Deja Who (Insighter #1)(57)

“Stop hiding behind humor to cover your anxiety.”

“I’ll hide behind whatever I want to cover my anxiety,” he snapped back.

Leah blinked, but went on. He was pretty sure she would go on if he had a heart attack on the spot. “Speaking of the worst, you need to vanish from my life now.”

He nodded like she’d said something he agreed with. She hadn’t, but this—this he could work with, at least. “I don’t blame you for being upset, but I swear to you, I was going to tell you about my dad. Nellie knew and it didn’t bother her, and so much has happened this week I never had a chance to bring it up.”

“I made a list in jail, all the excuses not to think about what these last weeks have meant, and realized making a list of reasons why you put off something unpleasant is proof of cowardice. And it’s not about your father. Or Nellie wouldn’t have given a shit.”

“Of course it is!” he snapped. Then, “What?”

“Of course my mother knew your family’s history; she would have checked it out. Remember, in her mind she was a huge celebrity and that’s what a huge celebrity would do. So she knew, she just did not give a shit, which is what I’m ninety-five percent sure I’ll be chiseling onto her tombstone. Ugh.”

She slapped a hand over her eyes and wouldn’t look at him. “I’ve been trying to suppress the memory but I just realized I’ll eventually have to go to the playing of her will. Her video will, because of course she would never refuse the opportunity to perform. If she’s wearing the birthday outfit with all the feathers, I will somehow reanimate her corpse and then kill her all over again.” She took her hand away and speared him with her shark’s eyes. Cold. Nobody home behind them. “You were perfect for her. You aren’t perfect for me.”

“You’re wrong.” He stood quietly on the sidewalk, ignoring the stares as people streamed by. “You’re not dumping me because of my murdered uncle, are you? And you don’t think I killed your mom.” No. Stupid to even consider that for a moment. Who would know better than the maddening creature before him that you weren’t what your parent was? It hadn’t given a shit, and Leah didn’t, either.

That was worse. That made it all so much worse.

“We have nothing in common.”

“We both think you can be kind of bitchy,” he suggested.

“Very well, we have one thing in common. That, and our continual need for oxygen to survive. And you’re far too stubborn.”

“Oh my God, the pot has spoken! You don’t fool me at all, Leah Nazir. It’s the life-blind thing, isn’t it? You thought you could handle it and you can’t, so you’re pitching me over the side.”

“That’s not it,” she said at once, so he recognized the lie.

“So you’re not just chilly and distanced, you’re a bigot, too.”

“I am not, in other lives I’ve been African-American, Korean, Chinese—I can’t afford to be a bigot, I’m in glass houses all day long.”

“You are, but not for the reason you think.” He was starting to get very angry and put his hands behind his back so he wouldn’t be tempted to choke her. “You hide there. You like it there. You’re always a nobody, whether you’re slicing off Anne Boleyn’s head or watching the revolution burn through a royal family.”

“Irrelevant.”

“Ha! You’re fine watching history instead of making it. You’re fine with everything. Look, Leah, there’s nothing wrong with keeping your head down, which in your case resulted at least once in keeping your head. If more people followed that example, you’d have less clients.”

“Fewer.”

“What?”

“I’d have fewer clients.”

“Forget it!” He stuck a finger under her nose and shook it. “I refuse to find the Grammar Police thing sexy right this minute but might later! As I was saying! You’re so used to being on the sidelines in past lives, you can barely participate in your current one. I might not agree being life-blind is blind, but you refuse to see that always being on the outside isn’t healthy, either. And the thought of admitting you need someone, it’s fucking paralyzing, isn’t it?”

“Don’t try to make this a commitment phobia,” she said sharply. “If anything I’m phobophobic.”

“You don’t like having your picture taken? I’m not trying to be funny!” he yelped, holding out his hands to placate her. “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

“Also part of the problem,” she muttered. “It’s fear of having a phobia.”

“Well, that’s just great. Of course you do. Or of course you are—do not fucking correct my grammar on that one. You’re the planet’s best Insighter—”

“Actually, Moira McKinnen in Edinburgh is probably the planet’s best.”

“Please shut up, sweetie. You spend your time helping people see their past fears, screwups, and deaths.”

“I’m aware of my own job description, Archer.” But he saw it at once; her sharp tone was hiding her unease. He was getting to her and he thought he knew what button he was pushing.

Are we really thrashing this out on a public sidewalk with dozens of witnesses streaming by on either side of us?