“Los Angeles?” It made sense, Frank knew. On Hollywood or Sunset boulevards her attire would be positively subdued.
“No. Farther than that. Farther”—she hesitated for a fraction of a second—“south.”
He grinned to himself. Let her affect an air of mystery if that was her pleasure. “Where you headed?”
Once again Steven spoke before she had a chance to answer. “We’re on vacation already ‘cause we go to private school, so we get out earlier than the other kids.”
“That’s nice,” said Mouse. “Myself hasn’t had a vacation in quite some time.”
“What is it you do?” Alicia asked her.
“I help others out of their troubles.”
Frank guffawed. “In Vegas? No wonder you don’t get any time off. That’s a town where just about everybody needs help.”
“No, not in Las Vegas. I’m not going there. I am going to the Vanishing Point.”
“Vanishing Point.” His brows drew together in thought. “A lot of little towns up the interstate between Vegas and Salt Lake. Never gone that far north ourselves, but I see them on the map. Cedar City, St. George, Littlefield, even a place called Hurricane.” He tried to see the fine detail on the map stuck to the dash. “Vanishing Point doesn’t ring any bells.”
“It’s quite small and very big.” Mouse wasn’t smiling and Frank couldn’t tell if she was making a joke or not. “I would not be surprised if your map omits it, though one never knows.”
“What’s in Vanishing Point?” He drove with one hand resting easily on the wheel, the cruise control doing the drudge work.
“My task.”
“Helping somebody with a problem?”
She nodded. “I must try to regulate the Spinner.”
“You a psychologist of some kind?” He’d always envisioned psychologists, male or female, in severe business suits. Of course, there were all kinds of unorthodox philosophies of mental health abroad in the land, especially if that land was Southern California. “Vanishing Point. Nevada or Utah?”
“Yes,” she said, replying without answering. “I am afraid I am the only one practiced enough to do it.”
“You wouldn’t expect to see a psychologist hitchhiking,” said Alicia tartly.
“It is not my preferred mode of travel. In this instance circumstances compelled me to adopt this method of reaching my destination. I really cannot thank you enough for picking me up.”
Her gratitude was so obvious and heartfelt that Alicia’s suspicions were dampened. Frank kept trying to read the small print on the map.
“I bet I’ve seen it on the Utah map.”
“We’re only going as far as Las Vegas,” Alicia informed their rider.
“I understand. I will travel with you as far as you will take me and go the rest of the way on my own. I am used to traveling on my own.”
“Then the least we can do is take you all the way into Vegas.” Frank gave Alicia a the-matter-is-settled look.
As her father concentrated on his driving, Wendy moved closer to their guest, lowering her voice to an anxious whisper. “C’mon, now, where’d you get all that great stuff?” She tentatively ran fingers over the material again. “I bet this is imported. Indian?”
“Not Indian.” Mouse ran an index finger down the front of her dress. “My clothing is woven from the fabric of existence, which is very fine and light and quite stable.” Her hand rose. Delicate dark fingers touched the single strand of purple beads that hung from her neck. “This is the blood of past transgressions. The past is always bleeding, I fear. At long intervals I have to add a new bead, so that my emotions keep pace with what has gone before. I remember when this necklace was but a bracelet.” She extended a leg, revealing ankle and slipper.
“My shoes are very strong and very soft, so that my passing disturbs the earth as little as possible. I am careful not to touch it any more often than is necessary. Floating is easier than walking anyway.” She smiled at the girl next to her. “Have you ever tried floating?”
“Not me, but some of my friends have. You know, you’re really weird. But I like you.”
“I like you, too, Wendy.” She surveyed her surroundings. “I like all of you.”
“Except for my little brother,” Wendy added distastefully. “Nobody can like him.”
Mouse laughed; fingertips teasing the keys of an electric piano. “I suppose it is not the nature of elder sisters to like younger brothers. Nevertheless, you should be nice to him. What elder sisters fail to realize is that little brothers have a tendency to become very big brothers as they mature. Big brothers of any age can be very nice to have around.”
“Yeah, that’s what Mom keeps telling me.” Wendy studied the radiant material of her new friend’s dress. “‘Fabric of existence,’ huh? There’s so many brand names around these days, you can’t keep up. Not Indian, okay, but I still bet it’s imported.”
Mouse nodded slightly. Her every movement was barely more than a suggestion, yet in no ways uncertain. “You could say that, after a fashion.”
“After a fashion—hey, a joke, right? You like punk?”
“I like anything that makes people smile or feel better about themselves.”
Alicia was trying to make small talk with Frank and listen in on her daughter’s conversation at the same time. Though she had excellent hearing, she was unable to make out more than an occasional word or phrase. Wendy seemed to have lowered her own voice to match that of their guest. Whatever the hitchhiker was saying it appeared to enrapture the teenager.
She would have felt better about the situation if she could have heard more. No telling what sort of nonsense this half-wild young woman they’d picked up in the middle of the desert might be pouring into Wendy’s ear. There was no point in trying to forbid the conversation. Wendy would ignore any directive so blatant and the motor home was too small to isolate someone anyhow. Alicia decided she was being silly. Strange their guest might be, but she’d been nothing if not friendly and polite, not to mention effusively grateful for the lift. She had a strange but captivating personality, like some exotic fish washed up on a public beach amid the empty beer cans and plastic bags. Certainly she’d captivated Frank and the kids.
If only she could be sure their guest wasn’t into drugs. Wendy was at an impressionable age.
If I can’t forbid conversation, she thought, at least I can participate in it.
“You said you help others but that you’re not a psychologist. That doesn’t leave a whole lot. Are you some kind of traveling social worker?”
