19

The past…

As they ate, Maggie stared into Marcus’s eyes and noticed an anomaly. “Your eyes are different colors.”

“Yeah, most people don’t notice. My eyes are kinda gray-green, but the right one is half brown. It’s called sectoral heterochromia.”

“Is that some kind of disorder? Nothing contagious, I hope?”

He laughed. “It can be related to certain syndromes, but I don’t think I have any of them. It can also be a sign that you had a twin you absorbed in the womb. They call it chimerism. In that case, I could actually have multiple sets of DNA in different body parts. I don’t think I have that either. I also read once that some believe it to be a sign that you’re descended from Swedish royalty, or something like that. I think I’m just a dude with a funny colored eye.”

“I told you that you were an odd man.”

“I didn’t dispute it. What about you? You have any oddities?”

She straightened her silverware and folded her napkin into a perfectly symmetrical square. “No, I’m completely normal.”

He grinned. “Nobody’s completely normal.”

“I am.”

“Really. You’re not mildly obsessive compulsive?” She started to open her mouth but stopped. After a moment, she said, “What makes you say that?”

“I pay attention. Your apartment is impeccably clean—not a single picture or decoration is out of place. Every grouping is perfectly balanced. When you eat, you cut every bite into the same size. You make sure that the silverware you’re not using is in perfect alignment. You folded your napkin into a square. And when you put the sweetener into your tea, you made sure that the markings on the two packets lined up before you opened them. You even put one back because it was longer than the other packet.”

She felt naked before him. She started to say something, decided against it, and stared down at the table.

He reached across and laid a hand over hers. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting the world to be in order and make sense.”

“But my compulsions don’t make any sense. They’re irrational. I don’t have a good reason for doing them. I just feel like that’s the way things should be done. Most people don’t notice, so I try to hide it. It makes me feel like a freak.”

“Does it make sense to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do all the things that you do make sense to you? We each see the world through different eyes. We all have our nuances…our little tics. I’ll give you an example. I always sit facing any points of ingress. I always know what’s behind me. When I walk into a room, the first thing I do is scan it to find the entrances and exits. I consider what could be used as a weapon in this space. I play out in my mind what I would do if someone walked in the door with a gun. Where’s the best place to take cover? What’s the best route to flank an armed assailant who just entered? And other things. Who in the room could pose a threat? Who’s potentially armed? What’s here that’s out of place? What’s missing? All that runs through my head every time I enter a room. Some people call that cop instincts or training. I call it paranoia.”

Marcus squeezed her hand, and she met his gaze. “I don’t have a good reason to do all that,” he said. “Nobody’s after me. I don’t have any enemies. Even back in New York, I was never in a restaurant that somebody shot up. Maybe one day it’ll save my life, but probably not. Odds are that I’ll never be in that situation. But I can’t help but run through it. It’s just my nature.”

Her face brightened. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being stranger than me.”