Jo laughed at the woman's glee. She watched for a moment longer. Mary spotted her and waved. Jo waved back, then headed to the front door.
Humidity nearly bowled Jo over as she stepped outside. It was only May; she could only imagine what the heat and humidity were going to be like in July and August. Of course, D.C. could be pretty darn uncomfortable during the summer months, too.
Even with the events of the day, Jo was still much happier to be here then back in that city—where everything reminded her of Jackson. Now talk about uncomfortable.
Glancing up and down the street, allowing herself to acclimate to the heat, she debated what to do. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly seven. Was she hungry? She should be. Lunch was hours away now, and she hadn't eaten much of it before everything went very strange.
But she didn't seem to have much appetite. She'd force the issue later, if necessary, which it frequently was these days. For now, however, she was going to walk and see where that led.
After wandering for a while, window-shopping, she stopped into a convenience store to get a bottle of water. Even though the heat was oppressive, she still couldn't bring herself to go home.
Instead she sipped her water and strolled to Jackson Square. Finding an empty bench, shaded from the setting sun, she sat and watched the tourists ambling past. They browsed the artwork being hawked by local artists and wandered in and out of some of the shops lining the square. Residents hurried along with more determination than the visitors, heading to work or to meet friends or just wanting out of the sticky heat. Fortune-tellers under beach umbrellas sat in lawn chairs at card tables, waiting for their newest marks.
Jo watched over the top of her bottle as a young woman, about college age, who was traveling with several other friends, approached one of the fortune-tellers. The older woman in a multicolored caftan and rings on every finger greeted the girl with a motherly smile and gesture for her to sit down. The girl did.
Jo watched, trying not to make a face about the scene. The college kid was just doing it for fun. A cool thing to tell others about when she returned to wherever her hometown was. And Jo shouldn't care.
But Jo didn't like things like that. The occult always freaked her out. She told herself she wasn't a believer, but she still found things like psychics and mediums to be very unnerving.
After all, who really wanted to know the future? That was a terrible burden. A terrible burden.
Jo turned her attention to a woman dressed up like a fairy in a red tutu with black and silver wings. Her face was painted in dramatic makeup with false eyelashes, pale powder, scarlet rouge and lipstick, then the whole effect brushed over with iridescent glitter. She posed on a wooden orange crate, remaining utterly motionless, a living sculpture. At the base of the box was an open violin case, waiting for tourists to throw in change.
At first, Jo considered the woman's attempt at entrepreneurism quite absurd. As she watched her hold her position for minute after minute in the muggy, relentless heat, Jo reassessed her initial thoughts. That was a tough way to make a buck.
Absently she wondered if the woman really played violin, even though she didn't see any instrument, just the case. Jo took a sip of her water, then debated going to get the fairy girl a bottle of water, too. The poor thing had to be miserable.
Jo stood, deciding that while she would rather have the water, the fairy would probably prefer a buck or two. As she walked toward the street performer, if the woman could really be called that, Jo opened her purse and rummaged around for a couple dollar bills.
She glanced up, just long enough to make sure she didn't run into anyone as she searched. It was also long enough for something unnerving to catch her eye. A fleeting glimpse like a flash on a television screen. A child with dark hair clad in rainbow stripes, thin arms, and legs bare.
Her head snapped back up, but she saw nothing. Tourists wandering past the statue girl, some regarding her with interest, others more captivated by the square itself. Jo spun, taking in all of the square, searching but seeing the child nowhere. She'd looked back up too quickly for the child to disappear, to run down a crossroad, or slip into a store. It was just fractions of a second, but she wasn't there.
She imagined it, she told herself. She had to have. Someone else's clothing reminded her of a rainbow. That had to be the case—she just thought she saw something.
That was all. She shivered.
Picking up her pace, she tossed the dollar bills in the fairy's violin case, then she hurried down St. Ann. She didn't want to go home. She needed to be with her friends.
Still peering around herself as if she expected the child to reappear at her elbow, she doubled her steps until she came to the large barnlike door that led to Maggie and Erika's courtyard.
They'd given her a key when she first moved here, which she hadn't used. They'd even offered for her to live in Ren's apartment house, which was quirky and now charming, a renovated historical building that had once been slave quarters and a carriage house.
She'd never considered taking them up on the offer, because she'd felt a little like she'd be an intruder on their wedded bliss commune, and that just wasn't where she wanted to be after the bombshell of Jackson and his own wedded, albeit not blissful, state.
Now she wished she'd accepted the offer. The idea of going back to her empty apartment did not appeal. Not when she was having these weird hallucinations. How did she even explain what she thought had happened without sounding nuts? And so what if the images had been real? It was just a kid. Hardly worthy of getting all creeped out about. But she was creeped. Something about the image of that little girl was so familiar. So eerie.
She twisted the key in the lock, then shoved the heavy door open with the aid of her shoulder. Entering the courtyard always made her think of what it would be like entering the lush inner bailey of a castle. Gardenias, azaleas, and magnolia trees were all in full bloom, the scents mingling into a heady mixture, reminding Jo of sweet perfume and romantic, breezy summer nights.
She tugged the door closed and relocked, then rubbed a hand across her sweaty brow. What she'd give for a breeze. She turned to look at the carriage house straight ahead, then the first-floor apartment to the left. Both places were quiet, all the windows dark.
Jo had been pretty sure that Maggie and Erika wouldn't be up yet, but she thought it was worth a try. They lived their husbands' schedules now—which made sense. Maggie played with the Impalers a few nights a week. And Erika's job as a sculptor gave her the freedom to work whenever she wanted. Their schedules didn't do Jo any good now.
She considered knocking on their doors and seeing if she could wake one of them up, but then she thought better of it. Instead she wandered over to the wrought-iron patio table situated under the sweeping limbs of the magnolia. Collapsing into one of the chairs, she pulled another one over and put up her feet.
Her feet were a little swollen from the heat. Again, how would it be in the full heat of the summer, and when…
She frowned, looking in the direction of the vacant apartment. She thought she heard something. She listened, then saw a small bird hopping around in the leaves, searching for food.
Smiling, she relaxed back in her chair. She didn't feel the apprehension she had earlier. That was good.
She supposed that now that she was sheltered in her friends' beautiful, lush courtyard with said friends, while asleep, nearby, her fears seemed rather silly.
She rested her head on the back of the chair and let her eyes drift shut. Suddenly she was exhausted, which happened to her nearly every day of late. A wash of bone-deep fatigue that siphoned away all her strength. And today had been particularly stressful and tiring.