A Density of Souls by Christopher Rice Page A

Monica emerged from behind an azalea bush, Nanine cried out and grabbed Elise’s arm. Monica smiled and swung open the front gate.
    The three women took their seats. Elise fiddled with the lap of her dress to such an extent that Monica asked them both if they would like to go inside. Perhaps it was too hot? Nanine responded with a firm no.
    As she reached over to fill Nanine’s glass, Nanine glimpsed the fleshy cleft of Monica’s right breast through the armpit of her sundress.
    Monica caught her gaping, letting her eyes stay on Nanine’s until the old woman realized she had been caught.
    “And how is Jeremy?” Nanine asked as soon as their eyes met.
    “Very well,” Monica said, resting back into her chair.
    “He’s teaching now, I understand?” Nanine asked.
    “What does he teach?” Elise said.
    “Jeremy claims to teach his students about the lies that humans per-petuate to mask their own fear of mortality,” Monica said easily.
    Silence fell before Nanine managed a giggle. Elise gazed at Monica with almost reverent awe.
    “His mother would be proud,” Nanine said. Her tone suggested that not only would Amelia Conlin not have been proud of Jeremy but she probably would’ve tried to throw Monica over the front gate.
    “The garden is . . .” Nanine began.
    “. . . beautiful,” Elise finished.
    “Thank you,” Monica said, lighting a Benson & Hedges from a pack she kept in the breast pocket of her sundress, before exhaling through her nostrils. “The true secret to working with plants is understanding what ferocious beasts they truly are. Simply because they don’t eat meat, we assume all plants are docile creatures.”
    She had lifted the insight from Jeremy almost word for word, except that Jeremy had articulated the thought to her years before as an explanation for why they should not have any front yard at all beyond a lawn.
    Elise nodded her head emphatically.
    There was a lengthy pause before Elise tilted her head toward the front door. Nanine noticed it and both of her hands tightened around her glass in response.
    The Falling Impossible
    75
    “Would you like to go inside?” Monica asked her.
    “Would you mind? Just to look around?” Elise posed this question more to Nanine than Monica.
    “Not at all. Have a look,” Monica said. “Don’t mind the Mahler.”
    “The what?”
    “Nothing. Go on,” Monica said sweetly, lifting a hand as if to nudge Elise through the front door.
    But Elise had already shambled through, her hands clasped to her chest like a child entering a haunted house. Nanine sipped her iced tea. Monica smiled blandly at her as she swallowed, took a breath, and set her glass down.
    “We all know your husband’s crazy, Monica. You don’t have to lie for us,” Nanine said.
    The younger woman twirled her cigarette in one hand, elbow propped on the arm of the chair as if at any point she might hurl the cigarette directly into Nanine’s eyes.
    “We are not responsible for our husbands,” Nanine whispered.
    “But our gardens are another matter entirely,” Monica said.
    Nanine offered a crooked half-smile. Touché, her smile said. Points earned. “Would you like me to tell you why you were really denied membership? Will you still be able to serve iced tea and try to dazzle us after I tell you the real reason?
    “You’re a guest here,” Nanine continued, her voice almost a whisper again. “This city is dying all around us. My father helped to build this city. He laid this sidewalk, in fact. But now I am of the belief that all of it will someday be devoured by the river. You know the river, don’t you? You grew up next to it?”
    Monica didn’t answer.
    “My point,” Nanine continued, “is that guests tend not to appreciate what we have here. These blocks, this neighborhood. They must be preserved. And that is a job best done by those who gained an appreciation for this neighborhood from the day of their birth.”
    Monica sucked another drag off her cigarette.