“She likes me.”
“You’ve talked to her?” There were a dozen screens hovering in the backseat. Christ, they were probably Lorelei’s fans. Nathan was drawing spin-off attention.
“Not yet. But did you see the vote?” He pulled into traffic, the Chameleon utterly soundless.
“What vote?” No way was she going to admit seeing it.
“She let her friends vote. Sixty-three percent said she should go out with me.”
“So her friends like you, is what you’re saying.”
He waved away the clarification. “If she didn’t like me, she wouldn’t have let them vote.”
Veronika wanted off this topic immediately. “You heard about Winter?”
“Yeah. Rob told me.”
“I’ve been trying to think of something we can do to help.”
The car shifted to automatic as Nathan took his hands off the wheel and leaned back. “I know.” Nathan was carrying on a second conversation through his system, and that bugged Veronika.
“I’m as worried about Rob as I am Winter,” she said. “Do you see how stooped he is? It’s like he’s physically carrying Winter on his back. If she’s pulled from the program, he’s going to feel like he killed her all over again.”
“I know.”
Veronika couldn’t help thinking Nathan’s responses were clipped because his mind was on Lorelei, not Winter. Well, that was his choice. She wondered if Rob should warn Winter that she was almost out of time. Rob thought it best that Winter not know, but Veronika wasn’t so sure. While she was thinking about it, she shot another five hundred dollars into Rob’s account.
A moment later, a text message came from Rob:
Thank you! My anonymous benefactor also made another generous contribution!
Awesome! she shot back. Generous. Rob must mean he’d received another nine thousand, so he’d be able to visit right away. That was good, given the uncertainty about how long she would be there.
She shivered, imagining what it must be like to be in Winter’s place, aware that you’re dead, helpless to do anything about it. Why were so many people paying through the nose for the privilege of occupying one of those coffins? Why was she paying through the nose for freezing insurance?
“I think I’m going to cancel my freezing insurance,” she said.
Nathan smiled at her like she was joking. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. How long is your contract for?”
“A thousand years, I think. I just increased it. How about you?”
“Twelve hundred.”
“See, you’re all set.”
“But what’s the point? Who would possibly revive us?”
“No one,” Nathan laughed. “If you can’t afford twenty or thirty million to revive yourself, why would some relative pay it a hundred years from now?”
Veronika swatted Nathan’s shoulder. “Exactly my point. That’s why I’m canceling my insurance. I might as well use the money now, while I’m alive.”
Nathan sighed. “You really don’t understand the true purpose of freezing insurance?”
“The true purpose?”
Nathan looked around, like he was checking to make sure no one could overhear, studiously ignored the seven or eight screens hovering in the backseat. “It’s about coping with our fear of death.”
“Oh, really?”
Nathan nodded as he pulled into the parking stacks across the street from Venus de Milo’s. She suddenly wondered why they always went here, of all the restaurants in High Town.
“Think about it,” Nathan said as they got out. “If you’re frozen when you die, there’s only a minuscule chance you’ll ever be revived, but there is some chance.” He held his thumb and forefinger close together. “That tiny millimeter of chance takes the edge off our fear of death. As the lights are going out, you don’t know for sure it’s the end, so it’s not as terrifying.”
Veronika nodded tentatively.
“Picture yourself as a corpse in a coffin, buried in the ground, decomposing.”
She didn’t want to picture herself as a corpse in a coffin. If she did, there was less chance she’d cancel her freezing insurance. “So you’re saying people break their backs, some working two jobs, so they can afford a hundred and fifty thousand a year in insurance, all to cope with the existential terror of nonexistence.”
Nathan considered. “I wouldn’t use all of those jewel-encrusted NYU-grad-school words, but yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“That’s what having kids is for. Plus they’re a heck of a lot cheaper, and give you pleasure while you’re alive.”
Nathan made a sour face.
30
Rob
Rob played “The Boy in the Gap” until Winter’s eyes clicked into focus, then he set the lute aside. He would not cry, would not do anything that might tip Winter off that in a few weeks they would bury her. The first time he’d come to this place, he’d carried a secret, and hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell it, though she had to know. Now he carried a different secret. This one he needed to keep from her.
“How long has it been?” Winter asked in that terrible graveyard voice that so contradicted her lovely, gentle face.
“Only two weeks. Our anonymous benefactor came through again. And how about this: I contacted Nathan, and he helped out a ton. He went around and got his friends to help as well.”
“Head shake. Who would have thought Nathan had this hidden fund-raising talent. He just needed to find the right charity.” There was bitterness in her tone.
“He’s still never paid you another visit?”
“Head shake again,” Winter said without a hint of mirth.
“I’m sorry to hear it. Have you had any other visitors?” He tried to sound nonchalant.
“Head shake yet again, combined with a heavy sigh. Other than you, I’ve only had three visitors the entire time I’ve been here. None of them visited more than once. Shrug. Tough crowd.”
A man in a white full-body system sauntered by. They waited for him to pass out of earshot.
“So tell Nathan to keep those donations rolling in. You’re all I’ve got.” Her voice got very low, a gargling whisper. “If you stopped coming, I would cease to exist.”
Rob swallowed, trying to push back the emotion welling up. If she only knew. Looking at her lying there, as lucid and alert as anyone walking the streets outside, it seemed impossible that they could simply drag her out and let her body—. He pushed those thoughts away. “I would never stop visiting you.” Rob stroked the oiled wood of his lute, an excuse to look away, to seek refuge from the intensity of her gaze. “I look forward to seeing you. I mean—” Again, he choked up, took a few deep breaths to get himself under control. “There’s no one in the world I’d rather spend time with. If I stopped coming, I’d miss you.” The words surprised him, but they were true, he realized. He prayed she didn’t pick up the subtext behind his words. He was grateful for the opportunity to say these things, to tell her that he cared for her, before it was too late.
“I’d miss you, too,” Winter said. “More than I want to admit.”
A few precious seconds ticked off the clock as they sat with their words hanging in the air between them.
“Tell me about that day,” Winter said.
Rob wanted to ask, “What day?” to pretend that day wasn’t always right there, playing in a loop over all of his other thoughts and memories. “What do you want to know?”
“Just, I don’t know, where you were coming from, where you were going.” She must have sensed his reluctance, because she added, “It’s not about blame, Rob. It happened. When you’ve got time, look up the Zen parable of the rowboat. That’s how I think about it now. In my best moments, anyway. But it’s still my death. I want to understand it.”