Winterlong Read Free Page B

stretched and curled my other foot around his finger.
    “No. Dr. Leslie was here all day. The Governors are angry. Anna said they’re taking us away.”
    “Me too?”
    He nodded, hugging a bolster. “All of us. Forever.” He smiled, and the twilight made his face as beautiful as Anna’s. “I saw Dr. Harrow cry after he left.”
    “How did you get here?” I sat up and played with his hair: long and silky blond except where the nodes bulged and the hair had never grown back. He wore Anna’s bandeau, and I tugged it gently from his head.
    “The back stairs: no one ever uses them. That way.” With his foot he pointed lazily toward a darkening corner. His voice rose plaintively. “You shared that poet with Anna. You should’ve saved her.”
    I shrugged. “You weren’t there.” The bandeau fit loosely over my forehead. When I tightened it, tiny emerald feathers frosted my hands like the scales of moths. “Would Anna give me this, do you think?”
    Andrew pulled himself onto his elbows and stroked my breast with one hand. “I’ll give it to you, if you share.”
    “There’s not enough left to share,” I said, and pulled away. In the tiny mirror hung upon the refrigerator I caught myself in the bandeau. The stippled green feathers made my tawny hair look a deeper auburn, like the poet’s. I pulled a few dark curls through the feathers and pursed my lips. “If you give this to me …”
    Already he was reaching for my hand. “Locked?” I glanced at the door.
    “Shh …
    Afterward I gave him one of my new pills. There hadn’t been much of Morgan left and I feared his disappointment would evoke Anna, who’d demand her bandeau back.
    “Why can’t I have visitors?”
    I had switched off the gaslight. Andrew sat on the windowsill, luring lacewings with a silver lighter tube. Bats chased the insects to within inches of his face, veering away as he laughed and pretended to snatch at them. “Dr. Harrow said there may be a psychic inquest. To see if you’re accountable.”
    “So?” I’d done one before, when a schizoid six-year-old hanged herself on a grosgrain ribbon after therapy with me. ‘“I can’t be responsible. I’m not responsible.’” We laughed: it was the classic empath defense.
    “Dr. Leslie wants to see you himself.”
    I kicked the sheets to the floor and turned down the empty BEAM , to see the lacewings better. “How do you know all this?”
    A quick fizz as a moth singed itself. Andrew frowned and turned down the lighter flame. “Anna told me,” he replied, and suddenly was gone.
    I swore and tried to rearrange my curls so the bandeau wouldn’t show. From the windowsill Anna stared blankly at the lighter tube, then groped in her pockets until she found a hand-rolled cigarette. She glanced coolly past me to the mirror, pulling a strand of hair forward until it fell framing her cheekbone. “Who gave you that?” she asked as she blew smoke out the window.
    I turned away. “You know who,” I replied petulantly. “I’m not supposed to have visitors.”
    “Oh, you can keep it,” she said.
    “Really?” I clapped in delight.
    “I’ll just make another.” She finished her cigarette and tossed it in an amber arc out the window. “I better go down now. Which way’s out?”
    I pointed where Andrew had indicated, drawing her close to me to kiss her tongue as she left.
    “Thank you, Anna,” I whispered to her at the door. “I think I love this bandeau.”
    “I think I loved it too,” Anna nodded, and slipped away.
    Dr. Harrow invited me to lunch with her in the Peach Tree Court the next afternoon. Justice appeared at my door and waited while I put on jeweled dark spectacles and a velvet biretta like Morgan Yates’s.
    “Very nice, Wendy,” he said, amused. I smiled. When I wore the black glasses he was not afraid to look me in the face.
    “I don’t want the others to see my bandeau. Anna will steal it back,” I explained, lifting the hat so he could see the feathered