a crinkling sound, a soft packet of cigarettes compressed. Then he tilted his head and frowned slightly. “Didn’t know you smoked.”
A faint pink tinged her cheekbones as she glanced away, "Guilty secret? Started towards the end of junior year." She sighed, shrugging off the many predictions of death at an early age she'd received, "I know it's stupid and I'll get lung cancer and whatnot, but I figure I'm more likely to fall off a building."
“Not if I have anything to say about, you won’t.” Jack’s sudden vehemence seemed to startle him as much as it did her and he half-laughed, rolling his eyes in self-deprecation. “Eh, sorry ‘bout that,” he murmured. “It’s been a rough few months. Long nights and all, y’know?” He jammed a hand in his jeans and shrugged with one shoulder. “Can’t really tell you not to smoke, though, I guess,” he added. “I do it, too. Make me a hypocrite.”
"Yeah..." she shivered slightly, picking up an X-acto knife and some glue. "Christ, my school is stupid. I'm supposed to do a collage of my last three years at Patrick Henry, but I've only been there one year." She shook her head, partly at her school and partly at her lack of conversational skills. "Only pictures I have are of some kids at my 18th birthday thing..."
The dark-haired artist was quiet for a moment, eyes unfocused as he thought. Finally, he nodded. “What about newspaper articles or something?” he suggested. “Report cards or passed notes or something?”
"Hey, that's a good idea." She smiled happily, running a hand through her already ruffled ponytail. "I've got a whole shoebox of notes and stuff at home...Thanks, Jacks." Biting her lip, she stepped closer, under pretense of examining some artistic supply whose name she didn't know and murmured, "Listen, I'm sorry I haven't been out there, y'know, helping. I've been...busy. But I want you to know, I never actually slept a full night. I'd sit up, wondering if you...or any of the others were out there and if you guys were going to survive the night." She sighed, staring down at her shoes like a child who'd broken a vase. "I sound like a big wimp, but...I dunno. I'm just sorry."
Before she even trailed off to a halting apology, Jack was shaking his head gently. “Nah, don’t worry about it,” he replied softly. “Yeah, it was rough and… I’ve been out a lot, y’know. Patrolling, going around, thinking.” His hand moved to rest on the sleeve of her jacket, long-fingered and light as a leaf falling. “I was glad you were safe.”
"...I wasn't." She kept her head down, not due to shame, but to tears suddenly welling up in her eyes. "Christ, I'm such a dork for crying, but...Jack, I'd rather be out there with you and not be safe, than be sitting in my room while you were out there alone." She swallowed down the lump in her throat and wiped at her eyes. Raising her head, her eyes were still moist but at least they weren't leaking anymore. "I couldn't live with myself if anything happened, so I'm gonna be out patrolling...every night, if possible."
“Wil…” Rubbing his face, Jack shook his head. Then he reached out to touch her shoulder hesitantly. “Don’t want you putting yourself in trouble, okay? I don’t mind doing it. Not… Really.” He quirked a smile at her. “I’ve got luck on my side, right?”
"Luck...and a funky costume designer. I still want a hat." She smiled back before glancing down at her belongings. "Um...d'you want to go somewhere else or something? I get the feeling two people don't hang out talking this long in an art store."
“Only if they’re both wearing all black and discussing spatial arrangement.” Bending, he scooped up his basket. “I’ve gotta pay for this first, then wherever you want.”
"I'll just pay for my X-Acto knife and glue, and pretend I know what spatial arrangement is." Getting behind him in line, Wilma took the opportunity to study Jack. It'd been a while since she'd seen him, but something about him still made her go all mushy inside. He most likely had figured out she had a crush on him, but it was still fun to think of it as her own little secret. A mischievous half-smile lay on her lips as she moved up to pay for her things.
“So what’s the plan?” he asked, rearranging his purchases in his bag, seemingly oblivious to her study. “Coffee? A walk?” He looked up and offered her one of his melting, lop-sided smiles. “Nothing too far, though, huh? I’ve gotta carry this stuff wherever we go.”
"No more coffee. Had coffee barely an hour ago." Wilma grinned, meandering out the door. "Lets go for a walk." She paused a moment, her tongue ring once again clicking on her teeth. That was a habit she needed to drop. "You can put that stuff in my car if you want."
Jack nodded. Motioning for her to lead him, he cocked his head as if thinking. Finally, reaching her car and safely stowing his stuff, he chuckled. “You’re clickin’,” he pointed out. “Smoking’s not the only new thing, huh?”
Obviously confused, Wilma stared at him blankly. "..Clickin'?" That incessant clicking sound came from her teeth again and a hand flew to her mouth as she realized what he meant. "Oh! That...I don't even realize I do it anymore..." She shrugged, grinning. "Birthday present to myself. Mom is positive I'm gonna chip a tooth...probably will."
He shook his head. "Not if it's in the center like it's supposed to be. Just make sure you don't get hit in the mouth and you should be fine."
"Which, in our line of work, is kind of hard to do." Kicking a rock as she made her way back to the sidewalk, she sighed. "How's that been, anyway? Anything weirder than usual happening?"
“… We have a base line for weird?”
"Good point." She shrugged. "Guess not."
They walked in silence for long minutes. Then, suddenly, Jack coughed slightly and reached for the packet of cigarettes in his pocket. Tapping one out, he held the slim cylinder between sensitive fingers as he scrabbled in his pockets for his lighter. “Anything else new?” he asked softly.
Pulling out her own lighter and offering it to him, she shook her head. "Not really. Getting ready to grow up and go to college. Chris hasn't spoken to me in a while...I guess 'cause we're both too busy to hang out anymore. You?"
“The usual.” He lit his cigarette, handed the lighter back, and inhaled lazily. Then he shrugged and released the smoke into the chill air. “I’ve been working a lot and going out on patrol and just…” He shrugged again.
"That's the usual?" Reaching into her pockets, she pulled out a cancer stick of her own. Lighting it, she studied him with an arched eyebrow. "You'll have to come over for dinner sometime, Jack-o. Give you a break in your routine."
“You mean it? That’d be nice.”
"No, I don't mean it. I'm lying." She inhaled, keeping her face as straight as possible. Allowing the smoke to curl from her lips slowly, she shook her head. "Of course I mean it, Jacks. Mom'd stuff you like a Thanksgiving turkey."
“Your mom’s a good cook.”
"My mom's cooking is a heart attack waiting to happen."
Jack chuckled. “Wil, you’re talking to the guy who eats Taco Bell like it’s going out of style.”
"An admirable quality." Wilma grinned, winking. "Anyone who can eat Taco Bell frequently and live to tell the tale has my respect."
The lanky artist ducked his head in a sloppy bow, a lopsided smile appearing on his face.
Giggling, the lavender haired hippie took another drag off her cigarette. Releasing the smoke, she stared up at the sky. "So, if you figure in the smoking, poor eating habits, lack of sleep and multitudes of fights we get in, our life expectancy is significantly shorter than the average person's." She smirked. "We should have an almanac for senshi. Have statistics and everything."
“Wouldn’t that be… Kinda depressing.” Jack flicked the ash from his cigarette into the gutter. “I think I’d rather just have a list of how to sit it all out sometimes.”
"We're not supposed to sit it out, though, are we?" Wilma kept her gaze on the sky, one hand slightly out in front should she happen to run into something. "I mean, even when I was sitting out, it was tough. Something would wake me up in the middle of the night and I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. It's like I'm programmed or something."
Jack’s face twisted at the word “program” and he looked down at the ground. Tension thinned his mouth, the corners pulled back tightly. “No one should tell us what to do,” he replied, so soft it could have been to himself.
Glancing at her friend, Wilma bit her lip. She'd obviously hit a nerve. Running her free hand through her hair, she flicked her ashes into the gutter. "Doesn't seem right, does it?"
The dark-haired young man shook his head. “Not a damn bit, really.”
They walked on in silence, occasionally flicking ashes into the gutter or taking a drag off their cigarettes. As Wilma flicked the butt into the gutter, she let out a low whistle. "I wonder sometimes...if we'd never run into the talking poultry...would we all have met? Or would we just go on being strangers?"
“I… I don’t know.” Jack dropped his burnt-too-close cigarette and ground it out with the toe of his battered construction boot. Then he jammed his hands in his pockets, looked skywards, and sighed faintly. “Really don’t. Part of me… Wishes it wasn’t real so we’d be safe… But, y’know, it’s nice having real friends like you and all. Jace…” He bit his lip and looked ahead, face going tight and pale. “I’ve never had such good friends,” he finished quietly. “But, I guess, I’d really rather you be safe and me alone than the other way ‘round.”
Wilma went to put her hand on his shoulder, but thought better of it and stuffed it in her pockets. Keeping her eyes on the cold concrete at her feet, she slowly replied, "I think...that if I had to do it all over again...if I knew what would happen when I went to that dance, and I knew all the bruises I'd get and the people I'd meet...I would only change one thing." She nodded firmly, as if confirming these thoughts for herself. "I'd rather have gone through all of that, just so I could be here, talking with you. But...I would've been nicer to Jace."
A funny smile appeared on Jack’s lean face and, suddenly, he pulled his hands from his pockets, reaching out to stop his friend from walking, holding her gently by her upper arms. Smile growing, he met her eyes, warm and surprisingly happy. His silence lasted a moment too long, though, and a distant car horn ruined it. Gone awkward, Jack squeezed her arms before releasing her. “… Thanks, Wil,” he almost whispered. “That means a lot."
Wilma stared back at him, her eyes surprised. "I meant it, Jack." A growing blush was beginning to flood into her face, changing it from a pale peach to a flushed magenta. Clearing her throat, she slowly continued walking. That had certainly caught her off guard. That was probably the largest display of emotion she'd ever gotten from Jack. "I, uh, um...so, how 'bout them Yankees?"
“I always kind of went more for the Mets, myself,” he replied, his smile still lingering as he moved to walk near her. “Underdog stuff… Plus my dad hated them.”
"Good reason." She giggled, her face beginning to go back to its original color. "Never really followed baseball, but I just bet on the one with the prettier uniform whenever Andy wants to lose money."
“Got an eye for color, huh?"
Smirking, she gave him a wink. "Oh yeah, I should be a fashion consultant. I see you in more winter-ish colors..."
He raised an eyebrow. “Are jeans wintery?”
"No clue. Yes?" She grinned. "They work on you, so we'll say yes."
“Great. ‘Cause they’re pretty much all I have."
Wilma nodded, "Yeah, kinda figured." Glancing down at her watch, she sighed. "I better start heading home...Mom's gonna be worried." She looked over at him shyly, "D'you wanna come over for dinner later tonight?"
There was a brief moment of hesitation and then Jack nodded slowly. “If you’re sure? Don’t you have to ask your mom first?"
"Nah, Mom always makes enough to feed an army." Wilma grinned, sticking her hands back in her pockets. "She thinks I'm not eating enough, so if she makes more than enough food, I'll eat more."
“I’m there, then.” Jack returned her grin, lopsided and half-there. Then he reached out to touch her shoulder hesitantly. “It’s good to see you again, Wil,” he added softly.
Perhaps just to get him back for her momentary surprise earlier, she reached up round his neck and gave him a tight hug. "You, too, Jack."
He tensed up at her touch but, then, he carefully wrapped his arms around her in return, locked low around her waist. “I’m… Glad you’re okay, Wil.”
"I'll always be okay. Promise." Slowly pulling away, it was quite easy to see that the blush had made its return to her cheeks. "So...7 at my house? If you want, I can just keep your stuff in my car until then..."
“Nah, I’ll take it with me. Wanted to work on something tonight and I can probably get most of it done before 7.”
"Mmkay." They set off, back towards the art store and Wilma's car. The petite lavender haired girl remained quiet, contemplating the past conversation and her upcoming art project. So many thoughts, so little time to dwell on them. It was frusterating. After having reached her car and giving Jack his things, she smiled, winking. "Don't forget. Seven o'clock. Mom'll have your hide if you don't come." And with that ever so welcoming remark, she climbed in and drove off with a wave.
Jack stood for a moment, stock still and contemplative. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed Wilma until he had seen her in that little art shop. She was definitely one of the high points that came with his current life. Shaking his head, he shed the tightness in his muscles and readjusting his grip on his bag of supplies. He had been telling her the truth, though; while he missed her, he had been glad that she was not out on patrols. Nights were getting more dangerous. There were more skirmishes and more enemies and… Tyche was edging further and further into his conscious mind. Somehow the thought of Wilma witnessing that flooded him with shame. Jack slid the bag over a wrist and tapped out another cigarette. Lighting up, he began his long, swinging walk home.
Jace would be waiting and worrying.
He smiled, though. Anyway, he had a dinner date to keep later that night.