Accidental God 2.0 -- Section 09

[We're almost to the end of day one. We'll be coming back to Bradley in the next section, I think. Also, in response to Ammie's comment on the last section, I'm afraid that I don't know what pancakes have to do with murder.]


    “Home, sweet you-know-the-rest,” said Atty, pushing into his apartment with his back and carrying the groceries into the kitchen. Luther wasn’t sure why he was there, but sometime in the walk back to his own apartment it had changed into a walk to Atty’s apartment, and now he was there.
    “I do have my own you-know-the-rest,” he said, closing the front door behind him.
    “Been over this,” called Atty over the sound of the opening fridge. “Your place is a pit.”
    “But it’s my pit.”
    “Never admit that in public, buddy. Besides,” something glass clanked in the kitchen, “the way you were looking in the store, no way I was letting you go home alone. I may have the observational skills of Hellen Keller, but even I could tell you’re not in a good place.”
    Luther walked into the kitchen and stared.
    “What?” asked Atty.
    “Did you actually just make that joke?”
    “Which?”
    “You don’t know which one?”
    “The one about Hellen Keller? There, I just proved my own point. I have the sensitivity of a--hang on, can’t use that one...or that one. Fine. I have the sensitivity of a very insensitive person, but I could still tell that you’re feeling terrible, so I stand by my decision. You’re sleeping on my couch tonight.”
    Luther sighed and walked down the short hall into Atty’s living room. It was...angelic. Lived in but clean, orderly but not intimidating. Even magazines on the coffee table. Martha Stewart? What bachelor read Martha Stewart? He sighed again and sat on the couch, laying his head back.
    “I’m making you soup,” Atty shouted.
    “Don’t want soup.”
    “Yes you do.”
    It wasn’t worth fighting. That was the way things went so often with Atty: they went Atty’s way. Not that Luther wouldn’t stand firm for what mattered. It was just that he wasn’t so sure what those things were anymore. Turned out that soup wasn’t one of them.
    “Fine,” he called. “Just microwave whatever.”
    “Are you kidding?” said Atty, showing up in the doorway. “That’s no way to prepare soup. Stove top or nothing. Well, crock pot is an option, as is Dutch oven.”
    “What’s a Dutch oven?”
    “Never mind. Oh, also pressure cooker. But the point is, no microwave.”
    “It is from a can, though, right? Doesn’t that make a microwave mandatory?”
    “Irrelevant. Soup goes on the stove, whether it was made by machine or by Tibetan monks. Warm milk?”
    “Just water, thank you.”
    Atty nodded and disappeared, leaving Luther with time to think. He wasn’t sure he liked it. He looked forward at his day tomorrow, and it was distressingly empty. A morning of nothing filled with nothing in particular for lunch, and all of that chased down by a nice evening of nothing else. He knew he needed to fill his life with more than that, but even making the decision to do it didn’t mean that he understood how it was accomplished. He had stopped, and he didn’t know how to get started again.
    “So who are you going to call?” asked Atty, standing in the doorway again. He was leaned against the doorframe with a casual charisma that movie stars attempt but usually only accomplish with a great deal of makeup, lighting, and carefully selected music.
    “About what?”
    “About your life. You said you’d call someone.”
    “Right.” Maybe that was how to get started again. “I’ll call Rae.”
    “That’s a good start.”
    “Just a start?”
    “Yes, just a start. You should try hanging out with people who aren’t angels and demons every once-in-a-while.”
    “I hang out with humans all the time.”
    “No, you serve humans all the time. Dispensing miracles for a god and hanging out are two very different things.”
    “Do you hang out with humans?”
    “All the time. Once a week, at least.”
    “Where?”
    “Little cafe called 26 Letters. Great place. You should come.”
    “Is it artsy and pretentious and run by a small man named Maurice?”
    “Yes. He speaks with a French accent, wears a pathetic goatee, and his entire wardrobe is turtle-necked black jumpsuits.”
    “Really?”
    “No. Owned by a big guy named Bruce. Come on, Luther. You’d enjoy it. Very low stress.”
    “Maybe.”
    “I’ll be there tomorrow night.”
    “Maybe.”
    “So when are you calling Rae.”
    “Tomorrow.”
    “Why not right now?”
    “Don’t you have soup on the stove?”
    “Low heat. It’s fine. Why not right now?”
    “Because she’s probably asleep.”
    “It’s not even midnight,” said Atty, checking his watch.
    “Don’t people usually sleep at this hour?”
    “Only you. And old people. And small children. But not Rae. She’s usually up reading.”
    “How do you know this?”
    “We talk.”
    “About what?”
    “Only about you, Luther. About our concern for you, our never ending obsession with you, about how to make you into the grand angel that God intends you to be. And about her bedtime.”
    “You’re mocking me,” said Luther.
    “Yes, I am. I told you I was insensitive.”
    “Will you stop if I call Rae?”
    Atty sniffed the air. “I think I should go stir the soup.”
    “You do that.”
    Atty stepped away, then poked his head back in. “If you don’t have your cell with you, my phone is on the table to your left.”
    “Thank you, Atty. I can see it there.”
    “You remember how to use a telephone? Because you haven’t been returning my calls recently. I had to go to your place to get you out, so I figured you’d just forgotten how to--”
    “Thank you, Atty. I remember.”
    “You could also hop on my computer. Pretty sure she’s got Skype.”
    “If I started dialing, would you leave me alone?”
    “Probably.”
    Luther pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts to the letter ‘R,’ and pushed the call button. It didn’t take very long to scroll through most of the alphabet, and Rae was the only ‘R’ in there. He chose to not think about what that said about his life.
    “It’s ringing,” he said.
    “Then I’m stirring,” said Atty, walking away.
    The ringing stopped. “Luther?” It was Rae’s voice.
    “Hi, Rae. You’re not asleep?”
    “Just about to go to bed. Why aren’t YOU asleep? Aren’t you usually a nine-to-five guy?”
    “No. Not anymore. Got fired, if you remember.”
    Silence for a second. “I knew that, Luther. I meant your sleep habits. Bed at nine, up at five.”
    Of course that was what she’d meant. “Atty took me out tonight. We had some fun.” Why had he said that? Was fun what they’d actually had? What if she asked him about it?
    “Really,” said Rae, her voice amused. “What did you do? Hit the library?”
    “The library is fun,” he said.
    “Is it what you did?”
    “No.”
    “What, then?”
    “Are you going to let this go?”
    “No.”
    “Grocery store.”
    She laughed, low soprano and rich. Rae didn’t have a pretty face--nice enough looking, much more average than astonishing--but she made up for it with her voice. “Good job, Atty. Get anything good?”
    “Sports drinks. Cannelloni. Something made from corn.”
    “You let Atty tell you what to buy.”
    “It seemed...inevitable at the time.”
    “Soon, Luther, you and I are going to sit down and plan out a menu. We’ll figure out what you like to eat, what you’ll actually cook, and what it takes to make it. Then we’ll go shopping, and we’ll do it without Atty. Deal?”
    “Sounds like a plan,” said Luther. He swallowed. “What about tomorrow?”
    Silence again.
    “Is tomorrow a problem? We don’t have to.” He shut his mouth and shut up.
    Rae cleared her throat. “Tomorrow’s fine. I was just thinking how glad I am.”
    “About what?”
    “That you asked. You’re starting to wake up again.”
    “Yeah.” Luther looked up at the ceiling. “I guess it’s been a rough couple of months.”
    “No,” said Rae. “It’s been a rough decade. What time? Lunch? Let’s do lunch, then go shopping. It’s not a good idea to go shopping on an empty stomach. You end up buying all junk food.”
    “Okay then. Lunch. Where?”
    “You have someplace you like?”
    Luther blinked, thinking. “Not really.”
    “Thai food, then. There’s a little place I know close to your apartment. You like Thai?”
    “Not sure. I’ve mostly lived in the West.”
    “This will be an adventure for you, then. I’ll meet you at your place at eleven thirty?”
    “My place is fine.”
    “No it’s not,” said Atty, walking in with a bowl of something steaming. “You’re staying here.”
    “But I have to go home to clean up.”
    Atty considered. “That’s fine, then.”
    “Is that Atty?” asked Rae.
    “Yes.”
    “Hand me to him for a second?”
    Luther held the phone out. Atty set down the bowl of soup on a magazine with a picture of a bowl of soup and took the phone.
    “Hey, Rae.” Pause. “Yes.” Pause. “Sure.” Pause, pause, and a smile. “You know it. Here’s Luther again. ‘Night, Rae.”
    “What was that about?” whispered Luther, taking the phone.
    Atty shrugged and walked out, and Luther put the phone to his ear.
    “What was that about?” he asked.
    “It was about you, Luther. That’s all we talk about is you.”
    “Ha-ha. Atty made the same joke.”
    “Then it must be funny. See you tomorrow, Luther. Thanks for calling.”
    “No problem. I mean, thank you.”
    Rae laughed and hung up. Luther dropped his phone on the couch and looked at the soup. It had noodles in it.