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“Hannah’s the teacher who saved Connor and me from the Juvey-cops when we were first on the run,” Risa explains.
“Oh,” says Cam impotently. “Good to know.” All her explanation does is reinforce the history Risa has with Connor. Cam hates having to hear it.
Grace, happy to fly beneath the radar of conversation, lines up her cache of candies on the living room’s coffee table. The bowl of Jolly Ranchers is still half-full, and the sight of it sparks absurd discord in Cam. Option Anxiety, he’s come to call it. “One man’s meat,” he mumbles to himself, but realizes it’s loud enough for the others to hear, so he explains. “It’s not just taste buds that create a preference for flavors,” he tells them. “My internal community is always at odds when it comes to things like those candies. A part of me loves the green apple and another the grape. Someone has a particular affinity for the peach ones—which they don’t even make anymore—and someone else finds the whole concept of Jolly Ranchers nauseating.” He sighs, trying to dismiss his pointless Option Anxiety. “Bowls of mixed things are the bane of my existence.”
Connor looks at him with a blank zombie stare that must be well practiced. “You talk as if someone actually cares.”
Risa offers that slim grin to Cam again. “How can people be interested in the inner workings of your mind, Cam, when they can’t figure out the inner workings of their own?” It sounds like a sideways snipe against Connor, but then she gently pats Connor’s hand, turning a perfectly good snipe into a playful barb.
“Why don’t you choose a flavor for me?” Cam asks Risa, trying to be playful too, but Risa avoids the issue by saying, “After the trouble Roberta went through to find you such nice teeth, why rot them?”
“I got my favorites, but that don’t matter,” Grace announces. She indicates her well-spaced row of candies and puts a definitive end to the subject by saying, “I always eat them in alphabetical order.”
Cam decides to obey the sense memory that doesn’t like hard candy and doesn’t take any.
“How are your friends at Proactive Citizenry?” Risa asks Cam tentatively.
“They’re no more my friends than they are yours,” he tells her. He’s about to tell her that he’s turned on them and has given up the shining spotlight to help her, but Connor steals the reveal from him.
“Camus showed me some damaging evidence we can use against them.”
Cam regrets having shared it with Connor at all. Had he known he’d come face-to-face with Risa here in Akron, he would have saved it all for her. Now he resents Connor for even knowing.
“And there’s more,” Cam adds. “You and I can talk later,” he tells Risa.
Connor shifts uncomfortably and turns his attention to the pictures around the room. “My guess is that Hannah is divorced or recently widowed. There are pictures of a man with her in some photos, including one with Dierdre—but Hannah’s not wearing a wedding ring.”
“Definitely widowed,” says Grace without looking up from her candy organization. “You don’t keep pictures out of a guy you divorced.”
Connor shrugs. “Anyway, it looks like she’s really taken to raising this Dierdre as her own.”
“She has,” Risa admits. “It was a good choice for us to leave her with Hannah. Not that we had much of a choice.”
The direction of the conversation makes Cam uncomfortable. “Exactly whose kid is it?”
Connor smirks at Cam and puts one arm around Risa. “Ours,” he says. “Didn’t you know?”
For a moment Cam believes him, for he knows Risa has many secrets yet to be discovered. Cam is disheartened until Risa slides deftly out of Connor’s embrace.
“She was a storked baby that Connor picked up from a doorstep,” Risa explains. “We took care of her for a brief time; then Hannah volunteered to take her off of our hands before we were shuttled to the next safe house.”
“And did you find motherhood an interesting experience?” Cam asks, relieved enough to be amused at the thought.
“Yes,” says Risa, “but I’m in no hurry to repeat it.” Then she stands, moving away from both Cam and Connor. “I’ll see what’s in the refrigerator. You must be hungry.”
After she’s gone, Connor’s demeanor changes a bit. He becomes dark. A brooding gray like the sky outside. “You’ll keep your eyes and your hands off of her. Is that clear? You will not cause her any more grief than you already have.”
“Ah! The green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on!” Cam says. “She told me you were the jealous type, but you’re a weak and pale Othello.”
“I’ll unwind you with my bare hands if you don’t leave her alone.”
That makes Cam genuinely laugh. “Your pointless bravado will be your downfall. All that arrogance with nothing to back it up.”
“Arrogance? You’re the one who’s full of himself! Or full of others, I should say.”
It’s like a sword has finally been drawn in the duel. Grace looks up from her Jolly Ranchers, even Dierdre and the dog, way across the room, seem to tune in. How will Cam respond? Although the wild parts of himself want to lash out in anger, he reins them in. Anger is what Connor wants. It’s what Connor knows how to deal with. Cam won’t oblige.
“The fact that I’m physically, intellectually, and creatively better than you is not arrogance or conceit; it’s a simple fact,” Cam says with forced calm. “I’m the better man because I was made to be. I can’t help what I have any more than you can help what you don’t.”
