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Stupidly, I hesitated. The room had become my safe place. “Where am I going?”
“Wherever I choose to take you.” He sighed. “To a garden, outside, so we can talk.”
Talking? Awesome. But…to a garden!
I followed him, curious that I was going somewhere without being drugged or handcuffed. I was silent. If I said the wrong thing, I might wreck this opportunity.
He led me down a wide hallway, and although most of the doors to other rooms were closed, I dared to glimpsed inside one door that lay to the left. Within was a daylight-washed room with large white tiles laid out in a geometric design picked out in black. Sofas squatted in an arc.
We walked onward.
He brought us to a white-painted door, with a chunky brushed steel handle, and swung it open. From beyond, brightness cascaded in.
Cautiously, I padded outward, into the sky-capped realm of the outdoors. A breeze caressed me, soothing my skin with zephyr hints of coolness, and I inhaled.Glorious.
A meandering path of terracotta paving stones led to a pale-timbered gray bench. Trees and a high stone wall encapsulated this little world of green lawn and red and mauve flowering shrubs. The wall kept the garden area small, but birds twittered and rustled somewhere above.
A man kneeled on the grass, with his brown hair caught back in a rough tie, dirt-smeared clothes, and with a small shovel in hand. He was clearly the gardener. His bare muscled arms gleamed with sweat. He checked us out for a few seconds before returning to weeding.
We had an audience, and if I yelled, he would do nothing. I knew that by now.
When the doctor patted the bench, I sat clumsily. I was stunned by the change in scenery after all those monotonous days in my room. I had to shift along when he sat beside me. The scent of lavender strengthened. A lavender day, today. Today was also a gray-shirt and dark brown pants day.
The lines on his face seemed too close. Ditto, the faint stubble, the shaven sides of his peppery dark hair, and the strong sculpting of his mouth, jaw, and neck. I remembered the shock of his hands touching me.
To let myself breathe, I looked elsewhere—at sky and edge of wall, at the blues and the mellow, watercolor clouds. It felt as though I were inside a painting.
Tears welled. Was it wrong to sit beside this stranger and be grateful for being allowed to see sky?
“Here.” He offered me a white handkerchief.
I took it, gingerly. “I didn’t know these still existed.”
“Handkerchiefs? I’m old-fashioned. It’s clean. Blow your nose.”
I chanced a look at him as I shoved the cloth to my nose and blew. Old fashioned? He seemed the wrong age. Maybe doctors were allowed to pretend to be ancient. Maybe it was just him, but he was too young.
On the other hand, how old was he?
“How…um, old are you?” I cocked an eyebrow his way. Was he early to late thirties? Or older than that? Older, I thought.
“Hmmm.”
This was talking, of course it was, and joy gently blossomed inside me. It was stupid to react like this to something as simple as conversation.
“Names and ages.” He studied the wall or the trees, as he thought, and the man had rusted cogwheels in there, turning slow as creation. “I don’t think I trust you enough, yet, to give those.”
I choked back a laugh. Him? He did not trust me? I guess it made some sense.
“Yet?” I ventured.
He shifted his butt on the seat but didn’t slouch. He never relaxed in my presence. Low-slanting sunlight, peeking over the wall, sifted gold into the tips of his short, dark hair. It must be late afternoon.
“I’ve read the research on you, Charity. You write for a living but have never told anyone who knows you.”
“Oh. That. You’ve been researching me. Of course you have.” I eyerolled. “I write erotic stories, and yes, I make…made a good income. Yes, it was a secret.” And all that was another life away, another me. “How did you find out?”
“Everything you own was cleared out by the CNC Fraternity. Your lease was paid up and terminated. Laptop, phone, shoes, mementos, everything down to your underwear has been taken from your flat.”
