Page 17 of The Flame

At eight o’clock, I served myself a portion of cold casserole and ate dinner on my own.

Before I climbed into bed, I caved and called Roman on my iComm. After about thirty seconds of uninterrupted beeping, a robotic voice told me that RW3Z was unavailable and invited me to leave a message.

“Hi, it’s me. Georga.” This felt weird, like speaking to myself.Think of it as writing a letter.“I suppose you’ve decided to spend tonight at the apartment in The Smoke.”

He’d never done it before. Even though he’d had that apartment, a second home, he’d never used it to run from our marriage.

Until today.

I cleared my throat. “Anyway, please just let me know if you’re okay. I’m worried.”

I fell asleep waiting for his reply. I didn’t get much rest, though. I kept waking up, and each time, Roman wasn’t in bed beside me, and he wasn’t in the spare room.

He never came home. He would have to, eventually, but it wasn’t like that would solve anything. This weight pressing down on my chest wasn’t about Roman not coming home last night, it was all about the reason he’d stayed away.

Morning finally arrived and, with it, the Sisters of Capra newsletter slid under the front door of the cabin, and a message from Roman.

“Georga, sorry I didn’t get back to you yesterday. I don’t want you to worry. I’m at the warden base. I’ll probably be home tomorrow. If not, I’ll let you know.”

I tried to analyze his tone. Calm and even, although some of the depth was shaved from the usual velvety strokes of his baritone. His voice sounded thin, as if half his essence had gone missing. Of course I worried. Roman wasn’t well. He should be at home, resting, healing, but I’d driven him away.

I called him back, and I tried not to analyze the reason he let it ring out to voice message again. “Thanks for replying. I was worried. Look, I understand if you don’t want to be around me right now. But this is your home, Roman, your cabin. I don’t have to be here. I can…I guess I could go stay with my parents for a few days. Let me know.”

His response came after I’d showered and dressed for the day. “The cabin is your home, too. I don’t need you to leave.”

Of course he didn’t. He had alternatives, his apartment in The Smoke.

A beep alerted me to a new message. Roman again. He hadn’t even tried to call first. He was definitely avoiding speaking directly to me. “We’ll talk. I just need time to sort a few things out.”

Following his lead, I replied with a voice message. “Okay, just take care of yourself. Please.”

There was no response.

5

Ipurposely arrived at the Foundation Hall with half an hour to spare. I’d visited my father once or twice at his work, so assuming he was still in the same office, I made my way up the stairs to the second floor, third door on the left. His name plaque was still in place.

I knocked and his familiar voice called for me to enter.

When he saw it was me, his grim expression lightened a fraction. “Georga, what brings you here?”

“I was…in the area,” I said lamely, not wanting to launch straight into my meeting with Geneva and the new dynamics of our family.

He stood and came around the desk to engulf me in a hug. I pressed my cheek to his chest and savored the moment. My father was not a lenient man, but he was a fair and consistent man, and I’d never once doubted his love for me.

When he released me, he invited me to take the visitor’s chair and returned to sit behind his desk.

He planted his elbows on the table and studied me, his brows drawn together.

I resisted the inclination to squirm. “Mom said you were concerned about me. I just want to let you know that I’m fine.”

He didn’t acknowledge that, but he did sit back in his chair. He was reserving judgment, and maybe contemplating how everything had gone so wrong, how I’d turned out so bad despite his efforts, how terribly I’d managed to disappoint him.

“You don’t approve of the Sisters of Capra,” I said in a small voice. I couldn’t help it. And what I really meant to say but found I couldn’t, was that he didn’t approve of me and Mom, and our involvement. “You think we’ve brought disaster upon Capra. You believe a woman’s place is to be suppressed and under council rule.”

He waved that aside with an irritable flap of his hand. “Don’t speak for me, Georga.”

“Then tell me what you think,” I challenged, as I never would have before. Already our relationship was changed. But some things remained the same. I’d always respected and trusted my father’s opinion.

---