UnWholly (Unwind Dystology #2)(89)

Risa walks up the spiral staircase. Risa walks down the spiral staircase. Risa works with Kenny the physical therapist, who keeps telling her how quickly she’s gaining strength. She hears no news of the outside world. For all she knows it no longer exists, and this island clinic—which is not a clinic at all—quickly feels like home. And she hates that.

As much as Risa dreads the daily meal with Cam, she also finds herself looking forward to it. It’s out on the veranda, weather permitting, and whichever meal it is, it’s always the best meal of the day. Cam, who has been happy to show off his remarkable physique to her from a distance, is awkward at the meals, and just as uncomfortable as she is to be thrust together like it’s some sort of arranged marriage. They don’t speak of the day she slapped him. They don’t speak about much of anything. Risa puts up with him. Cam puts up with her putting up with him. Finally he breaks the ice.

“I’m sorry about that day,” he says as they eat steaks together on the veranda. “I was just upset. There’s nothing wrong with being a state ward. In fact, parts of me know what it’s like. I have memories of state homes. More than one.”

Risa looks down at her food. “Please don’t talk to me about that, I’m eating.”

But he doesn’t stop. “They’re not the nicest of places, are they? You have to fight for every bit of attention, otherwise you live a life of bare adequacy, which is the worst life of all.”

She looks up at him. He’s put into words the feelings she’s always had about the way she grew up.

“Do you know which homes you were in?” she asks.

“Not really,” he tells her. “There are images, feelings, specific memories, but for the most part, my language center didn’t come from state wards.”

“I’m not surprised,” Risa says. “Language skills are not a strong point at state homes.” She grins.

“Do you know your history?” Cam asks. “How you ended up there? Who your birth parents are?”

Risa feels a lump in her throat and tries to swallow it down.

“No one knows that information.”

“I can get it for you,” Cam tells her.

It leaves her with a feeling of dread and anticipation. And this time she’s very pleased to say that the dread wins out.

“It’s not something that I’ve ever needed to know, and I don’t need to know now.”

Cam looks down, a little disappointed. Maybe a little bit crushed, and Risa finds herself reaching across the table to clasp his hand. “Thank you for offering. It was very kind of you, but it’s something I’ve come to terms with.” It’s only when she lets go of his hand that she realizes that it’s the first time she has voluntarily made physical contact with him. The moment is not lost on him, either.

“I know you were in love with the boy they call the Akron AWOL,” Cam says.

Risa tries not to react.

“I’m sorry he died,” Cam says. Risa looks at him in horror until he says, “That must have been a horrible day at Happy Jack Harvest Camp—to be there when it happened.”

Risa takes a deep, shuddering breath. So Cam doesn’t know he’s alive. Does that mean that Proactive Citizenry doesn’t know either? It’s something she can’t speak of, can’t ask about, because it would provoke too many questions.

“Do you miss him?” Cam asks.

Now Risa can tell him the truth. “Yes, I do. Very much.”

It’s a long time before Cam speaks again. And when he does, he says, “I would never ask to take his place in your heart, but I hope there’s room for me in there as a friend.”

“I make no promises,” says Risa, trying to sound less vulnerable than she truly feels.

“Do you still think I’m ugly?” Cam asks her. “Do you still think I’m hideous?”

Risa wants to answer him truthfully, but it takes a while to find the right words. He takes her hesitation for an attempt to spare his feelings. He looks down. “I understand.”

“No,” Risa says, “I don’t think you’re hideous. It’s just that there’s no way to measure you. It’s like looking at a Picasso and trying to decide if the woman in the painting is ugly or beautiful. You don’t know, but you can’t stop looking.”

Cam smiles. “You see me as art. I like that.”

“Yeah, well, I never cared for Picasso.”

That makes Cam laugh, and Risa does too, in spite of herself.

? ? ?

The cliffside plantation estate has a rose garden filled with well-pruned hedges and exotic, aromatic flowers.

Risa, having been raised in the concrete confines of an inner-city state home, was never much of a garden girl, but once she was allowed access, she began coming out daily, if only to pretend that she isn’t a prisoner. The sensation of walking again is still new enough to make every step in the garden feel like a gift.

Today, however, Roberta is there, preparing some sort of miniature production. There is a small camera crew, and smack in the middle of the garden sits her old wheelchair. The sight of it brings back a flood of too many emotions to sort through right now.

“Would you mind telling me what this is all about?” Risa asks, not sure she really wants to know.

“You’ve been on your feet for almost a week now,” Roberta tells her. “It’s time to deliver on the first of the services you’ve agreed to perform.”