She was done—done with labouring over drawings that nobody wanted to see; done with telling herself that, if not for her name, she’d have attended art school; done with assuring herself that her life meant as much as everyone else’s, that her parents didn’t define her. And now she’d burden the lives of two women she cared about, who would have lived the life they’d always dreamed of, if not for her. It wasn’t enough that her own life was pathetic; she had to poison their lives, too.
If she wasn’t around, Lesley and Mo—and their children—would be free of the Adams taint, Carol would focus on her family without worrying about her inconvenient cousin, and Rymellans would all breathe a sigh of relief that her parents’ line was truly dead. Even the planet itself would rejoice; she’d no longer use its resources to produce drawings she’d always told herself Rymellans would love, if only they’d look.
She’d never draw or paint again. Her life no longer meant anything. Everyone would be better off without her.
*****
Lesley turned on her comm unit as soon as she left the classroom, expecting a dispatch from an overseer in response to an inquiry about a case. She frowned at a dispatch in the list—Mo rarely used the “urgent” marker. Lesley read it, then beeped her.
“Finally! I was starting to wonder if I should come down,” Mo said.
“I just finished class.”
“Have you heard from her?”
“No.”
Silence, then, “Something’s wrong. She always replies to my dispatches. I was a little worried last night, but I figured that maybe she was spending the day with Carol. But it’s been over twenty-four hours now. She usually replies within a couple.”
“When did you last hear from her?”
“The day before yesterday.”
“Same here.” Jayne had written to say that she had an appointment with Catherine Moss regarding the interior design of their future home.
“I even tried beeping her earlier. No answer.” Mo cleared her throat. “Look, I shouldn’t ask, but can you go check on her?”
Lesley’s jaw tightened. “Why shouldn’t you ask? She’s my Chosen, too.”
“I know, but—”
“Mo, I don’t hate her because she’s fallen for you, any more than I could hate you. I understand that neither one of you is doing it on purpose.” She blew out some air, to calm herself. “I’ll beep her. If she doesn’t answer, I’ll go over.”
“You’ll beep her now?”
“Yes, and I’ll head right over, if I have to. I’m walking to my aviacraft.”
“I mean, she’s probably okay, right? You know how she always takes so long to answer. Maybe I disconnected too soon. Or maybe her comm unit is off.” Mo chuckled nervously.
Yes, but what about the comm station in her apartment? Those were always on, so Rymellans wouldn’t miss mandatory announcements. “I’ll beep you right after I’ve spoken to her,” Lesley said, an anxious knot forming in her stomach.
As soon as they disconnected, she beeped Jayne. The knot tightened when Jayne’s message played. When it finished, Lesley said, “Jayne, it’s Lesley. I’m heading over to your apartment. If you get this message before I get there, can you beep me right away? Thanks.” She pressed the disconnect button and quickened her pace.
By the time she landed in the holding area near Jayne’s apartment, she knew that Jayne wasn’t with Carol. “No, no, nothing’s wrong. I figured she might have turned off her comm unit because she’s with you,” Lesley had said, easing Carol’s worry as her own increased. It wasn’t like Jayne to be unreachable. Even if she was angry with them, she wouldn’t shut them out. Jayne had bravely demonstrated that she could overcome her shyness and fear when she wanted to raise an issue or was worried about the triad. She valued communication; she knew it was one of the keys to maintaining the triad’s harmony.
Nothing appeared amiss as Lesley approached the entrance to Jayne’s apartment building—but what had she expected? All sorts of scenarios ran through her mind as she strode up the corridor, including imagining that Jayne might have fallen and hit her head.
When Jayne didn’t answer Lesley’s knock on her apartment door, Lesley rapped again, calling, “Jayne? It’s Lesley. If you’re there, come to the door.” She leaned closer and listened, then stepped back. Nothing. Well, Jayne could be out drawing, she could be at the Trading Centre...but Lesley’s instinct said that she was in the apartment. After a moment’s hesitation, she grasped the door handle. “I’m coming in,” she said, then almost fell into the apartment when the door suddenly opened.
Jayne stared at her with bleary eyes. Her dishevelled hair suggested that she’d just rolled out of bed, even though it was almost 17:30.
Lesley let out a relieved breath. At least she was okay—physically. “We’ve been trying to beep you. Why didn’t you answer?”
Jayne shrugged. “I’m not in the mood to talk,” she said, so softly that Lesley strained to hear her. “Do you want tziva?”
Her lifeless voice deepened Lesley’s concern. “Yes, please,” she said, sure that the last thing Jayne wanted to do was make her tziva. But she wasn’t leaving until she found out what was wrong.
Jayne turned and walked away, leaving Lesley to close the door and hang her cloak. Then she followed Jayne deeper into the apartment—and stopped halfway up the hallway. Something was different...
The walls. They were bare. Jayne’s artwork was gone. A glance into the living room told the same story. Bewildered, Lesley walked into the kitchen and stared in horror at the pile of ripped up papers on the kitchen table. “You haven’t ripped up your drawings!”
“No.” Jayne sank into a chair, rested her elbows on the table, and held her head in her hands.
Lesley’s heart stopped pounding. “I noticed that you’ve taken down all your artwork,” she said, pulling out the chair next to Jayne and lowering herself into it. “Why?” Argamon, hunched over and clutching her head, Jayne looked like a ball of pain.
Jayne chose to respond to an earlier question. “I wasn’t answering beeps because I was waiting until I could face all of you.” She heaved her shoulders. “But I have to tell you sometime. Might as well be now.”
Lesley remained silent while Jayne gathered her courage. Whatever it was must be related to her artwork, but Lesley resisted the urge to guess, not wanting to derail the conversation.
Jayne’s hands left her head; she picked up one of the larger shreds of paper and crushed it in her right hand. “My application to art school was rejected.”
Too focused on her own training program and Mo and Jayne’s growing relationship, Lesley hadn’t given much thought to Jayne’s application. “I’m sorry.”
“The committee didn’t have any comments for me. I guess they figured I wasn’t worth their time.”
Surprise raised Lesley’s voice. “They didn’t say anything?”
Jayne shook her head.
Then Lesley suspected that they hadn’t seriously considered Jayne’s application. She couldn’t think of a single instance among friends and family where an application to college had been accepted or rejected with no accompanying remarks. But she couldn’t be certain, and Jayne deserved more than false hope. “It doesn’t mean you can’t paint or draw,” Lesley said, eyeing the litter pile on the table.
“I don’t see the point.”
“You enjoy it.”
Jayne shrugged. “It’s a waste of time.”
“It’s not a waste of—”
Jayne tossed the ball of paper onto the table and pushed back her chair. She filled the boiler with water and turned it on, then pressed her hands on top of the kitchen counter, her back to Lesley. Her shoulders shook. She lowered her head and wept.
Lesley gaped at her, not sure what to do. Would she sit and watch while Mo sobbed? No. She pushed herself up from the table and, when Jayne didn’t move, went to her and put her arm around Jayne’s shoulders. She hadn’t meant it as an invitation for Jayne to turn and cling
to her, but didn’t back away when Jayne did. She hesitated a beat, then held Jayne and rubbed her back. “It’ll be okay. It’s disappointing, but you’ll be okay.”
“I never should have applied. I didn’t want to,” Jayne said between sniffles.
“Then why did you?”
“For you and Mo. To do something with my life.”
Lesley closed her eyes.
“I have to do more than sit around and draw.”
“Many Rymellans are Joined to artists.”
“Artists who sell their work, who contribute. I can’t do that. I’m not even an artist,” Jayne wailed into Lesley’s ear.
“Yes, you are. Don’t let this rejection take that away. Because of who you are, you might have been refused out of hand.” She’d said might, despite her certainty that Jayne had never stood a chance. If only Jayne had spoken to her and Mo beforehand...they’d thought she wanted to apply. If they’d known that obligation and a sense of inadequacy was driving her, they would have talked her out of it, or at least assured her that a rejection wouldn’t matter. “We understand why you can’t sell your work. All that matters to us is that you derive satisfaction from creating it.”
“If I were anyone else, you wouldn’t say that.”
“If you were anyone else, you’d be fairly evaluated. You’re not.”
“I don’t know if I’m being fairly evaluated. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m deluding myself.”
“You’ve never needed external validation before. Why is it suddenly important?” While Lesley waited for an answer, she realized that Jayne was no longer sniffling. She should let Jayne go and step back, but...being in each other’s arms, speaking into each other’s ears, made honesty easier.
“I’m not sure I need it for me,” Jayne murmured after a long silence.
“We don’t need it. We see you as an artist. We see it every time we look at your drawings.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, I’m not.” When she and Mo had first found out about Jayne’s sketching—before they’d seen her work—they’d agreed to encourage her, no matter what they thought of her drawings. But that would have been wrong. When you cared about someone, you told them the truth, even though it might hurt. Fibbing about a new pair of shoes was one thing. Encouraging someone to waste her time, to pour effort and energy into a lost cause, wouldn’t be supporting her, and it certainly wouldn’t be caring about her. Back then, they hadn’t cared about Jayne beyond obligation. Things had changed. “You can draw, Jayne. You can paint. If I thought you were wasting your time, I’d tell you. And anyway, for us, your worth isn’t determined by what you do. It’s determined by who you are.”
Jayne chuckled, and Lesley couldn’t help but snicker along with her. “Okay, not the best way to put it, but I hope you know what I mean.”
In response, Jayne’s arms tightened around Lesley’s neck; her tears moistened Lesley’s cheek. Lesley swallowed; she drew back, let go of her, and pointed at the table. “Those really aren’t your drawings, right?”
Jayne wiped her eyes. “No, I tore up an empty sketchbook, to stop myself from tearing up a full one.” She sighed. “The drawings from the walls are stacked in my bedroom closet. I don’t want to see them right now. I’ll put them back up when I feel better.”
The boiler snapped off. “Are you desperate for a tziva?” Lesley asked.
Jayne rubbed at her cheeks and blinked at her. “You don’t want any?”
“I was thinking that you could go home with me and we’ll have tziva there. Bring a change of clothes. I’ll fly you home in the morning.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“But why spend the evening alone in your apartment, if you don’t have to? Some company will do you good. I’ll need an hour to study for my test, but you can read...or draw.”
Jayne’s forehead puckered. “I just tore up my only empty sketchbook.”
Lesley bit her lip. “I guess we’ll stop at the Trading Centre, then.” She paused. “Assuming you’ll come. I hope you do.”
“Okay,” Jayne said with a nod. “Let me pack a change of clothes.”
“While you’re doing that, I’ll feed the recycling chute. Oh, and I’ll beep Mo. She’s worried about you.”
“Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I’ll beep her while you’re studying.” Jayne stopped in the kitchen archway and met Lesley’s eyes. “Thank you.” She left without giving Lesley a chance to reply.
It only took a minute and three trips to clear the table of the shredded sketchbook. Lesley pulled out her comm unit, beeped Mo, and filled her in.
“So she applied for us?” Mo tutted. “And they couldn’t bring themselves to throw her a single word about her painting? How much trouble would I be in if I accidentally dropped a missile on the college next time I happen to be flying over it in a military aviacraft?”
Lesley chuckled. “How much time do I have to recite the article numbers and remind you of which ones are capital articles?”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Mo drawled.
Lesley braced herself. “I’ve invited her to go home with me and stay in the guest room tonight. Otherwise she’ll sit around in her apartment and brood.”
Mo remained silent.
“Would you rather I let her sit here by herself?”
“No. I mean, of course not. But don’t you have to study?”
“She said she’ll beep you while I’m studying.”
“I might be flying sims with Ann later. Tell her if I don’t answer, to write me a dispatch. Tell her I want to hear from her, and that I’ll write back before I go to bed.” Mo sighed. “I have no right to wish I was there and to worry about the two of you. I shouldn’t feel this way.”
“You can’t help how you feel. Wanting to feel a certain way, to handle a situation with a certain level of maturity—it’s easier said than done.”
“The voice of experience?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Argamon, Mo knew her well. Lately, how she felt versus how her intellect said she should feel was a familiar struggle—and a letdown.
“I wish you were as quick to excuse yourself as you always are to excuse me,” Mo said quietly. “Especially since I’m being so flaming unreasonable. I mean, I asked you to go check on her, and now I’m worried because you’re supporting her, for both of us. So I’m going to stop. I’ll have fun with Ann tonight, and I’ll look forward to hearing from Jayne.”
“Good,” Lesley said, feeling like a liar. When Jayne had squeezed her and pressed her cheek against hers, Lesley hadn’t drawn back because she wanted to get away. She’d drawn back because she wanted to get closer.
CHOSENS
Jayne gazed out at the Thompsons’ back garden as she sipped her tziva, grateful for the quiet time on her own. She didn’t know what Lesley had told Adelaide and Alan about her sudden overnight visit, but Lesley must have beeped and told them something, probably while she’d waited for Jayne outside the Trading Centre. The rejection of Jayne’s art school application hadn’t come up at the supper table, and neither parent had appeared surprised when she’d walked through the front door with Lesley. If Adelaide hadn’t already had an inkling of what had happened, she would have bluntly asked.
Jayne had brought her new sketchbook outside with her, in case Lesley had told them the truth. She’d wanted to show them that she wasn’t crushed, but it lay closed next to her on the bench swing. She glanced at it but wasn’t compelled to open it, fearing how she’d feel when she lifted its cover. Would inspiration come? Would she stare miserably at a blank page?
In front of her, barely visible in the gloom of dusk, two trees towered over the others as parents would over their young children. A majestic family stood before her, its members standing together night and day, remaining loyal not only on sunny days, but on stormy ones, when they would move in unison—Argamon! Why couldn’t she look at trees and see only flaming trees, like everyone else did? Then she wouldn’t have toiled away for nothing
all these years, wouldn’t have applied—
Her comm unit beeped. Mo. Jayne pressed the connect button. “I’m sorry I haven’t sent you a dispatch yet. I was going to start it when I finished my tziva.”
Mo snorted. “I’m not beeping because you haven’t sent me a dispatch. I wanted to see how you are.”
“I’m okay.” She was also embarrassed by her behaviour and felt even more inferior to her Chosens. “I thought you were flying sims with Ann tonight.”
“I’m supposed to be, but I’m starting to wonder if she’s going to show up. She’s ten minutes late. I’ve tried beeping her, but all I get is her message.”
“She’s probably talking to someone.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figure. Something’s up with her. She’s been moody since I got up here.” Mo paused. “You sure you’re okay?”
Jayne blinked away the tears that prickled at her eyelashes. “I’ll be okay,” she murmured.
“It doesn’t matter, you know. I mean, it does because it’s important to you, and I know you’re disappointed. But it doesn’t change how I see your drawings...or you.” Mo was silent for a moment. “Les said you applied for us.”
Jayne blew out a sigh. “I wanted you to see that I was doing something with my life. But maybe I used you as an excuse, too.”
“In what way?”
“Maybe I always wanted to apply, but never had the courage. Maybe telling myself that I was doing it for you and Lesley was a way of protecting myself from the inevitable.”
“Or maybe you’re over-analyzing. Would you ever have applied?”
“I don’t know.” Come on! “Probably not. I always resisted when Carol nagged me about it.”
The Triad Page 19