Chapter Twenty Rapture #2
Zada’s mother had Zada’s lenses, and all messages directed to Zada’s earring were being forwarded to her mother as well.
It made Zada feel terribly fancy, like a lady who could afford to have someone else handle her correspondence.
There was no time to answer every single message herself anyway.
Wedding planning was very demanding. As they chatted about color palettes and catering choices, her mother sometimes had to stop what she was doing to hear and delete a message no doubt meant for Zada.
She did it with no grace, like most people of her generation.
The clumsiness of it made Zada smile anew.
Her mother might not have been totally used to ear implant technology, but she was dedicated to making sure Zada didn’t have to deal with any pesky interruptions.
The messages were nearly constant for the first few days, and then they petered out.
Whoever was trying to get in touch with Zada must have eventually realized she had more important things to think about.
Days passed. Every time Zada turned around, more time had flowed through her fingers, which would have been alarming except it brought her that much closer to the day she’d been dreaming of for her entire life.
Rainbows and fireworks and shooting stars.
The phrase made her strangely sad. She couldn’t explain why.
That made her sad as well. It was no way to feel on the night before her wedding, she reminded herself.
She concentrated on the bright, glowing feeling at her center until the discordant notes were drowned out once more.
Better.
The night before her wedding, she was gazing out of the window of her bedroom, watching the rain streak down and out of sight, when she heard a tap on the glass. Zada started. A face had appeared in the window, a woman around Zada’s age, with short dark hair and black-rimmed dark brown eyes.
This was strange because her family didn’t live on the first floor. Perplexed, Zada crossed the room and fumbled for the latch.
“Hello,” said Zada.
“Zada,” said the stranger. “Look, I don’t have much time—”
Peering through the glass, Zada could tell that the newcomer had climbed the uneven walls of the NuGrow building and was now clinging to the windowsill.
That seemed precarious. The polite thing to do, thought Zada, would be to invite her in.
That would be friendly, in keeping with the duties of the politician’s wife she aspired to be.
Zada turned the antique crank until the window opened and gestured for the rain-soaked stranger to come inside.
She landed in Zada’s room with a tumble.
She wore a navy suit, and some sort of a sash diagonally crossing the front of her jacket.
Rivulets of water trailed down her hair and face, and she seemed rather out of breath.
“I’m Zada,” said Zada. She laughed. “Oh, sorry, you seem to already know that.”
The stranger nodded. Even though she’d said she was in a hurry, she stared at Zada for the length of several breaths, as if drinking in the sight of her. There was an odd look on her face, a longing so wild it registered more like hunger.
“Can I get you something to eat?” Zada offered.
The stranger shook her head. She glanced around the room. “You weren’t answering my messages,” she said, “and Flora and Augusta said there’s no getting through to you.”
“Oh,” said Zada brightly. “You know Flora and Augusta? They’re marvelous, aren’t they? They’re my best friends.”
At that, the stranger looked so sad that Zada decided to share her own good fortune, in the hopes it might wipe away the pain in those dark brown eyes.
Zada leaned in. “I’m going to be married tomorrow,” she whispered.
“I know,” said the stranger. “I’m sorry. I tried to get you out of Counseling, I really did. But nothing I said was enough, and I think my grandfather wanted to punish you. He knows he can use you to get to me.”
Zada could feel her forehead wrinkle.
“I would’ve written you a note,” the stranger told her, “but I think they’ll search you.”
Zada nodded. “They take such good care of me. Besides, I have no secrets from the Core.”
The stranger was watching her again. Her eyes raked over Zada’s features, and Zada felt a spark of something, the ghost of a thrill. For some reason, she wanted to reach out and brush her hand across this woman’s cheek. What a terrible impulse to have on the eve of one’s wedding.
“You said you didn’t have time,” Zada prompted.
The stranger jerked to attention. She plucked at her sash, which Zada realized was actually the strap of a case slung across her back.
“And what is that?” Zada asked, as the stranger very carefully placed what appeared to be an instrument case on the floor in front of Zada. It was covered in rain droplets. Zada took a step backward.
The stranger shook her head. “I thought, maybe if you saw me—” She swallowed. It looked painful. “Doesn’t matter.” Her voice sounded oddly rough. She cleared her throat. “It’s a triple cello,” said the stranger. “Your triple cello. Maybe if you play it, your memories will come back.”
“Oh,” said Zada vaguely. “Why would I want that?”
“Because you love playing music,” the stranger told her.
The stranger’s eyes traced the ceiling for a long moment and then returned to Zada.
There were tears in her eyes, Zada realized.
“You love it more than almost anything. It’s part of who you are, and I—” A muscle in her jaw twitched.
She swallowed again. “I have to believe you’re still in there somewhere.
They couldn’t have—there’s no way they took all of you, forever.
And that means someday, you’re going to want this triple cello again.
I think you’re going to need it. So please, take it. Okay?”
Zada frowned. “Are you all right?”
The stranger laughed, an oddly choked sound. “Why do you always ask me that?”
It was the strangest thing, but Zada had the sudden impulse to take this dripping stranger’s hand in her hand and say something warm, something comforting.
She wanted the stranger to smile, she realized.
She wanted the stranger to laugh, wanted to hear that laugh right up against her ear like a secret, and it was all completely inappropriate.
These were feelings meant for one’s spouse and no one else.
Zada breathed in and out. She closed her eyes and opened them again. She had the sense she was clinging to something by her fingernails, but she couldn’t fall. She couldn’t.
“You should go,” she said.
“Yeah,” said the stranger. She crossed the room and, with some trouble, lowered herself back out of the window. “Hey.” The stranger looked up at Zada with those deep brown eyes. The rain was starting to pour outside, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be,” said Zada. “Tomorrow will be the happiest day of my life.”
She shut the window and lay on her bed, listening for the faint sounds of someone scrabbling down the wall outside. Eventually, the noises stopped, and Zada went to sleep.