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"So, why are you looking for this man?" Amaranthine was sitting in the woman's house. In the room, there were a little round table made of wood, two chairs that matched, a cream-colored sofa-bed, and a television. The woman's name was Mrs. Allweather. "I need to speak to him," Amaranthine said. "I have been looking for him for a very long time, and it is very important that I meet him." "Why is it important?" Mrs. Allweather asked. "What do you need to say to him?" "I must find him because he has lost something," Amaranthine explained. "I must help him find it again." And she refused to elaborate. "Is this man your father?" Mrs. Allweather asked, her voice full of concern. Amaranthine laughed. "I do not think so," she said. "I cannot know for certain, but I think that that is very unlikely." The girl could tell that Mrs. Allweather did not believe her, and Amaranthine did not know how to say otherwise without telling things that she did not want to tell. "I see," Mrs. Allweather said. And she was quiet for a while. Amaranthine looked around the room. There was a fireplace beside a window, and she could see a picture on the mantle. The picture was of a man and a woman. The man was handsome and smiling. The woman was young and beautiful, and Amaranthine could tell that the woman was Mrs. Allweather. "Who is that man?" Amaranthine asked, pointing at the picture. Mrs. Allweather looked, even though she already knew what picture the girl was talking about. "That's Mr. Allweather," she said. "He died a year ago." "I'm so sorry," said Amaranthine. "That must be very hard for you." "He told me that he had a disease when I first met him," Mrs. Allweather said, as though she hadn't heard what Amaranthine had said. "He said that he was going to die, and I said that was okay, because I loved him very much and I wanted to be happy with him while he was still alive. But you’re only a young woman, I don’t expect you to understand." Mrs. Allweather, thought the girl, was not terribly old herself. "I think that was a very brave thing for you to do," Amaranthine said. "I'm sure he was a wonderful man." "I loved him very much," Mrs. Allweather said again. "He told me that, when he died, he wanted me to go on with my life, and to not think about him too much, because he wanted me to be happy. But I could not forget him. I can't. We had two daughters, you know." Amaranthine nodded. She could see their picture on the mantle as well. "One lives in Florida, and the other moved to the west coast a few months ago. I get depressed sometimes, and I think they're getting tired of it." "They still love you," said Amaranthine. "I can tell by the way they smile at you in that photograph." Mrs. Allweather chuckled. "That picture was taken many years ago, when Mr. Allweather was still alive. We were all very happy, then." "But you are not happy anymore?" Amaranthine asked, reaching across the table and touching Mrs. Allweather's hand. Mrs. Allweather shook her head. "Sometimes," she said, "I feel a bit better. But I'm not very happy, if you must know, no. I don't know why I'm troubling you with this," she added, laughing sadly. "Look at me, I'm just an old, sad woman, alone in an apartment, talking to a girl she's never met before. My life should be a movie." "You will find happiness again," said Amaranthine. "I am sure of it." "Thanks, that's sweet of you," Mrs. Allweather said. "Now, you can sleep on the couch, if you want to. I'm going to get ready for bed, and I'll help you look tomorrow." "You are very kind," Amaranthine said, getting up and walking over to the sofa-bed. She curled up on it and tucked her knees to her chest, closing her eyes and resting her head on her arm. Mrs. Allweather looked at her for a few moments, and went to her bedroom. "...no, only a new friend of mine wants to know if you've had anybody come in with black eyes." A pause. Amaranthine watched in interest and rubbed the edges of her Visa in her pocket. "All right. I know, it's a weird request, I don't know, either. Thanks, Marty. Bye." Mrs. Allweather put the phone down. "Nobody with black eyes came to the modeling agency, that Marty can remember. And he'd remember, too. Listen, honey, I can't think of anyone else to call, short of going through the phone book and dialing every number there. 'Hello, there, tell me, do you have black eyes?' It just doesn't work like that." Amaranthine stood up. "Thank you very much for your help," she said. "I am sorry I've used your precious time. He must not be here in this city, then. I will look elsewhere." "I'm sorry I couldn't help you, sugar," Mrs. Allweather said, patting Amaranthine on the knee. "Are you going to give up?" "I cannot give up," Amaranthine said. "I will not. I will never. I shall just have to keep looking." "How long have you been looking, exactly?" Mrs. Allweather asked. "You said that you'd been looking for a long time --" "Three years." "Three years!" Mrs. Allweather exclaimed. "And all in New York!" "No, not all in New York," Amaranthine said. "I've been to other places as well." "Where, exactly?" Mrs. Allweather asked. "I don't know," Amaranthine said, crossing her legs in embarrassment. "I know where I started, though." "Where did you start?" "It was a place called New Orleans." "Flight 238, New York to New Orleans, now beginning descent. I repeat, now beginning descent." "Does it look familiar?" Mrs. Allweather asked. "It's all so beautiful!" Amaranthine cried, her nose pressed up against the glass of the airplane window. "I never thought it would be this wonderful!" "You've really never been on a plane before," Mrs. Allweather said, bemused. "How on earth did you get to New York from here in the first place?" "A man drove me from here to another little town, once. His name was Mr. Parker. I think I remember where he lives. I shall have to stop by and say hello to him." Amaranthine then grew quiet, lost in watching the tiny specks that made up New Orleans turn into bigger, bigger things, soon sorting themselves out and becoming buildings, streets, cars, people. As soon as the plane touched down, Amaranthine stood up and put on the jacket and slippers that Mrs. Allweather had allowed her to borrow. "Thank you for escorting me this far," she said. "I hope you get back to New York safely --" "What, you think I'm just going to abandon you, here?" Mrs. Allweather exclaimed. "No, I want to see you find this man of yours. I haven't anything else to do with my life anymore." Amaranthine blushed. "Thank you so much!" she said. "I am glad to have someone to talk to." The two of them exited the plane and walked out into the city. "'S this the place?" "Yes," Amaranthine said to the cab driver, smiling and pointing out the window at the little white house. "I remember the stone frog in the garden. Thank you very much for taking us." "Not at all," said the cab driver. "It's my job." Mrs. Allweather paid the man, and the two of them climbed out of the cab. It pulled out of the driveway and zipped away down the road. Amaranthine marched up to the door, followed by Mrs. Allweather, and rang the bell. After a few seconds, the door swung open to reveal a tall, adequately handsome man. He could not have been older than thirty-five; he had dark brown hair, pale blue eyes, and skin just slightly tanned from being out in the sun. He possessed the pleasant look of someone who has seen quite a lot and chooses not to be bothered by it too much. The man blinked in surprise, and smiled widely. "Ams!" he cried, flinging his arms around the girl's shoulders while she wriggled and laughed. "What're you doing here? I thought I'd never see you again! Have you managed to find him?" "No," Amaranthine said, and the man looked crestfallen. "But this is Mrs. Allweather, and she's helping me look, as well." Mr. Parker glanced behind the girl, and saw the woman smiling pleasantly at him, her hair sparkling in the sunlight, sadness in her eyes. "Good morning," he said. "Mrs. Allweather?" "Julia," the woman said. "Marcus," the man replied, holding out his hand. Mrs. Allweather took it and shook it firmly, and the three of them stepped inside. "What have you been up to, Mr. Parker?" Amaranthine asked. "This room looks different." "I got some new furniture, things," Mr. Parker explained, patting a red sofa on the arm. "You look a bit different, yourself." "I got a haircut," Amaranthine smiled. "Like I told you to," Mr. Parker laughed. "It looks beautiful." "Thank you," Amaranthine said, sitting down on a black chair. "I'm so sorry to bother you so unexpectedly like this, but Mrs. Allweather and I needed some kind of lodging --" "Oh, hush," Mr. Parker said, smiling at Mrs. Allweather. "You know you're welcome any time." "Thank you," Amaranthine said again, watching the two. "Mrs. Allweather was kind enough to help me look around New York, but I had no luck." "And we'll look around New Orleans again, see if he's come into town," Mr. Parker said, patting Amaranthine on the head. "Why don't we start now? A man with black eyes can't be hard to miss." "That is what you said last time," Amaranthine said with a small smile. "And we did not have much luck." "Yes, well," said Mr. Parker, "we have extra help, now. Right? We'll find your black-eyed man, no problem." Amaranthine smiled. "I'm going to take a shower, if you don't mind," she said. "I'm very hot." "No problem," Mr. Parker said. "The bathroom's just down the hall ... you remember. Don't slip." Amaranthine nodded, and walked out of the room. "Sweet kid," Mr. Parker said when she had gone. "Where'd you meet her?" "At an airport," Mrs. Allweather replied. "She was wandering around like she'd never seen one in her life, before. I'd seen her earlier watching people pick up their luggage, and I'd been a bit concerned, so I'd followed her for a bit. She seems intelligent enough, but she's very ... I can't put my finger on it." "I know what you mean," Mr. Parker agreed. "I met her when she was walking across the street. She wasn't paying the cars the least bit of mind, just strolling and humming to herself. I dragged her away before the light turned green and something awful happened. "So, tell me," Mr. Parker continued, "what has she told you of her man with black eyes?" "Not much," Mrs. Allweather admitted. "Just that she's been looking for him for three years, now." Mr. Parker whistled. "It's been that long, has it?" he asked. "Seems like I dropped her off in Knoxville only yesterday. Any theories on who he is?" "I think he's her father," Mrs. Allweather said with needless quiet and caution (for the shower was running), "but she just doesn't want to talk about it. I've seen it a thousand times. I'm a counselor, you see, I know the signs." Mr. Parker nodded. "I wondered if it was something like that," he said, "though it's never seemed to me that she knows much about the guy at all. Whenever I asked her any questions, she drew a blank, no matter how many different ways I phrased it." Mrs. Allweather sighed. "Well," she said, "we'll just have to see what happens." "Yes," said Mr. Parker, "we will." |