Wichita (9781609458904) by Thad Ziolkowsky Page A

“Seth’s betting the stuff
doesn’t
work to block the effects. Which, hey, is possible, right? Assuming he passes the physical and the psych test, he’s good to go. You could still be included if someone drops out, Lewis,” he adds as if worried Lewis is feeling left out.
    Lewis is about to say something about the recklessness of giving Seth of all people “the most powerful psychedelic known to man” but decides to take it up with Abby instead.
    Bishop raises his eyebrows and spreads his arms as if to say, So that’s how things stand in
his
corner of the universe. “To have the
privilege
of having to do
whatever it takes
to be near her,” Bishop says, gesturing at the yard with joyous fatalism. “And
this
is what it takes right now, my friend!” He seizes Lewis by the hands as if imploring him.
    Lewis smiles faintly, nods. Bishop probably has no idea about V., who must be installed at the Stonington house by now. Unless she’s staying at Andrew Feeling’s family summer house in Maine, which Lewis knows about through the grapevine. Bishop is clearly a nut, an eccentric. But is it just possible that Lewis gave up too easily, lacked a great lover’s imagination and madness? What if he decided to go on devoting himself to V. with or without her consent and set up his own tent in the garden of the Stonington house? He can see the place for it, between the sedun and potentilla shrubs. Then he can see V.’s father, a taciturn, no-nonsense physicist on the faculty at Trinity College, and her witty, brilliant older brother, who works for a hedge fund as a quant analyst in Greenwich. They’re standing in the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass door at back of the house, scowling in disbelief at Lewis and his tent. The mother, a lovely, kind woman who taught Lewis how to sail and made him feel part of the family, appears there with them now, then V. herself, hand raised to her lips. And it’s like some hideous Tourette’s fantasy: it would be one of the most searingly wrong, embarrassing things he could possibly do.
    â€œAND I LOVE IT!” Bishop cries. “YES!”
    A window goes up. “Bishop!” Abby hisses from within. Bishop and Lewis turn toward her voice but she’s invisible behind the screen. “We’re still sleeping!”
    â€œSorry!” Bishop calls from a crouch, hands cupped to his mouth. The window slides down with a clicking noise.
    â€œShit. Oh well,” Bishop whispers, deflated. “Although technically I doubt she would be
telling
me she was asleep if she were actually
asleep
.”
    He stands thinking. “Listen, do me a favor?”
    â€œSure,” Lewis says.
    â€œTell her—” he holds up a finger and drops to the ground and crawls into the tent with rapid practiced ease, like a cave-dweller or burrowing animal, then crawls backward holding a white Mac laptop and passes it up to Lewis from a kneeling position. “Tell her I finished a draft of the Grateful Gaia website?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” Lewis promises. He picks up his cup of coffee from the ground and takes a sip.
    Bishop looks to one side in a way Lewis now recognizes as indicative of taking a call. “I’ll try that one. Later.” He sighs through his nose. “The study calls for closed-eye sessions but you’d be amazed at how hard it is to find
totally opaque
eye masks. Near impossible! Anyway, there’s a CVS on Oliver that supposedly has the good ones, according to Jesse.”
    He goes to the moped and slips the Army-surplus helmet from the handlebars and puts it on, looking like a character from a B movie comedy. “Could I have a hit of your coffee?”
    Lewis passes the cup and Bishop takes two greedy gulps. “All she has to do is refresh the page and she’ll see it.” He takes the Mac from Lewis, bends at the waist and kisses the top then hands it back. “What a