What would it hurt? She’d endure this for Theo Morrisey, though it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
“Okay, I’ll do it. I haven’t annoyed…” A sigh. She couldn’t remember the name, though she’d just heard it. “…in a long time.”
“Thank you.”
~??~??~??~
She could have met Blair in the privacy of her rooms. Instead, Cynda chose the pagoda, right out in the open where anyone could see them. Perhaps it was some juvenile payback, though she wasn’t particularly sure why she felt the need. Neither of them were kids anymore.
“Cynder?” her brother called from the walkway. She’d forgotten his pet name for her. He was taller than she was, his hair a bit darker. His muscles were corded, like someone accustomed to physical labor.
“Hi…Blair.” She waved him over. Mumbling under his breath, he ditched his shoes and crossed the sand. Once on the platform he stared at one of the pillows, then pushed it aside with his foot.
He’s going to regret that.
He went somber as he sat down on the hard wood. “Been a while.”
“Yeah. What’s wrong with Mom?”
“She fell and broke her hip about the same time that you got hurt. It’s healing, but very slowly. Right now, she’s using a cane to get around.”
Cynda didn’t know what to say.
Her silence forced her brother to speak. “I know, if she hadn’t been Off-Grid, she’d be fine now. You’re thinking it, you might as well say it.”
From what Morrisey had told her, Off-Grid meant primitive medical facilities, if they existed at all. If her father hadn’t been a doctor, her mother might not be alive.
“Why did you go out there?” she asked.
He shook his head. “You mean, why was I sent out there?”
“Sent?”
“I told you I went voluntarily. I lied.” He looked down. “I nailed one of those little fascist CopBots. I’d been drinking, and when it started harassing some kid flying a kite, I smashed the thing into lots of little pieces. Then another showed up and I nailed that one, too. They really pissed me off.”
“You trashed a couple of CopBots?” she asked, amazed. As he nodded, her estimation of him rose by tenfold. She hit shrinks; he smashed CopBots.
Yeah, we’re family.
She grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. “Good!”
Blair looked startled. “No, it wasn’t good. When Mom and Dad found out I was to be sent Off-Grid, they decided to come with me. They were worried about me making it, you see. They never would have worried about you like that. You were always so confident, so sure of yourself.”
“That’s bull,” she shot back, looking away.
“No, it’s not.”
There was more there, she could feel it. The shrink hadn’t been her first assault. Maybe Blair had a history of this sort of thing too.
“And?” she nudged.
He looked crestfallen. “Okay, I’ve done this before. I was getting into trouble fairly regularly. When I refused to get counseling to deal with my issues, as they called them, the authorities decided I needed to go because I was a disruptive influence.”
She was astounded. “They tossed you out for that?”
“It was only supposed to be three years. Then we could come back.” He laughed hollowly. “To what? Mom and Dad had to give up everything to go with me. The money they got for the house went to pay off all those fines I’d racked up. Then the new Government took over and made all the sentences permanent.”
Endless exile.
Ants began to fire up. She doused them immediately. There was nothing she could do right now, but down the line some changes needed to be made.
“Why are you here, Blair? I understand why the parents couldn’t come, but why you? We never liked each other.”
He glowered at her. “They wanted me to. They want us to find common ground.”
“What’s the point?”
“They say it’s time we both grew up,” he replied.
Ouch.
“You never understood, Cynder. Even though what you do seems crazy, I’ve always been proud of you.”
“What?” she asked, baffled.
“You were so confident. I was just arrogant. There’s a difference.” He reached over and pulled a pillow under him. “That’s better. It was making my butt sore.”
Something told her the old Blair wouldn’t have admitted that.
“What’s up? You aren’t like this, or at least I don’t think you are. My memories are still jumbled.”
“The last year has been a bitch. Mom and Dad never said a word, never blamed me, but every time those tomato seeds appeared, I knew I’d failed. You were thumbing your nose at me, and I couldn’t tell you to go to hell.”
“Tomato seeds?”
He looked chagrined. “Sorry. I forgot you don’t remember a lot of stuff. You bought some of the rare, non-gen modified seeds and smuggled them to us. It’s against the law, Cynder. The smuggling, at least. You risked going to jail for us. Mr. Morrisey said it would have been a decade or longer.”
“But, I—”
He raised his hand. “Let me finish. If you hadn’t taken that risk, we would have starved. That’s the cost of my arrogance. Our parents could have died because I thought I had the right to tell Guv to go screw themselves.”
“Everyone has that right.”
“Not for the price we’ve paid. I was sure we’d make a living, no hassles. I was wrong, Cynder. It’s the Wild West out there. I was so wrong.”
She put a hand on his forearm. “You made it, though. You’re a tough S.O.B.”
“Not tough enough,” he said. “My little sis had to bail us out.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“That’s Mr. Morrisey’s doing. I wasn’t even sure if I should come. I wanted to see you, but you might not have recognized me.”
True. It was better to fib. “Fat chance,” she said. “Let’s start over.”
“You forgive me?” he asked, incredulous. “For everything?”
“Well…”
“Like painting your new puppy bright pink?” Another sin she didn’t remember. “I called him Pinkie Pup,” Blair recalled. “Really made you mad.”
Her brother broke out laughing louder than was expected. Just releasing tension. Then he grew solemn again. “God, Cynder, it’s not gone the way I planned. And when I heard you’d been so badly hurt…”
“Just keeps happening,” she said. He gave her a questioning look. He doesn’t know about the chest wound. Or most of the other things that had happened to her. “At least it seems like it.”
“The parents sent you a message.” Blair offered her a thick envelope. At her puzzled look, he said, “No hi-tech out there. Dad goes on and on about his new clinic, which is finally up and running. Nothing fancy, just basic medical care. It’s given us some extra income because they pay us in food. Oh, and Mom is really pleased with her beets.”
“Beets?”
“Off-Grid, it’s all about food and security. The gangs are active again. There’s talk of more raids on the settlements.”
“Geez.”
He turned away, caught up in his own thoughts. It was only then that she saw the ring on his left hand. She took a gamble that it was something new, not something she’d forgotten.
Cynda reached over and tapped the silver band. “Ah, bro, something else going on?”
He turned back, sheepish. “I got married a few months ago.”
Married? “What’s her name?”
“Amanda. Our first child is due in four months.”
“Whoa. You move fast.”
“Mom predicts it’ll be a girl.”
“Good. She’ll run you ragged.”
His face warmed with a smile that seemed to lift the years. “That’s why I wanted to see you. Once Mr. Morrisey said you were doing better, I knew I needed to put some things right.”
Marriage and a child had put her brother in a whole new category.
“Raise your hand,” she said.
“What?”
“Raise your hand.” He did as asked, though she could see he felt it was stupid. “Repeat after me.”
“Cynder—”
“I—insert your name here—do promise not to be an ass to my sister in the future.”
He repeated the sentence back, a grin on his face, purposely leaving his name out.
She matched his grin and raised her own hand. “I, Jacynda Lassiter, promise to treat my older brother, whatever the hell his name is, with the respect he deserves as long as he agrees not to be a complete jerk.”
They slapped palms in the air and then hugged, hard.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “Amanda and I want to name our daughter after you. Is that okay?”
Cynda pulled back, mouth agape. “I…all right.”
They fell back into the embrace, letting their old wounds wash away in mutual tears.
~??~??~??~
Saturday, 3 November, 1888
Spitalfields
“Dr. Montrose?”
A young man hesitated in the open doorway as Alastair set aside the instruments he’d been sorting. “I’m sorry, but the clinic won’t be open for another week or so.”
“I’m not here for that,” the fellow replied, already making his way toward the back of the waiting room.
Alastair studied him closely, carefully weighing whether or not he presented a threat. “Then how can I help you, sir?”
“By letting me play postman. I’m Hopkins. I’m an…associate of Jacynda Lassiter.”
“Jacynda?” Alastair hurried around the exam table. “How is she? Have her memories returned?”
“She’s much better,” the man assured him, reaching inside his coat to produce an envelope. “I was asked to deliver this letter to you. She needs some questions answered.”
“She is well enough to write me?” the doctor asked, unable to conceal his glee at the news.
“Yes. But if anyone from our time asks you about that, the answer is no,” his visitor advised. “I’ll come back tomorrow morning to get your reply.”
“But—”
The man named Hopkins was already out the door. Alastair eagerly slit open the envelope. A thick sheaf of handwritten paper was inside. He sat in his chair, propped up his feet, and began to read. The first full sentence made him whoop for joy.
Dearest Alastair,
I remember you now. I remember Keats, as well. This isn’t the way his life is supposed to be. We need to find a way to make it right again. I may need your help.
“And you shall have it, my dear lady,” he murmured, his eyes misting.