Blinding Light Read Free Page A

and the woman in the Trespassing vest glanced over her cell phone and said, “Do keep it down. I’m talking.”
    â€œWood worked for two solid years for that payday,” the other woman said, looking up from Steadman’s book.
    His name was
Wood?
    Janey, Hack’s wife, was saying in a wiffling English accent into her cell phone, “It seems frightful. But in point of fact, single people spend a disproportionate amount of time in the loo. The laboratory, as you might say.”
    Both couples were dressed alike, mostly in Trespassing clothes from the catalogue: trousers with zip-off legs that turned them into shorts, shirts with zip-off sleeves, reversible jackets, thick socks, hiking shoes, floppy hats, mesh-lined vests, and fanny packs at their waists.
    Seeing them, Steadman wanted to say: I give away ten percent of my pretax profits from catalogue sales to environmental causes. How much do you contribute?
    â€œThis has something like seventeen pockets,” the woman with the book said, patting her vest, seeing that Ava was staring at it—but Ava was staring at the TOG logo. She slapped it some more. “These gussets are really useful. And check out this placket.”
    And when Ava’s gaze drifted to the woman’s expensive watch—it was the Trespassing Mermaid—she said, “It’s a chronometer. Titanium. Certified for like a billion meters. That’s your vacuum-release valve,” and twisted it. “We dive—Janey doesn’t but she snorkels.” The woman on the phone turned away at the mention of her name and kept chewing on the phone. “We’re hoping to do some in the Galápagos.”
    Steadman was so delighted to hear that they were going in the opposite direction he did not tell them that snorkeling there was strictly regulated, but encouraged her instead. The man he took to be her husband was going through the sectioned-off pockets of his own padded vest. He brought out a folded map and his boarding pass and a wallet that looked like a small parcel, with slots for air tickets, dollar bills, and pesos. The wallet, too, was a Trespassing accessory.
    â€œWhat I love about American money is its tensile strength. It’s the high rag content. Leave a couple of bucks in a bathing suit and never mind. All you have to do is dry it out. It actually stands up to a washer-dryer.”
    â€œYou mean you can launder it?” Ava said.
    Janey, the young woman with the English accent, said “Ta very mooch for now” and “By-yee” and snapped her phone off, and collapsing it, she turned it into a small dark cookie. The other woman reached into another expensive catalogue item, the Trespassing Gourmet Lunch Tote, a padded food satchel with a cooler compartment. She handed her husband a wrapped sandwich.
    â€œWe always bring our own,” Hack said, chewing between bites. “It’s smoked turkey with provolone and tomato and an herbed vinaigrette dressing.”
    Noting that the man said “herbed,” Ava frowned and turned away, and the woman looked up from her book and offered Ava half a sandwich, saying that she had plenty. Ava’s tight smile meant “no thanks.” Tapping the cover of
Trespassing,
Hack put his arm around the woman and said, “That must be one hell of a read.”
    The woman said, “It’s awesome.”
    â€œLike how?”
    â€œLike in its, um, modalities. In its, um, tropes.”
    â€œYou’ve been reading it for weeks and ignoring me.”
    â€œI read real slow when I’m liking something.”
    â€œSo who wrote it?”
    Steadman, who had been listening closely, braced himself, putting on his most implacable face.
    The woman said, “This, like, you know, legendary has-been. The outdoor-gear freak. He’s more a lifestyle than a writer.” Then, “You guys married?”
    Hearing “legendary has-been,” Ava shut her eyes and smiled