She peers at me, and then nods. “So you understand.” She stretches her legs, winces with the movement. “I know this town has problems. But that’s what I dreamed of, in that hole. Coming back to Rockton.”
Given what happened out here, I would expect Nicole be holed up threatening to take her life if we didn’t get her back to civilization. And yet I do understand. What happened took place out there. She’d broken Rockton’s rules and left the safety of the town. Her sanctuary had not betrayed her. All the months she’d been in that hole, she’d held Rockton as a talisman.
If only I could be there. If only I could get back there.
“I’ll speak to Eric,” I say.
*
“She needs medical care,” Anders says after I explain the situation. “I am totally sympathetic to her situation, and I’ll support her coming back after she’s treated. But I am not a doctor.”
“What exactly is wrong with her?” I ask. “Besides malnutrition.”
He throws up his hands. “I have no idea. Because I’m not a doctor.”
Diana has been hovering on the edges of the discussion, everyone too preoccupied to tell her to leave. She pipes in with “So what you’re saying, basically, is that you don’t want to be responsible if she’s hurt worse than she seems.”
He turns on her. “Yes, Diana. Exactly. You want to fault me for that? Go ahead. But I will not be responsible for missing something critical.”
“I’m no expert either,” she says. “But it seems to me there isn’t anything critical. Not physically. What she needs most is care for this.” She taps her head. “Which means keeping her calm and seeing what happens. It’s not like we can ship her off to Whitehorse today anyway. You guys didn’t find her comatose, barely alive. She’s not at risk of dying tomorrow or the next day or even a month from now.”
Isabel shoos Diana off, politely enough. Diana doesn’t argue. She’s past that, too, which is probably Isabel’s influence, convincing her that being a pain in everyone’s ass is only going to—again—hurt her.
Once she’s gone, Isabel lowers her voice and says, “Diana has a point. Nicole’s physical health is stable; her mental health is not.”
Dalton rubs his chin. “Any other circumstance, I would send her south, but…”
“We’re a self-sustaining community,” I say. “With no room for anyone suffering serious physical or mental issues, but making her leave after what happened feels inhumane.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Thing is, though, I can bluster about the weather, tell the council it might be weeks before I can fly out again, but that’s all. Nicole’s going to want a guarantee, probably for the rest of her term. Which is not happening.”
Residents are promised a two-year stay, and they cannot leave sooner than that. They may, however, stay up to five years, if they pull their weight and don’t cause trouble.
“She’d settle for a year,” I say.
“Also not happening. The council won’t let her stay when it’ll be months before she’s in any shape to earn her keep.”
“Leave this to me.”
TWELVE
One person who hadn’t been included in our “town meeting”? The actual town leader. I’ve never quite figured out what Val Zapata’s official title is. I think no one uses it because that would legitimize her position, and really, she’s nothing more than a mouthpiece for the council. We don’t deliberately exclude Val. The first time I suggested she be consulted on a town matter, Dalton had snorted and told me to go ahead and invite her. I did. She refused. I’ve come to suspect she’s hiding here, too, unable to leave, resenting Rockton and everyone in it for that.
We’re sitting in Val’s living room now. Her home is structurally the same as mine and Dalton’s, like everyone with jobs important enough to earn their own house. They’re comfortable little chalets, one and a half stories, wood, less than a thousand square feet, identical in their construction. There’s not much room for architectural flair in Rockton. Inside, though, is where people make the house a home. Unless they’re Val. Her place looks exactly like mine did when I moved in, without so much as a decorative pillow on the sofa.
We’re on the radio with Phil, the faceless voice of the council. Others are there, tele-linked in, but we never hear them. I have this mental image of a half dozen middle-aged white dudes in suits, sitting in their offices, speakers on, cell phones in hand to text messages to Phil, their gazes fixed on stock exchange tickers. To them, Rockton is just another investment, not worthy of their undivided attention even as we discuss a tragedy I can barely comprehend.