By the day of the third visit, Miranda has managed a few days of relative normality. It’s enough that she senses Tom not watching her quite so closely. When George and Cilla arrive, she smiles brightly and pushes down the revulsion she feels for the man enough to shake his hand and usher them inside. Tom smiles at her in a way that tells her he believes her good mood is genuine.
Tom and George are once again hovering while Miranda shows Cilla the various ways different pickling spices can be mixed to achieve different flavors. Once that’s done, Miranda begins to lay out things for tea and Cilla provides the perfect excuse for some privacy.
Reaching into a big bag, she withdraws a large bundle wrapped in muslin. Glancing at Miranda, she says, “I made you some of those things you asked about.”
Miranda has no idea what she’s talking about, but understands the subtext. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Thank you!”
George eyes the bundle with eyes far too alert for mere curiosity and asks, “What do you have there, Cilla?”
With utterly calm eyes, Cilla flips over one flap of the muslin and exposes a neat stack of something made of fabric. “Menstrual pads, of course,” she says.
Immediately, George colors and glances away. Miranda understands exactly how to play this and it isn’t even hard to manufacture the tears in her eyes. She’s been under so much stress that they come with almost no effort at all. If anything, it’s a relief not to hold them back anymore.
Grabbing the bundle and pushing it down, Miranda looks at Tom with tear-filled eyes. “I’m so embarrassed! My goodness, Tom!” Her face crumples and all the tension and worry make the tears flow.
Tom begins to apologize, tugging George by the sleeve toward the door. At first, Miranda thinks George might actually shake off his hand, but whatever well-mannered cover he’s trying to maintain must override his desire to keep a close eye on Cilla.
George nods at her and says, “No need to worry, Miranda. I don’t think this has much to do with canning. Do you mind if we withdraw for a while and leave you ladies?”
Dashing at the tears on her cheeks, Miranda says, “Please do. I, uh, well…”
Before passing through the door, Tom says, “Give us a yell when you’re ready to continue the lesson. Okay?”
Miranda nods and waits for their shadows to fade and eventually disappear. She knows they can’t listen at the door without her seeing, and the next room is behind thick walls meant to insulate the cacophony of the kitchen from bothering the house.
Dropping the bundle on the table, Miranda whispers, “What did you mean before? Why do I need to leave?”
Cilla’s face is still calm, which seems odd, but she glances at the bundle and picks it up again. “We should at least pretend.”
Miranda nods and says, “Okay, but what were you trying to tell me before? I haven’t been able to think of anything else. What do I need to get away from?”
Glancing first at the open door, Cilla lowers her voice and pushes the hair away from the side of her face, exposing a dark pink scar near the temple that mars her hairline. Miranda had wondered about the way Cilla wore her hair. Hanging straight down from a center part, she’d thought it must get in the way.
“What’s that? Did George hit you?” Miranda whispers.
Cilla’s answering smile is small and sad, but her manner is still unnaturally calm and steady. “He did this, but he didn’t hit me. He wouldn’t do that.”
“Then what?”
“He lobotomized me, and Tom is getting ready to let him do the same to you.”
Charlotte
The summer fades into a perfect fall, with sunsets so full of color they seem almost unreal. The mood in the camp is lighter as well. Though the exact location of the new town is still a secret, each day there are updates shared to the camp’s servers.
It’s rapidly become a camp obsession, with friends or family members oohing and ahhing over the photos depicting construction progress. There are videos showing the architectural design process, gardening and landscaping, even in-depth quasi-documentaries about the urban planning of their shopping and entertainment section.
The photos are merely the icing on the cake. It’s the idea behind the photos that has lifted their spirits and given them something they have been steadily losing over the years: hope. Hope for a future in which they can walk free, shop for their own food, clean a house they can call their own. All the small mundane things everyone took for granted or relegated to the category of necessary chore are right there, on the horizon.
Charlotte feels better too. Her meds finally seem to be balanced correctly. She’s calm, but not tired. She’s able to smile again without having to remind herself to do it. It’s a delicate balance. She’s not the only one that’s had problems when a new medication needs to be added or exchanged.
There are other things to be happy about too. A pair of tennis courts have been completed and though she’s terrible at the game, she has a good time playing. Her mother trounced her completely during their first match, but they laughed and worked up a sweat. After quick showers at the pool, it was Charlotte’s turn to trounce her mother in a mad race across the pool.
Today it’s so perfectly warm that they’re going to spend the afternoon at the pool again, and this time, they have reservations for poolside supper. While there is no alcohol in the camp, they have completed a poolside bar and serve the most elaborate mocktails. She’s looking forward to it.
Tabitha breezes into the day room with a parcel Charlotte knows is from the library. Her mother waves it at Charlotte and says, “It’s magazine day!”
Most of the magazines are available
