Free Lust by Francine Pascal

it looks dangerous.”
    Gaia pulled her feet up under her in her seat and turned back to Jake. “So I think we have some time to kill,” she said.
    â€œAbout twelve hours or so.”
    â€œWhat are we going to do?”
    â€œI’d say we could play poker, but this deck only has fifty cards.”
    â€œWell, that’s an interesting metaphor,” Gaia muttered, taking the deck and shuffling through it to count the cards herself. “Sometimes I don’t think anybody’s playing with a full deck.”
    â€œFunny,” Jake said.
    â€œThen why aren’t you laughing?”
    â€œBecause it’s not, really.”
    He went silent and sat back, looking out the window. Gaia appreciated that: the quiet, without the awkward silence. The chugging of the train along the tracks, in a mesmerizing rhythm, was the only conversation. Gaia counted the cards again, and again. Then she started sorting them into suits, in order. Then a distant memory made a ghost of a smile flit across her face.
    â€œWhat?” Jake asked.
    â€œOh, I don’t know.”
    â€œCome on. I’m bored.”
    Gaia rolled her eyes. “When I was a kid, I had a deck of cards that was, like, ancient. And a couple were missing. But I wanted to learn to play cards, so . . . someone made the extra ones out of those index cards. You know, the ones people use to take notes on?”
    â€œThe ones David Letterman throws at the audience,” Jake added.
    â€œI guess. Anyway, so there were, like, forty-nine cards, and then these three bright white ones with the suits and numbers written on them, so whenever youtried to play anything, it was so obvious that the other person had a nine of clubs or whatever. It just didn’t work.” Gaia gave a quiet laugh. “I guess it’s not really funny, it’s just—it was funny that we thought it would work in the first place.”
    â€œIt is kind of funny,” Jake said. “Who did that, your dad?”
    â€œOh, no. It was . . . someone else.” Gaia studied her cards.
    â€œI mean, duh.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œObviously it was your mom.”
    Gaia’s forehead wrinkled slightly, as if a headache were whooshing through it, then smoothed as if nothing had happened.
    â€œYeah. My dad was too organized and anal to come up with a goofy plan like that.”
    â€œYou’ve never talked about her. Not to me, anyway.”
    Gaia shrugged.
    â€œI’ll tell you about mine.”
    â€œYou don’t have to.”
    â€œOkay.”
    Jake went silent again. Gaia reorganized the cards yet again, this time putting the two black suits together before moving on to the red. She marveled at how interesting a pack of cards could become when you needed a distraction. Something to keep you from blurting out your feelings in some kindof ill-advised self-revelatory soul-vomit. She forced herself to put the cards down and leaned back in her seat, putting her sneakers up on Jake’s side of the compartment.
    Cha-chug. Cha-chug. Cha-chug.
    â€œI don’t remember her as well as I’m supposed to,” she mumbled. “I mean, I knew her until I was twelve. It’s not like she—it’s not like I lost her when I was a baby.” It was a good lie. It kept Gaia from having to reopen the wounds, and it was believable enough. Jake couldn’t possibly know about Gaia’s sterling memory.
    â€œThe memories fade a little,” Jake agreed, without pressing further. “It’s disappointing.”
    Cha-chug. Cha-chug. Cha-chug.
    â€œDid you, uh . . . I mean, do you ever think about stuff you said? To her? Your mom?” asked Gaia.
    â€œYou mean bad stuff? Like when I acted like a baby?” Jake asked.
    â€œWell, you were a baby. But yeah.”
    â€œUm, I guess I do. But my dad sent me to a therapist for a while, right after it happened. And the therapist kept telling me