Page 47 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

“What’s so fucking funny?”

“Oh, Charles.” She doubled over, cackling. “You silly, petty man.”

Charles’ rage burst through from his toes, radiating throughout him in a split second. He barged past her, past her laughter, her coldness, her utter horribleness as a human being.

“His first words weren’t Mama, you brute. You absolute idiot,” she called after him. “He came back from that silly parade crying out Dada like a broken record! Waving those beads around, so proud to have something to give Dada!”

Charles rage turned to ice. He froze, his breath trapped in his chest.

“Look at you, a grown man treating your toddler son like he committed a criminal act, for a crime he didn’t even commit!”

“You keep pulling your support-side leg back and straightening your strong-side foot,” Joshua said. He was cradled behind her, working to correct her stance. He’d already adjusted her arms and hands, helping her find the right tension between the support hand and the strong hand. Even with her appreciation of physics, Evangeline was surprised at how important small adjustments were to both her control and precision.

Cassie was a natural. Joshua nudged her elbows once or twice, but other than that, he watched her with a surprised sort of pride as she fired off an entire clip like she’d been doing it her whole life.

“You wanna tell me something?” Evangeline teased. “You one of those girls on that show that just came out?”

“Charlie’s Angels?” Cassie asked, as she switched out her clip. Her ear protection lay at her neck.

“See, you guessed on the first try, so you already know you’re a bad motherfucker.”

“My father is a cop.” Cassie slid the earphones back on and squared her stance.

A cop. Cassie was Evangeline’s best friend, but this fact was new to her, as so many were. Cassie talked a lot but said so little about herself.

“Ready to try again?” Joshua asked, dropping back in behind Evangeline. “There you go. Legs look great. Just bend the support side elbow a touch, and… yes, that’s it. Perfect.” He slid her ear protection up over her head and backed away.

The next shots felt good. No, they felt great. The power transferred from the trunk of her body, but it started somewhere deeper, somewhere dark and damaged, and as she did so, she let more of the light in.

Evangeline kept firing until it was only clicks. She looked at the gun, confused at how she’d gone through an entire clip in what felt like seconds. That’s when she noticed both Cassie and Joshua were staring at her.

He pressed a button and the target rolled toward them. “Were you hustling us, or what?” Joshua asked, only half-joking.

Evangeline saw the results of her practice for the first time. It shouldn’t have been for the first time, but she’d gone somewhere else as the firepower coursed through her. She’d become someone else.

Cassie whistled. The air had gone out of their corner of the room. “Jesus, Evie. You sure you’re not one of Charlie’s angels?”

“I don’t know what happened.” Evangeline lowered the gun. She removed the clip and set both on the towel Joshua had provided. “I don’t know how I did that.”

“Maybe that’s enough for today,” Joshua said, reaching carefully past her. He inspected the chamber and then backed away. “Same time tomorrow?”

At the bus stop, Cassie turned to Evangeline. “You know, it’s good for us to feel safe. But we’d feel safer, I think, if we didn’t go home alone every night.”

“What do you mean?” Evangeline was only half-listening. She struggled to piece together the memories of the fugue state in the firing range.

“I mean, why don’t we move in together?”

“Roommates?”

“Yeah, for now. Until they catch the killer.”

Evangeline hadn’t considered this, but wished she had, and much sooner. Cassie was the one person who didn’t belittle her fears, or chastise her for buying a gun. She seemed to understand, maybe because she was the same, or maybe not, but the reasons didn’t matter.

She linked arms with her friend. “Let’s do it.”

Augustus dropped the mail pile on the silver tray. Nicolas gripped his pant legs. Anasofiya, strapped to his back, cooed and pointed at the most colorful piece of mail, at the top of the stack.

The fall edition of Deschanel Magazine.

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