“I’m a freak,” she told Stacy over strawberry daiquiris that night.

“So?” Stacy replied, waving the waitress over. “Two more of these, please,” she said, pointing to their half-empty glasses. “Hey, how’s the baby?”

“Fat,” the waitress replied. Carrie was stitched over her left breast in red thread. “Colic’s done, thank God. Now I don’t have to worry about dropping him off at the county.”

“Even better, now you can have him over,” Stacy replied promptly, which made the waitress crack up.

Caitlyn shook her head. Stacy knew every waitress, bellboy, waiter, cook, chef, Mall of America employee, and dry cleaner in Minneapolis. She never forgot a face, a name, an offspring, or a discount. And she hadn’t been infected with nanobytes. Truly inspirational.

“So, you’re a freak,” Stacy said when the waitress had left. “What else is new?”

“Not the only girl in the sorority who knew who Nietzsche was, was a freak. Freak freak.”

“Again: so?”

Caitlyn sighed noisily, trying to suppress her annoyance. “So, what am I supposed to do about it?”

“Does this have something to do with the fact that you own Mag instead of just being the manager like everyone thinks?”

“No. I went back today, by the way. Place is doing great.”

“Of course it’s doing great. You give free manicures while your customers are waiting for their hair to cook, so why wouldn’t it do great?”

She grinned in spite of herself. “We in the trade prefer ‘foil technique’ to ‘cook.’ And tell me that wasn’t a great idea.”

“Yeah, yeah, it was a great idea. Back to your freakish nature, which is nothing new, FYI. Does this have something to do with your Houdini last fall?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. So, what happened?”

“You’d never believe it.”

“Hey, I believed you wanted to switch from psych to econ.”

“This is somewhat different,” Caitlyn said.

“And I believed you when you said you wanted to buy Mag and do heads and run your own business, when your folks had left you so much money, you’d never have to work again.”

“Again, that doesn’t really fall into the realm of the unbelievable.”

“And I believed you when you put most of your inheritance into a trust for that charity The Foot, which means they get to spend the interest, and you can’t ever touch the principle. Of your own money! Which means that the richest twenty-something in Minneapolis often eats ramen for supper.”

“Hey, you can get five packs of them for eighty-five cents,” Caitlyn said.

“So I know you’re a freak, okay? I’ve known for years. What, you’re trying to shock me now?” Stacy took a slurp of her old drink, then turned her attention to the new one. “Mmmm, strawberries. Go on, then. Shock me.”

“Well, I’m supposed to work for the government now. They did me a favor and now I’m supposed to do them a favor.”

“Oh. Well, I figured it was something like that. Is that why you’re looking so buff? You’re like Sydney Bristow on Alias…normal on the outside, and buff on the outside, but you know all this extra stuff too.”

“Nothing at all like Alias.” She was pretty sure. As usual, a conversation with Stacy involving alcohol was confusing and soothing. “But yeah, it’s why I’m looking so buff. Let’s put it this way: I was sick—”

“More like seriously fucked-up from the accident.”

“Right. And they helped me get better, and now they’re saying they didn’t help me for free.”

“Well, nothing’s free.”

“Come on, Stace…”

She chewed on her garnish and stared at Caitlyn with a gaze so direct, it was almost frightening. “Nothing’s free, Jimmy. Not one thing. You’re rich, but you have no family. I’ve got a family, and can’t stand to be around them. And Joanie…you remember Joanie?”

“Art major.”

“Yup. She could draw anything, anything in the world. And she’d have four skull-busting migraines a week. That was the trade-off. Draw like Da Vinci, cry like my little sister when the pain comes. Nothing’s free.”

“Stacy, for a supposed ditz, you’ve got a disturbingly practical streak.”

“Uh-huh. So, do them the favor. Get square, and get out.”

She sighed. “That’s the plan. I think. I mean, I agreed to do this one thing for them. Except…I don’t think getting out will be so easy.”

“Is this about that test you took so you could be a mailman? Mailwoman? That civil service what-d’you-call-it?”

“No. Although, FYI, I got the highest score in the state.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re brilliant, big deal.”

“And I have no idea if it would be hard to get free of the U.S. Post Office.” Although, for future reference, that whole “government service thing” would be an excellent excuse. Not that she was looking for one. But just in case. “I’m just not sure I want to get wrapped up with these jerks.”

“Cautious is prob’ly the way to go,” Stacy agreed.

“Let’s put it this way: they helped me to help themselves. It really didn’t have anything to do with me. So why should I do anything for them?”

“’Cuz they did help you. I’m not sure it matters why if it was something to your benefit.”

“Hmm,” Caitlyn said, and changed the subject.