- J -

Last Night I Found Your Car in My Driveway

         At the cafe Tristian was already waiting for them.
         That was Brown's first impression.
         Initially he had been too distracted by the welcome warmth of the cafe soaking into him as the door shutting behind them sealed away the air's chill. But as they got closer to the table, the only empty table in a crowded cafe, Brown realized several things were wrong. The first thing that tipped him off was Jackie. Or rather, her reaction. More specifically, her lack of one. Brown had been about to wave a greeting when he glanced over at her and saw that while she was staring right at Tristian, the same as he was, she hadn't made any sort of acknowledgement that he was sitting there. That was his first clue.
         The second was when he noticed that Tristian was balancing packets of sugar like they were playing cards, forming a strange dodecahedral shape. As the two of them approached, the man that Brown was starting to realize wasn't Tristian looked up at them and gave Brown a grin that seemed to stretch his face in all the wrong directions. As a last ditch effort he tried to blame it on the dim lighting in the place. But he didn't believe that at all.
         "Well of course you're welcome to join me here!" the man said, throwing his arms outward magnamiously. He seemed a lone island in a sea of gently rustling conversation. The blue sweatjacket he was wearing was completely out of place in the field of bodies made bulkier by heavy winter coats. His voice was a gritty echo almost too large for the room. But not a single person glanced in their direction. "At my table, there's always room for more."
         "God, I'm sorry for acting so weird back there," Jackie said, somehow stepping around the Agent's arm without actually realizing it. A waitress passed right through the other arm. The two of them each took a seat at the small round table, attempting to squeeze into their chairs without disturbing the densely packed populace crowding around them.
         "Don't be," Brown said, trying to keep making eye contact with her and not with the apparently invisible man sitting with them. It was like someone had grafted a Tristian mask to his face. Except this mask was made of human skin. "You haven't done anything wrong."
         "Are you sure we can't call Tristian or something, tell him where we are . . ." Jackie asked, her fingers idly toying with a napkin. "I mean, if you were supposed to meet him, he's going to wonder where you are. He could, you know, join us."
         The Agent sniffed. "Are you saying I'm a poor substitute? The very thought."
         "Chances are he's still not home," Brown said, wondering just how he could sneak the Agent an evil glare without making Jackie think he was eyeballing the people at the next table. "And it wasn't for any important reason. We can always try again there when we're done here."
         "Yeah, we can," Jackie replied, not sounding utterly convinced. She leaned on the table with both forearms, her arms forming a sort of square frame for her chest, staring at a spot in the center of the table. "God, I didn't expect that . . . that to freak me out so much. I'm really sor-"
         "Wait," Brown said, holding up a hand. She glanced up at him with one eye, pausing in her speech. "Let's make a deal here . . . I'll pay for your coffee if you agree to stop apologizing for something you didn't do wrong in the first place."
         Her lips twisted into a smile. "Bribing me now?"
         "It's for the greater good," Brown responded. "Three bucks is a small price to pay for your peace of mind."
         "Is that how much they charge . . . geez, all the coffeehouses in this town and you've got to take her to the Ritz . . . I swear . . ."
         "I'm not quite sure how to take that," Jackie told him, shrugging off her jacket and letting it rest against the back of the chair. "You think you can buy my silence?" Her tone was teasing but he could see the undercurrent swirling darkly under the ice.
         "Hey, if I can't convince you otherwise, I'll take what I can get. Don't worry about Tristian, he's a big boy, he'll get over it eventually," Brown said breezily.
         The Agent shrugged casually. "Might as well milk him for all he's worth," he said to an oblivious Jackie. "That's what I'm going to do." His chattering was becoming slightly unnerving to Brown, especially since he was apparently the only person who could see the Agent. This had never happened to him personally before, though he was pretty sure that the same trick had been pulled when he had run into Tristian earlier. It had to be deliberate. After all, Jina had seen the Agents easily enough before. It made him wonder how often they were around without anybody knowing. And that certainly wasn't a logical path he wanted his mind to go down. "He never gets to exercise his expense account anyway. If you can't live a little in a fine Earth coffeehouse, where else can you live?" He twisted in his chair to face the person sitting closest to him at the next table, who was picking through a salad. "Am I right? Aren't you living it up?" The man seemed to nod in agreement with the Agent, though Brown suspected it was due to the conversation he was having with his actual tablemate.
         When the man stopped with a fork halfway to his mouth to make some kind of point to his friend and the Agent took the opportunity to pluck it off the utensil and toss it neatly into his mouth, Brown decided it was time to make a good effort to stop paying attention. The Agent's chewing sounded like someone walking on gravel and went on for far longer than one would presume a slice of lettuce would take.
         "Then I'm blaming you if he gets mad," Jackie teased, pointing at Brown. "I'll say you bribed me to stay here."
         "You can tell him I tied you to the chair if it makes you happy," Brown replied. Grinning slyly he extended his hand. "So? Do we have a deal?"
         She gave him a crooked smile, cocking her head to the side slightly. He found the motion very attractive. After a second's thought she reached out and took his hand, grasping it firmly. Her touch was surprisingly warm, her hand smooth. "Sure. Deal."
         Contract verbally signed, Brown settled back in his chair, resting his arm on the back of the chair and his other arm on his chest, locking his fingers together. Out of the corner of his eye he heard the Agent say, "Well I'm glad that's settled," but he did his best to ignore the being. It was like a little kid trying to get attention, except if it really wanted to get everyone's attention, it could just crack the planet in half.
         To Jackie, he said, "Are you feeling any better?"
         She nodded as if unsure herself. "I guess, it's just . . . I'm trying not to think about it and sometimes I'm trying so hard that when something does remind me of it, I . . ." she shrugged. "I don't know. I shouldn't have let it upset me. I don't really know why it did."
         "You know exactly why it did," Brown told her, his voice serious. "And it's totally understandable." He could see tentative agreement in her eyes, caged and unwilling to be released. Because doing so would mean the pain was okay. That the grief was all right, even expected. Sitting in the center of a million crowded thoughts he wasn't privy to, a million stories he'd never peek into, Brown realized he was no different. He went on carrying on with his life like nothing else had happened, only reminding himself that something terrible had happened every so often, when it was convenient. When he could afford to take a break from his busy schedule to think about shedding a tear. It still hadn't truly struck him yet. When you hadn't seen someone in a long time, you were always expecting to run into them just around the next corner, on the seat behind you on the bus, at the party for a mutual friend you didn't know you had. And the realization that the encounter was never going to happen wasn't something the brain wanted to accept. He didn't want to accept the fact. But it was real. And it didn't give a damn about his feelings.
         And for Jackie the struggle wasn't so much simple acceptance as filtering that acceptance into easily digested pieces that wouldn't cut her to ribbons while she absorbed them. And sometimes the pieces went in sideways, got caught in an awkward pocket, were perhaps more jagged than she had anticipated. The pain was more immediate then, too easily exacerbated. But it wasn't a shameful thing to reel from that pain, to wish it didn't exist. How could there be? It happened to everyone.
         "Listen," he said, leaning on the table, stopping just short of taking her hand, "this is hard. I know it is. I've been there and I know what it's like." The last night he had spent in his home before he left for the stars the place hadn't felt like his anymore. Not like home. Brown had barely recognized any of it. All of the spirits, including his, had already departed, leaving every room empty and resigned, drained dry of memories until it was all barren, making room for the new inmates. A carpeted wasteland strewn with the bones of their lives, glistening and white in the new darkness. Everything had been so still and silent. He had climbed into his parents' bed and lay facedown and it had smelled just like when he had crawled between them as a child, when the world roared and flashed with the patter of angry rain striking the house, it had smelled like a safety and protection far more than windows or walls could provide. And he had cried then, without shame. He had spent that last night trying to retain something of them, knowing that he would eventually lose whatever he recovered, desperately wishing otherwise. In the end, he had. In the end, all that was left of them was himself. "You want to keep it all in, everything you're feeling, hold it all in because you think everyone's upset and you want to put on a brave face for them. You think someone has to. It doesn't have to be you. It shouldn't be you." She was meeting his eyes but trying not to understand. His words were foam darts, penetrating but causing no pain. But you needed the pain, or else you never learned. "And you think if you keep it in long enough that the pain will just resolve, like a stomach ache or a fever and you'll just go back to normal and everything will be just fine." He wet his lips, weighing his words carefully. "Until one day when you hear a train again. And you'll realize it didn't go anywhere at all."
         His heart bent watching her trying not to flinch back from his words. He was being too honest and he didn't know why. Was he trying to tell himself something, spitting out the words to Jackie that he wanted to scream at his own reflection? Jackie sat back in the chair, her eyes clouded and obscured, her face veiled and frozen. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Agent watching them both, his hands clasped together, his chin resting on those hands, his eyes darting back and forth, the only animated part of his face. His expression was surprisingly serious.
         "Bartender, let's have another round," Brown thought he heard someone mutter. The Agent's lips hadn't moved.
         A second later, the waitress appeared at their table, her black and white uniform contrasting nicely with the dimmed ambiance of the cafe. "Sorry for the wait," she said cheerfully, standing almost on top of the Agent. "But it's really busy in here."
         "Everyone's trying to get in from the cold," Brown said with a smile. "But I'm sure you're not complaining too much."
         "Hopefully I won't be," the waitress agreed, whipping out a pad and pen. "Now what can I get for you two?"
         The two of them ordered coffees, while Brown added a pastry onto his order, his belligerent stomach reminding him that it had been a while since it had tasted actual food. As the waitress was writing this down, the Agent looked up from a menu, the only one on the table as it turned out, and said, "I'll take the biggest sundae you have . . . don't worry he's paying for it," pointing at Brown. The waitress merely nodded and kept writing. Brown felt a cold feeling beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach. The Agent flashed him a disarming grin and said, "I know it's out of season, but who knows when I'll get another chance? You have to enjoy these things while you can, right?"
         Brown forced himself to take a deep breath, covering the motion by the smiling politely at the waitress and confirming for her that yes, that was all they wanted for the moment. Jackie was staring right at the Agent but not really seeing him, instead focusing on a point far past him, into the darker portions of the cafe, toward the back of the room where some couches and smaller tables were set up. It all looked very cozy. There was the obligatory microphone setup presumably for a poetry or folk night or whatever, though Brown prayed that the Agent didn't get any bright ideas. Brown watched her while pretending to observe the people coming in and out. Strands of hair on the top of her head waved lazily as the frosted air from outside drifted in everytime the door swung open. Her face twitched a little at the temperature shock but otherwise she didn't react.
         The Agent suddenly said, "I can't answer that."
         He added, "What would you like me to do?" Brown didn't know who the Agent was talking to.
         After a second, still not looking at him, Jackie said, "How should I act in public, Joe? Should I cry and carry on and make a spectacle of myself just so I feel better?"
         "Depends," Brown replied, pressing his hands together so they formed a closed triangle. These prayers unbound might just stop the world yet. "Would it make you feel any better?"
         "That's not the point," Jackie protested. "It's just not something you do. It's not."
         "So holding it in is the thing to do these days?" Brown asked pointedly. "Is what everyone else might think more important than your own feelings? Is it?" He rested his arms on the table again, saying, "I'm not saying that you have to scream and carry on like you're in some melodrama, Jackie, I'm just trying to tell you that you don't have to pretend for the rest of the world." This wasn't what she wanted to hear. He could tell immediately, just from the faint tightening of the skin on her face. She wanted him to say that it was okay to swallow it and get on with her life with no ill effects, that the people who showed any emotion were the weak ones, the people who didn't have the decency to spare everyone else the sight of them expressing what everyone else was feeling. "Nobody is going to blame you or judge you, if that's what you're so afraid of. I know."
         "You don't know anything," she snapped at him, seemingly about to slam her clenched fist into the table. "You don't know what's going on at all." Gesturing accusingly at him, she said, "And what about you? I remember, I remember Don saying at your father's funeral, telling me how you didn't seem sad at all, how he would have been three times the wreck you weren't," her words were coming quickly, nearly swallowed by the billowing acoustics of the murmuring room, but they were reaching him all the same. "You weren't sobbing or shaking your fist at the sky or any of that garbage. So how come you expect me to? Is it because I'm a woman and that's the kind of thing we do? Is that it?"
         "Ouch," the Agent muttered, wincing.
         "My mother had died less than a month before," Brown replied in a very quiet voice. "Trust me, if I had anything left in me, I would have." He had gone too far, he knew that. Gone too far and said too much. Don's death was making him prickly, constantly summoning the twin spectres of his parents. It wasn't the same, he had to keep telling himself. But he wasn't listening to his own warnings. And now the apologies were falling into trenches, lost in the mud, crouched frightened on the bottom and praying for an armistice to cover them over and bury them for all time.
         "You're both so foolish," the Agent stated flatly, looking back and forth between them. Jackie predictably didn't react at all. "So very, very foolish." His expression was unaccountably serious. It was also extremely eerie, like it had been transplanted from someone else's face. "I hope you realize that."
         "Joe, I . . . I realize what you're trying to do," Jackie told him, massaging her temples with a pained expression, her voice indicating she realized nothing of the sort, "and I appreciate it, really I do . . ." a small smile granted for him there, genuine warmth behind all the fractured emotions cluttering the air, "but I have to deal with this in my own way. Okay? That's the only way I can do it."
         "Your brother is dead and you asked my host to find out why," the Agent said directly to her. "Something tells me you need to take another look at the users' manual." His voice was as jovial as an Arctic playground.
         "I just want to make sure that's what you're doing," Brown said evenly, trying to speak over the Agent and knowing he didn't stand a chance anyway.
         "I know, and I really appreciate it. I do. Honest," she replied, smiling again and reaching over and touching his hand. Her fingers were too warm. "But, listen, I'm really sorry for what I said about your father's funeral, that . . . that wasn't right of me . . . no, no," she said, cutting off his attempt to break in, "I mean it, we're both starting to say things we don't mean. Let's talk about something else, okay? There'll be plenty of time to talk about this stuff later, when we're both feeling more like it. Okay?"
         "Sure, why not?" Brown agreed slowly, not wanting to argue again and seem like a surly child not getting his way. Did he want pain? Why did he keep pushing her to grief, shoving her toward the cliff of sodden tears, edging her ever so slowly to just breaking down right in front of him? Did he need a damsel in distress to feel like he was of some use to anyone?
         "Thanks," she said sincerely, already looking more cheerful, like she had gotten through the heaviest part of her agenda. Pushing her chair back slightly, she stood up, grabbing her purse and saying, "I have to stop in the restroom for a moment. But I'll be right back. We can keep talking then. I want to hear what you've been up to the last few years." Then she was gone, before he could even form a reply.
         "You just take your time and don't hurry on our account," the Agent called out. Turning back to Brown, he said, "Sweet girl, that is. Certainly deserves better than the last few days, wouldn't you agree?" He tilted his head to the side owlishly, scanning the room with his pupils. "Geez, I wouldn't have asked for the sundae if I thought they were going to import it. And what the heck kind of coffee did you two kids order anyway? It sure is taking an awfully long time. And this is coming from someone with a hell of a lot of patience."
         Brown stared down at the table, cupping his head in his hands, framing his vision with darkness on both sides. It didn't make the Agent go away, but it was worth a shot. Through gritted teeth, he muttered tightly, "What the hell are you doing here? Don't you have children to scare?"
         "And how am I doing so far?" He could hear the evil grin in the Agent's voice, even without looking. It penetrated knife-like through the gauzy layers of conversation falling about the room. As much as he tried to focus on other voices, other tones, the Agent's words somehow crept through every time.
         "You're getting there," Brown replied airily, still keeping his voice low and his head down. He might look strange, but at least he didn't seem to be speaking to people who weren't there.
         "Well, there you go then," the Agent said, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. Brown almost expected to see a pipe in his mouth and the latest stock report in his lap, so mock sophisticated was his posture. "Mission accomplished."
         "Why are you here?" Brown asked again, doing his best to keep his words at a murmured monotone. And yet he wanted to finish this conversation quickly, since there was no telling when Jackie might come back. "I thought you were housesitting." Keeping a light tone was the only way to get past his fear. Even when they were acting benign they were alarmingly unpredictable. His nerves were all buzzing overtime on alert, ready for an event that, if it came, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop.
         "Can't I just treat myself to some fine ice cream?" the Agent protested with a hurt expression. Brown swore its eyes got bigger. The effect wavered unsteadily between amusing and pathetic. "Must everything I do be subjected to these accusations of ulterior motives? For once, can't my actions exist purely on the surface?"
         Brown just gave him a look. The Agent smiled back thinly. All of a sudden he didn't look amusing or pathetic. Merely alien.
         "Tristian's doing this because of her," was all he said. Brown was treated to the delightful sensation of having his entire spine turn into a jagged sliver of ice.
         "For the love of . . . all she did was ask him a question," Brown said, trying to keep his voice level and low and only partially succeeding, if the look the next table over gave him was any indication. Go ahead, call me crazy. Let me tell you about my life and then we'll see who's nuttier. "Is that some kind of crime?"
         "We're getting awful touchy, aren't we?" the Agent cooed, tapping the table staccato fashion with the blunt end of his fork. "Just because I show an interest, that doesn't guarantee there's going to be fire from the sky and gaping faults opening in the Earth. I think you've been getting the wrong idea of me all this time. Deep down inside, I'm a soft, gentle, delicate person." He smiled cherubically as if the mere act could demonstrate his point beyond any shadow of a doubt.
         In his head, Brown heard the careening sound of a scream and bones snapping like tinder on faraway rocks. He hoped to God that he was hearing his own memories. He wished someone would open the door and let some air in here. The man who didn't breathe was taking it all away.
         "What Tristian did, he took upon himself, okay?" Brown said, trying to get back to the original point. He tried to shake the fractured echoes from his mind. "Nobody told him to do anything, all right?"
         "Oh, so if she hadn't made her little request he'd be out there now, playing Sherlock without a mystery and wondering why he's not getting anywhere?" The Agent snorted out a laugh. "Would you like to bet some money on that?" He rested an elbow on the table and held up a hand, fanning his fingers, "I've got some to burn," that hand now holding what looked like dozens of crisp bills. His fingers closed and the money was gone, leaving only a faint trace of smoke in the air.
         "So what are you going to do?" Brown asked, inwardly cursing that he hadn't taken that ventriloquism course when he had the opportunity. Trying to fit his sentences into mumbled asides was getting harder and harder the more the argument was riling him up. Chances were the Agent could have heard his thoughts, and was no doubt listening to them even now, but Brown would have been even more uncomfortable speaking that way as he was now. Stay out of my head. But to hear his warning would mean they were already there. He couldn't win. "Punish her? Whisk her off to some godforsaken alien prison until she sees the error of her ways?"
         "What's with the fixation on punishment?" the Agent calmly asked, resting his chin on his hands, cat-like. "Feeling guilty over something? Hm?"
         Only that my friend is dead, he squirted out before he could stop the thought. The Agent didn't react, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard. Brown silently hoped they were feeling like benevolent gods today and not the type that got jollies from skewering people with lightning bolts.
         Before he could answer, the waitress came back with their order. On her tray were two coffees, Brown's pastry and a decently large sundae. With a friendly smile toward Brown she put the coffees down in their proper places, then confirmed, "You ordered the pastry, right?"
         "Sure did," Brown replied, taking it from her hands, hoping she wouldn't notice that his were trembling slightly. His stomach growled appreciatively at the sight of food. At least the deity hadn't chased his appetite away. Small favors, Brown, small favors. Hell, he might be ordering another before their time here was through.
         "You're missing someone," the waitress commented, tucking the tray under her armpit. She was holding the sundae in her other hand, but hadn't mentioned it. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Agent staring almost longingly at it, doing everything but licking his lips like a starving puppy.
         "Just stepped out for a moment," Brown said. "Her coffee won't even have the chance to get cold."
         "Good to hear," the waitress replied, setting the sundae down in front of the Agent, her arm seeming to act of its own volition. "You looked so lonely sitting here all by yourself." He could see the Agent giving the waitress a thumbs-up as he started to dig into his sundae with almost human zeal.
         "Oh don't worry," Brown told her, trying not to glance at the Agent. "I'm easily enough amused."
         With a laugh the waitress turned and went back to serving her other tables, looking like she was wading through a grassland of heads full of mussed hair and garish scarves.
         "Ah, this was a good idea," the Agent sighed contently, his fork clanking tinnily as he dropped it with a flourish inside his now empty sundae glass. It spun around for a few revolutions before jerkily clattering to a halt. Brown wondered if he had just teleported the ice cream into orbit. And wouldn't the appearance of a flash frozen pile of dairy dessert coated in syrup with a cherry on top circling the Earth drive NASA up the wall? "Think you want to spring for another one?"
         "What are you going to do to her?" Brown asked sharply, disguising the sentence while stuffing pieces of pastry into his mouth. It wasn't pretty but some days his job just wasn't. Even when he wasn't on the clock, the clock kept calling him back. Time stops for no man. Man nor beast. Beast nor god. "You didn't answer that." Muffled by crumbs, his words didn't sound like that at all, but he was sure his meaning got across.
         "Must be something with soldiers and rampant paranoia," the Agent muttered, rolling his eyes. "Listen, I said I'm not going to do anything to her. I'm just here to observe, okay? I'm just watching you two kids go about your day. Does that make you feel any better?" He squinted, staring at Brown's chest. "I see it hasn't made your heart rate go down any."
         Brown had to resist the urge to cover his chest with both hands. That would just be silly. Just as silly as watching something that lounged in the center of stars down a sundae like ambrosia. Some days his whole world just went irrational. Apparently he had been due for a day like this for a while now. Just his luck. "It just reminds me that I'm alive," he said dryly. "And why aren't you stalking Tristian like your brother is? At least he's used to it." Please go away, he wanted to plead. Please please please.
         "My brother believes in letting Tristian do what he wants," the Agent snapped, dinging the sundae glass with one finger. It vibrated for a long time after it was tapped, its shrill hum falling out of his range of vision with agonizing slowness. Brown got the impression he had received a peek into a debate he shouldn't have. But that might have been the plan all along. You never could tell. His own words flickered back to him like reanimated neon signs. If you try to figure them out, they'll drive you nuts. He never added, Even if you mind your own business, they'll drive you batty anyway. "While I feel that setting ourselves up as advisors is useless if we're not going to advise. You get my meaning?" Suddenly the Agent was talking to him again.
         "And what does all this have to do with Jackie?" Brown insisted, feeling that he was just dancing clumsily around the same point without any progress. He was engaging in debate with something that could talk down a supernova. Of course, he was only slightly out of his depth. "What are you watching her for?"
         "Like I said," the Agent noted, "her question sent Tristian off on whatever bizarre quest he's undertaken now. Like he has a quota to complete or something, I swear. But I'd like to see what caused her to ask it. Curiosity, really."
         Something flared up in Brown. "Damn you, she lost her brother, that's why."
         "I realize that-"
         "Then what the hell are you still wondering for?" Brown nearly shouted, maintaining his posture and composure through sheer force of will and a fear of being thrown out by the police. "Her brother died, for God's sake and all she wants are some answers. Can't you understand that? Do you even know what that's like? To lose your family like that? Because I sure as hell do and I'd be asking the same questions she was if I was in her place. You don't even know what it's like."
         "Of course I don't," the Agent replied, his voice oddly flat although his eyes were smoldering intently. Instantly Brown felt real fear clench his chest and he wondered if the venom of his words had pushed him into a territory he didn't want to visit. The air in the room seemed to be growing thicker and heavier. None of the other patrons appeared to notice. "So I guess there really is no reason for me to be here, right?" He wanted an answer to a rhetorical question but Brown was too scared to even attempt a response. All he could do was stare and wish he were somewhere else. The Agent sighed, his expression alien and neutral. "I saw your little adventure this morning," he noted conversationally, a finger lazily tracing obscure sigils on the cool tabletop. "Quite the bit of gritty detective work there, Mr Chandler. A bit of work and a bit of risk," he said, drawing out the word with a mischevious kind of glee. His eyes, which had been staring at the table, flickered up to regard Brown. "She didn't ask you. What's your excuse?"
         His throat was dry. The pastry tasted stale all of a sudden. "He was my friend," Brown managed to croak out.
         "And what does that make her?" the Agent asked quietly, his lips pulled into a friendly smirk.
         Before Brown could answer, the Agent dissolved into golden motes. They seemed to hold his shape for just a moment before falling apart with gravitational elegance. He thought he saw the smile hovering in the air for a few seconds longer but didn't dare draw any parallels. It had been a long enough day already.
         I don't think that means I win the argument, Brown thought morosely.
         "Hope you didn't miss me," Jackie said from behind him, tapping his shoulder as she swept past, her lithe form easily dodging the cramped quarters of tables and people. "You wouldn't believe the line in there . . . tell me this coffee isn't cold." Without sitting down she picked up the cup and sipped at it, pausing a second and then nodding satisfactorily as she set it back down. "Perfect. God that never happens here." Beginning to fall gracefully into her chair, she stopped about halfway, looking down at the table and toward Brown's left.
         "Joe," she said, with a confused glance, "wasn't a bit cold out to be ordering a sundae?"
         Brown could only shrug.