Household Gods (90 page)

Authors: Judith Tarr

BOOK: Household Gods

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She heard everything he didn't sayâeverything he'd said to her in this office three weeks ago. Would he attribute her change in attitude to her six-day coma? Or would he just assume that she'd taken time to rethink her priorities?

It didn't matter. He'd changed his mind about making her a partner. She was a partner. She'd broken out of the trenches; she had a future in the firm. Life was good. Life was very, very good.

This descent from the upper regions was far different from its predecessor. Nicole kept a deadpan expression, which must have been convincing: people glanced at her, some with curiosity, but for all they knew, she'd just gone up to get the feedback on her analysis. If the office grapevine had been humming, nobody was showing it.

Cyndi was making a point of being busy, no doubt to keep from noticing any new disappointments. Nicole thought of striding on past, but that wasn't exactly fair to Cyndi. She let go her deadpan expression, let it go completely. What
Cyndi must have seen out of the corner of her eye was a high-grade idiot grin.

She looked up from her keyboard and got the full blaze of it head-on. Her eyes went wide. “Did you-?” she asked. “Did heâ?”

“Yes!” Nicole's answer was all-inclusive.

Cyndi leaped up with a complete disregard for proper secretarial demeanor, and threw her arms around Nicole in a bruisingly tight hug. Nicole's jaw ached with grinning, but she couldn't seem to stop. When Cyndi whirled her in a little dance of joy, she went along, and let it spin her right into her office. She fetched up next to the phone.

She was aware, peripherally, of Cyndi setting the grapevine going at top speed. And why not? She picked up the phone and punched a particular extension. “Okay, Gary,” she said when he answered. “Today I buy lunch.”

He couldn't have helped but hear the jubilation in her voice. “Does that mean what I hope it means?”

“You better believe it,” she said.

He let out a war whoop right in her ear. It was still ringing as she set the receiver down and tried to get back to work. Futile as that was: between Cyndi and Gary, within ten minutes the news had traversed the entire sixth floor. The seventh had probably known for hours, if not for days, which way the decision would go.

It was all she could do to get away for lunch, with all the people streaming in to congratulate her. She caught herself noticing who seemed overjoyed and who eyed her speculativelyâwomen associates, many of those last. They'd be seeing the crack she'd made in the glass ceiling, and contemplating ways of making it wider.

More power to them,
Nicole thought. She had to drag Gary away, finally, which probably started a whole new spate of gossip.

So let people talk. Today, at least, she didn't give a damn.

Gary chose Yang Chow for lunch. That seemed fitting. Nicole had eaten there when things looked their worst. It was only right she should go back now that they were looking as
good as she could ever remember. She even ordered the chili shrimp again, to take the curse off it, and to make it a good-luck dish. Then she sat back in the cool open space with its white tablecloths and its candy-pink napkins, and looked out through the blinds at the green-lined street, and indulged in a moment of great contentment.

“It's a shame you don't drink,” Gary said. “You should have one to celebrate.”

“You have one for me,” she said, “since I drove. I don't
think
I want to begin my drinking career”âwhich, in this body, it would beâ“by drinking and driving. A 502 on the day I made partner? No, thanks.”

He laughed ruefully and agreedâand ordered a double Scotch on the rocks, in her honor. Watching him drink it, she didn't think she was ready for that yet, even if she wasn't driving. What she
was
ready for, however â¦

She got hardly any more work done the rest of that day than she had when she came back from the hospital. She didn't worry about it a bit. Sooner or later, she would catch up. In the meantime, she'd enjoy herself. She'd earned it.

And if that wasn't a change in attitude, she didn't know what was.
Seize the day,
the Romans had said.
Eat, drink, be merry. Tomorrow you may die.
It wasn't macabre at all, or particularly pessimistic. It made a great deal of sense, as worldviews went.

On the way home with the kids, she stopped at Cost Plus Imports. Kimberley and Justin loved the place. Among other things, Cost Plus had weird toys from all over the worldâand imported candy bars, too. Nicole wasn't ready quite yet to corrupt them that far, though she almost yielded to the temptation. Instead, she bought Kimberley a child-palm-sized frog with bright green, satiny skin, and Justin a red-and-blue lizard. They were delighted with their prizes.

And she bought herself a bottle of red wine. She didn't know anything about wine; except in Carnuntum, she'd never had anything to do with it. The brands had changed a bit since then: no Falernian in stock here. She hoped it would be good. It certainly had cost enough, even at a steep discount.
If it wasn't as upscale as its pricetag, she could only hope Liber and Libera would forgive her.

There was a certain comfort in the routine of a Thursday night at home: dinner she actually cooked, fried fish and mixed vegetables and, as a treat, a package of curly fries; then baths and bedtime story and bed for the kids. They didn't understand why Mommy was so happy, or just what a partnership was, but they were glad because she was glad. It mattered more to them that there were two new additions to the population of stuffed animals. Nicole was amused to hear Kimberley explain to Scratchy the stuffed bobcat, “Now, remember, Scratchy, you can't eat Ribbit, even if he is a frog. You have to be friends.”

Justin protested loudly: “Lizzie! Lizzie too!”

“Lizzie, too,” Kimberley agreed. “You hear that, Scratchy? You can't eat Lizzie, either. Except,” she added with calculation worthy of both her parents combined, “if Justin is naughtyâ”

“No exceptions,” Nicole said, exercising parental veto. Kimberley glowered, but for that particular sentence, there was no court of appeals. She sulked for a minute or two, but she'd survive it. Nicole kissed her good night and left her clinging tightly to both the much-mended and much-battered Scratchy and the shiny new Ribbit. Justin was already asleep in his own bed. Nicole kissed him on the forehead, too lightly to wake him, and went back to the brightly lit and newly quiet kitchen.

She had to rummage through the drawers before she found a corkscrew. She'd never used one before, or paid much attention to anybody else who didâshe'd been too busy being censorious about the evils of alcoholâas if good red wine and rubbing alcohol were the same poisonous substance.

She managed to push the cork down into the wine instead of pulling it out of the bottle. Her mouth twisted in chagrin, but really, it didn't matter. She found a goblet deep in a cupboard, one of a set of crystal she'd been given as a wedding present, and filled it nearly full of wine that looked like
the Falernian she'd sold by the cup in the tavern. It smelled much less sweet, but no less rich; a richness that felt, somehow, very modern, very spare and contemporary. That was fitting, when she thought about it.

She picked up the goblet and a dishtowel, and carried them into the bedroom. The bedside lamp was on, shedding a soft glow on the plaque from Carnuntum. She folded the dishtowel at its base and poured a little wine, first over Libera's face, then over Liber's. Whatever the deities didn't drink ran down the limestone surface and soaked into the towel.

“Thank you,” Nicole said to the god and goddess. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She set the glass in front of the plaque as a second offering. But there needed to be more. She lifted the glass again and, for the first time in her modern life, took a sip of wine.

It wasn't nearly so sweet as Falernian. The flavor, like the smell, was richer, and more complex. After several sips and some moments' thought, she decided she liked it better. She could hope Liber and Libera did, too.

However they felt about it, they weren't saying. She set the cup down half empty, leaving it for them if they wanted it, and turned out the light. She'd sleep well, she was sure. Whatever worries she had, for this night at least, none of them mattered.

In the dark silence of the bedroom, Libera's stone eyes swung toward Liber's. The god was already looking her way. They nodded. The wine had been a little on the sour side, but it was the first formal offering they'd had in a long, long time. They were both well pleased.

They were also both amused. They were gods; they could read a human soul as easily as a man could read letters on a parchment. Nicole had not simply been thanking them for returning her to this timeâwhich she, for incomprehensible mortal reasons, preferred to their own. She was thanking them, too, for all that had gone well in her life since.

And that, Liber and Libera knew, was foolishness. How could it be anything else? She'd done those things, every one of them, herself.

Praise for
Household Gods

“Turtledove and Tarr both know that the past is a different country and that they do things differently there. We come to care both about the fallible, far-from-omniscient but tough and determined protagonist, and the Romans among whom she lives, who are a brilliant combination of the alien and the familiar. This is a page-turner that makes you think, long after the last page is turned.”

âS. M. Stirling

“Judith Tarr and Harry Turtledove both have a storytelling instinct, and in this happy instance, it seems to have multiplied rather than just added.”

âGordon R. Dickson

“Turtledove and Tarr make a fine team, and they bring a past eraâwith all its terrors, joys, humanity, and brutalityâto remarkable life.”

âMichael F. Flynn

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

HOUSEHOLD GODS

Edited by Patrick Nielsen Hayden

A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010

www.tor-forge.com

Tor
^Â®is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

eISBN 9781466828407

First eBook Edition : August 2012

ISBN 0-812-56466-9

EAN 978-0-812-56466-2

First edition: September 1999
First mass market edition: July 2000