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My father. The one who walked away from his family because of his fascination with the wilderness. “He left on his own.”
“And you said he was on the Council before?” She stares at me as if she wants me to connect the impossible dots.
“Are you saying my father committed a crime and was expelled to the wilderness, so the Council punished us?” It’s an outrageous claim—one I never considered before. As a member of the Council, he’d know things he wouldn’t share with me.
She sighs and places a hand on my arm. “We don’t know what really happened.” Her eyes meet Robert’s, his lips purse. “But we know what the Council is capable of. They released the sickness into select portions of the wilderness. Places where the rebellion percolated. But they used it more as a weapon against their own people, blaming the Undesirables for the ramifications. If they used it against your family, there must be a reason.”
“How do you know this?” The immensity of her claim is almost too much to handle. If it’s true, the Council, in whom I’ve always trusted to care for the people of Avren, are the enemy.
“Unless you find out the truth, you can never see things the way they really are.” Robert lowers his lips close to my ear and whispers, “We are part of the rebellion.” He passes his tray of cinnamon rolls to Felix to place in the oven. “The Council sent me to the wilderness with my mother when I was eleven because the guards caught my father in his bedroom with another woman. It tore our family apart—my father with a red anklet and my mother and I with blue. Two different classes in the fallen world.”
“Maribel! Get up here! I need your help!” Guy barks at me from the front of the shop.
I almost trip over my feet trying to please my boss, an unfamiliar situation. A line stretches outside the door, snaking to the right, making me wonder if Guy is adding a secret sauce to the bakery items.
My boss’s face is red, perspiration slick on his forehead as he ducks into a glass cabinet and removes two cinnamon rolls. “Here.” He gives me the rolls wrapped in paper. “Put these on a tray and deliver them to table seven.”
Tray? Table seven? I think he forgets this is my first day.
Beneath the counter, there’s a stack of blue trays, so I remove one and set the rolls on top of it. I scan the store for table numbers.
“Put them on a damn plate, phaloc,” Guy hisses as he removes three more pastries. “The rolls are going to Citizens, not vermin like you. I swear, all they send me are imbeciles.”
My cheeks flame as my heart races with the shame of his words. Never did my parents speak to Caron like this. It was almost as if she was a member of the family. My hands shake, placing the paper-covered rolls on a gold-lined plate.
Table seven. I don’t want to ask Guy anything.
The tray wobbles in my hands as I cross the floor, weaving in and out of patrons, trying to find the correct order. Customers lounge at the tables, laughing and talking—like I used to do with my friends—clueless to what lies beyond the walls of the great city. Small placards with pink borders stand in the center of each table, identifying their numbers. Seven is by the window.
I freeze.
Flynn sits beside Rosie, his arm draped over the back of her chair. He has a wide smile on his face, his attention on the guy opposite him. He laughs, and my stomach clenches remembering how we used to laugh together.
I skirt around the edge of the table, slightly behind Flynn, hoping he won’t look up. He can’t see me as an Undesirable. I need him to remember how it used to be—long talks in the city park, accidental brushes of skin, and heated kisses in secret. If he sees me this way, I don’t think I can take it.
Without a word, I place the tray on the table and turn to walk away, ready to leave this part of my life behind.
“Maribel?” a woman at the table calls.
I stop and close my eyes. I could ignore the woman’s recognition—continue walking away.
I turn.
Flynn’s eyes meet mine. Warm brown pools flecked with gold assess me—the woman he would have really wanted beside him—if my mother hadn’t died.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” the woman, a distant memory from school, continues to ramble. “It really wasn’t fair.”
Her voice drifts over my shoulder, lost in the haze filling my mind. I don’t move my eyes from Flynn’s to acknowledge her, afraid I’ll lose him forever if I do. He speaks volumes without uttering a word.
My body shudders, and I feel like I’m going to be ill. I rush to the rear of the shop, intent on reaching the supply closet before I empty the contents of my stomach. The door slams behind me. The vomit splatters into the corner, covering the cement cinderblocks. I lean an elbow against the wall and rest my head as my body continues to shake.
The door cracks open.
“Go away.” I don’t want Kit or Robert to see the mess in the corner.
The door squeaks as he enters, and I look up. Flynn’s blondish-brown hair falls over his right eye. He strings it behind his ear, a move I’ve helped him with many times before. “Maribel. Can we talk?” He takes a step into the closet, then stops, plugging his nose. “What died in here?”
Our love. Any hope for the future I created in my mind.
