Luminarium Read Online Free Page A

her bulky metal desk.
    “Does George have a wife, children?” she asked, before looking up.
    “No children. He got divorced two years ago.”
    “Before the lymphoma was diagnosed?”
    Fred nodded.
    “And you?” Mira checked her screen. “You broke off a wedding engagement recently?”
    The same terrain, along just about the same route, had been traversed with the therapist. Was Mira Egghart a therapist? Or was she simply here to observe?
    “We split up a few months ago.”
    With the therapist, he’d gone on to describe breaking up with his fiancé as the second biggest mistake of his life. He didn’t bother elaborating this time. Mira was giving him another of her discerning looks, or maybe he was just imagining it. The parallel between George’s love life and his own was a sore spot.
    “After George got sick?”
    “Yes. That probably played a part.”
    “Are you seeing anyone now?”
    He entertained the idea of turning her question into a joke, or a proposition, but then—imagining her hearing the same jokes from every bestubbled emotional charity case from every hospital cafeteria across the city—thought better of it. He shook his head.
    “I suppose you don’t have much energy for dating at this point,” she said.
    He gave her points for the wry tone, the warmth in her eyes.
    “Being broke and living with my parents doesn’t help much either,” he said.
    Looking down at her typing fingers, she almost smiled, with him or at him, he couldn’t say.
    “So let’s talk about your parents for a second. Are they religious?”
    “My mother’s started doing Reiki. It’s a … Japanese … energy … healing kind of thing.”
    “Yes, I’ve heard of it. Have you ever tried doing it?”
    “No. Not for her lack of offering.”
    “So why haven’t you?”
    “I don’t know if I should be encouraging her.”
    Mira didn’t betray a judgment, about his mother or about him. “Did you grow up with any religious training or spiritual practices?”
    “None.”
    “Any kind of transformative life experiences you’d classify as spiritual?” “You mean like visions?”
    “Like anything.”
    “I’ve never seen the Virgin in my cornflakes, if that’s what you’re asking.”
    The answer seemed to satisfy her. “Last subject, occupation. You wrote that you and George started a company together. Some kind of computer company, was it?”
    “Software design and consulting.”
    “And you wrote that you lost it? I’m afraid I know even less about business than I do about computers. How does one lose a company?”
    The biggest mistake. He grinned miserably, glanced at the ceiling.
    Go ahead. Inner George. I didn’t patent it.
    “It’s like losing a sock,” Fred said. “Only more lawyers are involved.”
    She didn’t smile, not even out of politeness. Instead, to his surprise, her face went sad.
    “George’s joke?” she asked.
    Stunned, he blinked. “How’d you know?”
    “I’m psychic.”
    They stared at each other.
    Finally, she smiled.
    “That was a joke, too, Fred.”
    And then it was happening again—the expansion—happening right here: he and Mira afloat in the same balloon, one organism with two bodies, two goofy grins. Merging with a La-Z-Boy had not come close to preparing him for this. It was like he’d known her forever, or twice that long. Like everything he’d ever felt a lack of was here, right in front of him. Yet almost before he’d realized it was happening, it was gone, gone so fast he might have concluded it had never happened at all, but for the confusion and the longing in its wake. The atmospheric pressure in the room had suddenly doubled, and gravity had done the same, pressing him into the chair. He wanted to tell her about the experience. He wanted it back. It seemed impossible to him that she hadn’t felt it too. But she was already closing her laptop, moving on.
    “Thank you for being so patient, Fred. Now that you’ve answered my questions, I’ll try to answer