Page 79 of Deja Who
“It’s not relevant to this month,” he argued, “so I want to stay on topic. And the topic, horribly, is the guy who wants to kill my shark-eyed sweetie.”
“It’s maybe not relevant, but it adds to the Mystery of Archer. You’re older than her but look younger—”
“I have a really good moisturizer.”
“—you’re a private eye with only one client, now deceased—”
“I needed a vacation anyway.”
“—who lives in a tower with a landlord who’s never there—”
“The economy’s tough and she’s job hunting in California.”
Cat snorted and swung her Target bags. Archer jerked back, saving his nose from getting clipped. “What the hell do you do all day, Archer?”
“Asked the bag lady.”
“Please,” Cat huffed, annoyed, “we prefer the term ‘home-impaired.’”
“I do lots of things,” he replied cheerfully. “After my dad went to prison I helped out my mom by taking on some part-time jobs, blew off college, and decided I liked being a permanent self-appointed temp worker. So I do some Pee Eye stuff andsometimes I dog-sit and sometimes I pick up a few shifts at the diner around the corner from the tower—”
“Waiter?”
“Cook. I dunno how to explain it; those little tiny jobs are all nice but they don’t move me.”
“Be thankful it’s not a career that doesn’t move you. You know how many lawyers I know who hate their jobs? Collegeandlaw school and they just about cry every morning when their alarm goes off.”
Was there a lawyer anywhere who doesn’t hate being a lawyer? Someone should do a study.“Yeah, and the little jobs are fun until they’re not and then I quit and do something else. I think I’m sort of testing everything out. I’m like a compass with the needle spinning all the time.”
“So you’re a professional bum. Bum as in goof-off, not a politically incorrect term for the home-impaired.”
“Pretty much. Good thing Leah can’t see all the jobs from my past lives, since I’ve had a million just in this life. Her brain would implode.”
Cat was giving him the oddest look, which was unsettling to say the least. (Okay, technically saying nothing was saying the least, but he was a slave to cliché.) “Have you thought maybe you’re not life-blind at all?”
“Huh?” He nearly tripped over a parking meter, and a bike messenger nearly clipped him, and they resumed walking. “Where’d that come from?”
“Something Leah said a few months ago. A theory about the life-blind. I thought she was bullshitting out of boredom, but now I wonder.”
“It’s a myth, Cat. It’s the fairy tale nobody actually buys.Believe me, I used to play that card when people were feeding me overdoses of patented ‘you poor blind idiot, you’ll never get it’ crap. It’s like the things orphans tell themselves: myrealparents are rich but I was stolen from them. I’m not supposed to be here.”
“Whereas thetabula rasahave never been here at all.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not that. I was disabused of it pretty early on. And for the zillionth time, being life-blind is no handicap.”
“Can we even say ‘handicap’ these days?” Cat fretted. “I’m a little behind on my PC jargon.”
“Focus! Listen, Ilikenot having the weight of a dozen lives smashing me down with everything I do. Most people don’t get that. And besides, Leah’s my proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That I’m not a truerasa.If she doesn’t know, then I’m not.”
Cat laughed. “Your faith in her is adorable. And not misplaced,” she added as Archer frowned. “She’s among the best in the world at what she does, no question. But you’re acting like Insighters are infallible, and you gotta know they aren’t. Just because Insighters all over the world want to refer patients to her doesn’t mean she doesn’t ever get it wrong. Besides, what’s it all for?”
“What?”
“This. Us. Life.” Cat gestured vaguely at the air, the people around them, the traffic. “Everything we go through, all our past mistakes. Our attempts to fix things inthislife... what’s it all for, if there’s never a chance to be born with a clean slate? Well, a clean slate until you fuck something up severely. Then it’s back to the end of the line, pal.”
