“I would never be loyal to that sick bastard.”
“I know. I figured you’d leave or kill Sanders and take over.”
“God, Aria, you think I could be that kind of brutal monster?”
“It wasn’t all brutal.”
If that statement was supposed to make Joe feel sympathetic, it didn’t work. “He meant to kill Flix and sell Devin and Peter. I bet he killed these people whose house we stopped at just before Purcell.”
“I didn’t know he planned to kill Flix until right before he pointed the gun. I thought he’d just send him back with Devin and Peter.”
“That’s awful enough.”
“And those people you mentioned... A man and woman in a house with a garden?”
Joe wasn’t sure what made him angrier, that she knew about the dead people, or that she’d been willing to let Devin and the kids suffer. “It wasn’t even like you needed those people’s food. Their garden was rotting, untouched.”
“They were old friends of Cadia’s. Good gardeners. And ex-military, both of them. They’d served in the Intracontinental War. We wanted them to set up a poc community near Oklahoma City.”
“Poc?”
“‘People of color.’ Remember the sign on the back side of the Maze-On store? Some New Americans use it as a slur. Sanders called us patriots of change.”
“Some of the most reprehensible people drape themselves in flags and say they’re liberators.”
Aria scowled. “They were like you, the people, confident and proud. They were self-sufficient, so what did they care that their brothers and sisters went hungry and died or fed off the table scraps of people who only wield power because they had it first.”
Blah, blah, blah. None of that excused what Sanders had done. What Aria had done. “What happened to those people with the garden?”
“They said no. Sanders said that wasn’t an option, and I swear, I thought one of them was reaching in their pocket for a weapon.”
“Oh, Aria...” His friend. The girl who read and read.
“Don’t worry. I paid for it.” Her voice dripped with derision. “That night at the greenhouse, I killed almost all my friends. Liliana hates me. Navi sent me away because he can’t stand to look at me.”
“Navarro sent you away to keep you safe.”
“I killed my sister.” The bed shook with Aria’s raspy, stuttering breaths. “I killed the only person in the whole goddamned world who still loved me. She was funny and never hurt anyone and she loved me, Joe. God, I killed her.”
Not a single word of comfort came to Joe. Anything positive he could say would be a lie. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and wiped his eyes. When Aria turned away, he petted her hair. After a while, her shaky breathing evened and slowed. Joe scooted closer and wrapped his arm around her waist.
“This would have been my teenage fantasy, you know,” Aria said, “you holding me.”
“I’m with —”
“I’m under no delusions. I see how you look at him. But Joe?”
“What?”
“There are two sides to America, his and ours. One day, you’re going to have to decide which side of the line you’re on. And you’re going to have to accept the fact that it may not be the same side as Devin.”
He couldn’t conjure even one rebuttal. “Goodnight, Aria.”
“Sleep well.”
Joe was certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all.
***
Devin sat in what he thought was probably the kitchen and got ready to help Maribou snap beans, whatever the hell that meant. He couldn’t see worth shit, and the pills everyone kept feeding him may have dulled his headache, but they also made him sleepy as fuck. He could be in the bathroom or a coat closet for all he knew.
He felt the hard, flat surface in front of him, slid his feet along the smooth floor until one of them hit something. He followed the line of it. Table leg. Probably kitchen for real, then.
Joe and the useful people were out helping Clinton with farm-type chores. Something about patching the barn roof and baling hay. With his fingertips, Devin traced the edges of the table and tried not to be jealous.
Jealous might not be the right word. Scared shitless, more like. The first time he got blinded, he’d been worried, but nothing like this. Something was wrong inside his head. What if it was the kind of problem that couldn’t be fixed?
“So, sweetie...” A warm hand patted Devin’s shoulder, and he jumped enough to hit his knees on the underside of the table. Maribou laughed. “Sorry. You are wound tighter than a tick.”
“Being all but blind will do that, ma’am.”
Something scraped the floor, probably a chair.
“I’m going to set a bowl of beans in front of you, and we can get started. Ever snap beans before?”
“No ma’am.”
“Here.” Her soft hands, so small, grabbed one of Devin’s hands and placed a thin, firm cylinder in his grasp. Must be the bean.
He rotated and rolled it, so different from what he’d been expecting. At home, beans were short and thick little rounded stubs, firm and pulpy. This felt...still firm, but more solid, like it wouldn’t fall apart if he put it in his mouth.
“I’ve never heard of beans like this,” he said.
“I’ve never heard of beans any different.” The soft hands were back, guiding Devin to hold the bean in the middle. Maribou picked up Devin’s other hand and guided it toward the end. “Feel that little nubbin there? You’re going to snap that off, right near the end. Do the same on the other end. Then one snap in the middle of what’s left.”
Devin fumbled around and did as Maribou directed. The bean really did make a snapping sound, along with a crisp, satisfying break.
“You’ve snapped your first bean. Just drop the ends on the floor and make a little pile of the snapped beans there next to the
