Free Web of Angels by Lilian Nattel

him. “You were gone longer than I expected.”
    “Eleanor had a party for the people bringing food.” The head hurt but it would do no good to take pills for a switching headache. “And then the food had to be brought over to Debra’s house.”
    “On your way to bed?” He was taking scissors out of his desk organizer. Beside it was a photo of his family in a digital frame and a rock with a fossil embedded in it. His desk had been the door to the dining room, a solid slab of wood so heavy it had torn out the hinges. The paint had been stripped, the pine sanded and varnished, and now resting on two filing cabinets it made a fine working surface to the side of his computer station. There was a map of the ancient world above his desk, another filing cabinet against one wall, a bookcase filled with books organized by subject: history, economics, evolution, rocks. The window faced west, blinds halfway up, streetlights shining through bare trees and icicles that hung from the eaves. “I’ll be at this a while.” He was collecting news stories that could be used for fundraising campaigns. He often said that nothing opened a donor’s wallet like fear.
    “I’m not tired. Perhaps I could help.”
    “You sure?” He looked pleased when she nodded. There was an empty plate on his desk and the room still smelled of roast chicken. “I want to cut out and file the articles I need so I can toss the rest.”
    “I could do that.”
    “All right. I’ve starred the ones I want. Here’s your pile.”
    She picked up a newspaper, scanning the headlines. VIOLENCE SURGES IN KANDAHAR; “GRANDPA” FROM THE MUNSTERS DIES; BILL GATES PLEDGES 600 MILLION DOLLARS TO STAMP OUT TUBERCULOSIS; STAMPEDE IN THE PHILIPPINES; PLANETS DISCOVERED OUTSIDE THE SOLAR SYSTEM . She wished to read it all, wrapping herself in the fabric of the universe so that no onecould say that she was not real without denying reality itself. “Only one of the articles is marked,” she said.
    “Good. Less to file. From now on I’m getting everything online. It’s easier just to download.” She was left-handed, he was right-handed, and as he passed the scissors to her, their hands met, shyly, provisionally. “I made a pot of decaf,” he said. “I could get you a cup. Freshly ground beans. How would you like it?”
    She didn’t know, but she said, “Sweet.” If he was taking the trouble to ask, then she wouldn’t have it the way Sharon did. “Milk and sugar.”
    When he returned, they sat side by side, the space between them narrow and warm, conscious space, first date space. She tried the coffee. Bitter and sweet, a stronger flavour than tea.
    “How are Rick and Debra doing?” he asked.
    “In what respect?”
    He looked at her sharply, having assumed that she would say that they were doing okay, as well as could be expected, holding up. A reply that wouldn’t make him think.
    “Physically? Mentally?” he clarified.
    “They won’t die.” She picked up another newspaper and, locating the mark, began to cut out an article. Then as he waited for more, she added, “They won’t go insane.”
    “No, not Rick or Debra. They define sane and rational. If anyone can get through this it would be them. I don’t know what I’d do,” he said. “Maybe get drunk and stay drunk.”
    “No,” she said. “I would not allow it.”
    “I believe that.” He swivelled his chair toward her, his eyes on her profile, the thin freckled nose, pointy chin, andshe turned, too, a flash of storm in her eyes, the green of a sky while winds picked up, slower below, faster above, cloud twisting.
    “It was cold,” she said.
    “What was?”
    “The house.”
    “Maybe Heather was too warm. You were.” Then he hesitated, considering that it wasn’t this wife who had been pregnant. “I think it was with Josh,” he rushed on. “Weren’t you?”
    Ignoring the question, she pushed ahead doggedly. “This evening Cathy wore summer clothes. They allowed it in a cold