by Joss Ware
Wow. These people are really jinky about this. “He doesn’t have another wife.”
“Well, perhaps not today. But it won’t be long. My own Gretchen has already been expressing her interest in joining Mr. Japp’s family, and she’s not the only one.”
Is that so? Sage recalled the teasing she’d given Simon last night about being the center of attention, and all of a sudden it didn’t seem so funny anymore.
The nurse pulled the needle from her arm and removed the rubber tourniquet a little more roughly than necessary. Sheesh. Sage must have been deep in thought not to have noticed getting that tied around her arm.
“Now sit here,” the nurse said. “I’ll have your results in about thirty minutes. On second thought, you can go and help clear the dishes in the community dining room. Since you overslept this morning.” She raised a dark brow and cast a disapproving glance at Sage.
“All right.” Sage was delighted to flee the examining room. She didn’t have any need to wait for her blood work results, and this would give her the opportunity to flash the picture of Remington Truth around. She’d thought about showing Nurse Ratchett, but decided at the last minute not to.
She just didn’t seem very helpful.
In the community dining room, the fresh breeze from outside wafted in and the space was filled with the clang of glass and the clatter of flatware. Sage cleared dishes, making her way from table to table. She approached the women—most of whom were younger than she; a few might have been her nieces—and managed to show the picture.
“You know I used to live here when I was young,” she’d say. “And I remember this man who was so nice. He was like a grandfather to me. But I was too young to know his name…and I can’t remember anything about him. Here’s what he looked like. Do you know if he’s still here?”
The resounding response from the busy, gossiping—even singing—girls was negative. No one thought the distinguished man with silver hair and startling blue eyes looked familiar.
It wasn’t until Sage was ready to report back to the medical examining room that she tried her tactic out on one of the other ladies in the kitchen. A skinny, ropy lady with thinning dark hair who looked as if she’d been washing dishes for a decade. She looked familiar, and after a moment, Sage realized she’d been married to her father.
The woman, whose name was Treva, remembered her after a memory jog, and Sage tried her story out on her, hoping the woman wouldn’t ask too many questions about the fabricated “grandfather.”
But Treva merely lifted her chapped hands from the hot soapy water to take the picture. Gingerly, at the corner, but she got it a bit wet nevertheless. “Shew. Maybe I have seen this picture somewhere,” she said. “But I can’t think where. Let me mull on it while I’m washing up here. The water soothes me. Clears my mind.”
By the looks of her hands, Treva must be very soothed and relaxed.
“Well, if you remember, let me know,” Sage told her. But she didn’t hold out much hope.
After all, seeing a picture of Remington Truth wasn’t going to be much help, and wouldn’t be all that unusual. From what she’d learned from her Yahoogle searching, Truth had been a well-known face and could have appeared in any magazine or newspaper that Treva might have seen.
She was just leaving the dining room when she heard someone calling. “Uh, Sage? You there!”
Sage turned and saw Treva, busily drying her hands with a white towel. “Did you remember something?”
“I did indeed. I know exactly where I saw’t. I’ve got a break now. If you come with me, I’ll show you.”
Sage followed her, glancing quickly down the hall toward the medical wing. No one was in sight, including Nurse Ratchett. And it had been more than thirty minutes, for sure. Oh well. She already knew what the results would be.
To her surprise, Treva took her to a different area of the Community House. “The library?” Sage said, her eyes wide and her heart leaping with excitement. She hadn’t been here since arriving, and had almost forgotten it existed. Books!
Books upon books lined the walls, and free-standing shelves laden with more of them crisscrossed throughout the room. Treva stood in the center of the space, obviously thinking, perhaps trying to recall which book she was searching for, and Sage kept her thoughts to herself. A picture of Remington Truth in a book was going to be no help whatsoever.
At least she’d been reintroduced to the space. And it begged the question: what else had Sage forgotten—or blocked from her memory—from her time here at Falling Creek? Was her suspicion about the reason for her mother’s death possibly true? Could she have mentally erased certain memories and images to protect herself?
“Here!” crowed Treva, and she pulled out a thick hardcover volume from the wall.
Sage took the book. The Count of Monte Cristo.
Wow. That was weird. But what did that have to do with Remington Truth? She looked at Treva, who took the book back and began to flip through it.
“Ah, here it is. I was afraid someone had taken it out…shew, I think I’m the only one who’s ever read this book.” She looked at Sage. “Most people would rather watch the movie—even though it doesn’t follow the book. But the book’s so much better. Dantès is the greatest hero.” She smiled. “I’ve read this one about ten times. Have you ever?”
“Funny you ask,” Sage admitted. “But I’m reading it right now. And really enjoying it.” And so was Simon, if the moving position of his bookmark was any indication.
“What did you find?”
“Oh.” Treva plucked something from the pages of the book and handed it to her. “This. Is this the man?”
Sage took the object. It was…a picture of Remington Truth. And…holy cow, it even had his name printed on it. Remington L. Truth. It wasn’t a photograph, like she was used to seeing. It was…thin. Plastic. About the size of her palm. Hard, but a little flexible. With a small slit cut in the top. And a sort of seal or symbol behind the picture, on the plastic, with the letters NSA.
What on earth was it? Little clear plastic curled up at the rounded corners as if it were peeling off.
She looked up at Treva. “Where did this come from? Do you know? Can I keep it? As a sort of keepsake?” she added.
Treva shrugged. “I don’t see why not. I use it for a bookmark when I read the book, but like I said, no one else ever wants to tackle a book with more than a thousand pages, so no one else will miss it. Shew, and I can find another bookmark.” She rubbed her red hands together and Sage winced, thinking about how much they must hurt.
“I can tell you exactly where it came from, now that I think about it. Musta been about four years ago. There was a man, and he had a young woman with him, and they stopped here wanting shelter one night. She was reading the book, and using that to keep her place. I know because I saw her—you never see anyone reading big tomes like that, you see. I notice stuff like that. I like to read, you know.”
“I do too,” Sage said encouragingly. “So, she was reading the book…?”
“And, well, they stayed here one night, but she was gone the next day. And the man was dead.”
“Dead?” Sage was horrified.
“Not murdered or anything. The doctors agreed on that. Something about eating peanuts—you know we grow our own here. His throat closed up and he suffocated.”
“But the woman was gone? What did she look like?”
“I don’t know. She had dark hair and she was really pretty. Maybe about mid-twenties—and let me tell you, they were already looking at setting her up with a husband after only one night. No wonder she got out of here,” added Treva under her breath, glancing over her shoulder. “If I didn’t have my own children, I’d be doing the same. Anyway, the book and some of her other stuff was still here. Like she left in a hurry.”
“Any idea where she was going?” Had the woman needed to escape?
“Well, shew. They had to stop here that night and I got to talking to her—we were talking
about books, of course, and I hadn’t ever read Monte Cristo at that time. Anyway, she was asking me if I’d ever heard of a place called Redlow. I got the feelin’ she wanted to go there.” Treva shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, and I never said anything when she disappeared the next day—figured if she wanted to get out of here I had no reason to mess up her plan. I never really heard of that place anyway.”
Redlow. Excitement churned through Sage, though she wasn’t certain why. Just because this man and woman had been in possession of a picture of Truth…but it was an unusual picture. It had to mean something.
Her next step was to figure out how to get a message to Theo and see if he’d ever heard of the place. And she could also check Truth’s contact list and see if there was anything on there that mentioned Redlow.
Sage realized with a start that Treva had asked her a question and was waiting for her response. “I’m sorry, what was that? I was caught up in the memories for a minute.”
“I said I never seen the man, and I don’t know if it was much help,” she said. “But I knew I recognized the face.”
“Thanks,” Sage said. “It’s been more help than you know.”
“Guess my break is over. I better get back,” Treva said. She started to go, then turned and came back. “I think I’ll take the book. It’s about time for me to read it again.” She smiled, her worn face showing a myriad of fine lines.
Sage handed her The Count of Monte Cristo, but kept the plastic picture of Remington Truth. And just as they emerged from the library, Nurse Ratchett appeared, her nose redder than ever.
“There you are,” she shrilled. “I have been looking all over for you. You and your husband need to get back to work, because your hormone levels haven’t shifted a bit. And your temperature is still elevated, which means you’re still in ovulation.”
Sage nodded, glad for the excuse. “Then I should go find him and we should…go back to our room and…er—”
“Yes, yes, of course. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. No more time to waste! You only have forty-eight to seventy-two hours of fertile time, and you’ve been wasting it this morning.” Ratchett glared at her, then muttered, “Twenty-eight years old and not one pregnancy to show for it. Time’s wasting, Mrs. Japp. You go back and I’ll have him sent to you. No need for you to wander around and get lost, lollygagging and wasting time.”
Sage scooted away, tucking the new picture of Truth into her pocket and hurrying back to their room.
Once inside, she glanced automatically at the picture of the dog and realized that someone had come in while they were gone and readjusted it. They hadn’t wasted any time, for she and Simon had been gone for little more than a couple hours.
Now she had to figure out another way to obscure the camera again. But first, she wanted to send an email to Theo and Lou and tell them what she’d found. She dragged her pack and settled herself against the wall flush with the camera, out of sight, and dug out her little computer.
She should be able to connect to the network now, and communicate from here in this room. And moments later, she had done so, quickly and easily.
There were two new emails, both from Lou, one in response to the one she’d sent last night, expressing relief that she and Simon were safe and had set up the NAP. The other was a quick update regarding the number strings from Truth’s documents that appeared to be geographic plotting points, and asking her to try and take some measurements of the sun and moon while she and Simon were in Falling Creek, so they could attempt to adjust from the original aspects of the earth.
He’d given simple, clean directions, and Sage wrote back and agreed to do her best to note the time and position of the sun and moon according to his plan. She also explained what she’d learned from Treva and asked if they could find anything out about Redlow. Maybe she and Simon would go there when they left Falling Creek.
There was, however, no email from Theo, and that fact sat heavily on Sage’s mind.
The message she’d sent to Lou and Theo, letting them know her update, had been sent only moments after Theo’s declaration email had arrived. This meant, she hoped, that he thought she hadn’t received it before closing down for the night. She hoped.
But now, the silence yawned and the decision…how to respond? She had to acknowledge it. But what to say?
Ah, Theo…
She hesitated, fingers still poised, and called up an empty message. Theo, thank you for your note.
Er. No.
Theo. I got your message and I confess I am both flattered and surprised. I had no idea you felt this way. I…
No. Oh, good grief!
Sage closed the computer and decided to take a shower. Maybe the spray of water would clear her brain. She remembered reading something once about the molecules of water and how they affect the mind and its creativity. Maybe it would help her think of something creative to write back to Theo.
The shower felt good: hot and cleansing, and the nature of the beast—washing her naked body—gave her other things to think about. Like the fact that Simon was going to be back in the room as soon as the FCers could find him and get him there…and they were going to have to start all over again with the fake-sex thing.
This time, though…Sage thought it might be a little more difficult.
In fact, from the way her stomach was swishing and fluttering, she thought it might be a lot more difficult.
Simon knew he was in a fuck-load of trouble the minute he walked in the room and realized Sage was in the shower.
He nearly turned and walked back out, but the sight of her small computer on the floor—out of sight of the camera, which, he noticed, was no longer blocked—gave him hesitation. And that was all it took, because as if she’d sensed his arrival, the bathroom door opened and there stood Sage: flushed and steamy, her hair and body each wrapped in a towel, slender arms and legs and shoulders…and feet…showing little droplets of water mingling with her freckles.
“I guess they found you,” she said. Her smile was wry and a little shy.
“Yeah.” He glanced at the dog picture in warning, and to get his eyes and mind off the fluffy white towels.
She stood there for a minute, then came into the room. Her uncertainty rolled off her in waves, mingling with his own tension. Which made the room feel tighter than the time Mancusi had crashed Paul Newman’s after-Oscars party.
Simon gestured at the computer with his foot. “Anything?” He wondered if she’d responded to Theo’s message. Or if she’d received any other ones.
“Yes.” Sage looked meaningfully at him, and his curiosity was piqued by the excitement in her eyes. She had news. Then she pulled the towel from her hair, and it fell in bright, damp waves over her shoulders. “Let’s get in bed.”
His heart stopped.
Fuck, vato, be a man. You’ve faced a lot worse.
Simon sat at the opposite edge of the bed, fully, wholly, agonizingly aware of the camera watching every move they made, and pulled off his hiking boots and socks. Then his shirt. Followed by the worn jeans that were going to need a wash pretty soon.
The bed shifted behind him as she crawled under the covers. He hoped like hell she had something on underneath that damn towel. Simon stood and went over to pull the heavy curtains closed, blocking out much of the sun.
Then, taking a deep breath, wishing he could be anywhere but here, Simon lifted the covers and slid beneath them.
He rolled toward the center of the bed and found Sage lying there on her side, facing him. Her wet hair trailed over her pillow and down into the crevice next to his.
“Everything okay?” she asked. Her breath was soft and minty and Simon found himself hypnotized by that lovely little freckle, now crushed into a crease in her lips because she lay on her side.
“Yes. What’s up?” he asked, low. This was good…they would look as if they were having a little pillow talk, maybe even a bit of foreplay, and she could bring him up to speed.
Damn
. She smelled good too. Same shampoo and soap he used, but it smelled so much better on her.
“Someone gave me this today. Do you know what it is?”
Beneath the covers, she reached toward him. He moved swiftly to connect with her hand, and took the object she offered. It felt like a stiff credit card, but when he glanced down at it he recognized as an employee ID. For Remington Truth, when he was at the National Security Administration.
“Where did you get this?”
Sage explained about the woman who’d shown it to her, and how a younger woman and man had visited Falling Creek four years earlier and left it behind. In turn, he told her what the object was, adding, “This is a very personal object that had to have belonged to him. Which means that the woman and man must have gotten it from Remington Truth—either voluntarily or involuntarily.”
“So this is our best clue so far?” she said, eyes wide and beautiful.
“I’d say. It’s like part of his personal effects, something that either he or someone close to him would have kept.”
“I sent a message to Lou about Redlow, to see if he and Theo knew anything about it. Maybe we can go there next and try to find this woman.”
“But you don’t know anything about what she looks like except her hair color and age.”
“And that she was reading The Count of Monte Cristo,” Sage added, her crinkled lips smiling. “It’s the best we have for now.”
He nodded, realizing that through this entire conversation they’d moved closer to each other. And now he felt the warmth of her newly showered skin beneath the blankets and realized he still didn’t know if she was wearing anything. Or not.
He looked up from the employee ID he’d been examining—hell, to be honest, he’d been hiding by looking at it—and found himself caught by Sage’s gaze. As before, he was struck by the unusual color of her eyes. More aqua than sapphire, almost a sea green–blue. With long dark-brown lashes tipped in blond and not a swipe of eyeliner or glitter of eye shadow in sight.