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She flies through the open trapdoor, almost banging her head on the edge of the floor panel, and she sees him right away. She says nothing because for an instant she’s sure it’s her imagination. That her mind has pasted Connor’s face on top of someone else’s, because she so much wants it to be him. But it’s not her imagination. It is him, and his eyes reflect her own surprise.
“Risa?”
The voice isn’t coming from Connor, and her eyes dart slightly to the right. It’s Cam. His own astonishment has already turned into a broad grin.
Risa finds her head beginning to quiver. “Cuh . . . cuh . . .” She doesn’t know which of their names to say first. The sight of the two of them in the same visual image hits her like a concussive shock and she takes a step backward, hitting the edge of the trapdoor. It slams shut an instant after Sonia cleared it. Had the woman not been faster up the stairs than she had been down, it would have crushed her skull.
Risa can’t reconcile what she’s seeing: These two separate parts of her life juxtaposed upon each other. It feels as if the universe itself has betrayed her. Exposed her, leaving her raw and vulnerable to all attacks. She didn’t leave either Connor or Cam on the best of terms. Suddenly defensive, her surprise at seeing them decays into suspicion.
“Wh-what’s going on here?”
Cam, still dazed by the sight of her, takes a step forward, only to be fully eclipsed by Connor stepping in front of him, not even aware that he had done it. “Aren’t you even gonna say hello?” Connor asks cautiously.
“Hi,” she says, with such weak impotence she’s angry at herself. She clears her throat, and only now notices there’s someone else here as well. A girl she doesn’t know, who, for the moment, is content to observe.
With the prospects of this grand reunion fizzling like wet fireworks, Sonia raps her cane on the ground in frustration to get their attention. “Well, don’t just stand there,” she says. “Give us a love scene worthy of the ages, or at least a viral meme.”
o;So you’re back,” she says to Connor, putting down a lamp she had just repaired. “And with friends, no less.”
She makes no move to embrace him or even to shake his hand. Neither does Connor. He holds his distance—he too having learned the fine art of defensive dispassion. Still, he’s not as good at it as Sonia. She can tell how relieved he is to be here and how happy he is to see her. Even if he doesn’t wear it on his face, she can sense it in his general aura.
“Hello, Sonia,” he says, then smirks. “Or should I say Dr. Rheinschild?”
This is a surprise. She hasn’t heard the name spoken aloud in years. Her heart misses a beat, but she still doesn’t let the emotion show on her face, and she chooses not to respond to his accusation—for an accusation is exactly what it is—although she knows a nonresponse is as good as an admission.
“Are you going to introduce me to your little posse?” she asks. “Or have you still not learned any manners?”
He starts with the chunky, vague-looking woman who seems out of place in this trio—although to be honest, none of them really seem to fit together.
“This is Grace Skinner. She saved my life a few weeks ago.”
“Hiya,” Grace says. She’s the only one who steps forward to force a handshake on Sonia. “I hear you saved his life too, so I guess we’re in the same club.”
Then Connor reluctantly introduces the Rewind. Sonia, however, stops him before he speaks the name.
“I know who he is.” She steps closer to Cam, peering through glasses as antique as anything else in her shop—the wage of refusing new eyes. “Hmph,” she says. “No scars at all—just seams. My compliments to your construction crew.”
He appears uncomfortable at her scrutiny, although she imagines he’s used to it. “They were surgeons, not construction workers,” he says a bit bristly.
“And they say you speak nine languages.”
“Plus I’ve been studying a few more.”
“Hmph,” she says again, irritated by the arrogant lilt in his voice. “I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that your existence is disgusting to me.”
“Understood,” he says with a resigned sigh. “You’re not the first to tell me that.”
“I won’t be the last, I’m sure—but as long as we understand each other, we’ll be fine.”
Outside a young couple walks by, engaged in conversation. Sonia watches them until she’s sure they’re not coming into the shop. They pass by and she’s relieved. It makes her realize she’s spent too much time in clear view with her visitors.
“Come in the back room,” she tells them. “Unless you want to man the register.”
“I have a lot of questions,” Connor says as he leads the others through the curtain to the back room.
“Then you’ll be disappointed, because I have no answers.”
“You’re lying,” he says, point-blank. “Why are you lying?”
