Page 99 of Homebound
“He did save me. Like he said he would.”
OO’s face had hardened. She had braced against being sacked without mercy. Surely he’d do it now.
He hadn’t.
Instead, he had sent an assistant to fetch her a warm drink and when they had remained alone, helpfully adjusted the overcoat over her breasts. He had soothed her worries and offered his special support in return for a small token of appreciation, of course, which involved Gemma being naked and available.
She had told him no.
Then he had fired her.
Sitting cross-legged in bed, Gemma finished the last piece of bread and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She eyed the calendar, the only wall art in her spartan room. Today’s date jumped out at her, bold and yet uncrossed.
She should cross it out as had become her nightly routine but Gemma couldn’t bring herself to do it. A small childish part of her wanted to pretend that if she didn’t put a fat diagonal line across the number, then this day wouldn’t technically be over. It would go on and on, forever, the last day in which she saw Simon, talked to him. She could pretend she’d last seen him onlytodayand this made-up realism could help her function. She couldn’t stop time but there were ways around it.
Resolutely, she rose from the bed and grabbed a pencil. Make-believe was a slippery slope to madness. Would Foy have hidden from the bitter truth? He absolutely would have not. Gemma reached up with the pencil and crossed that sucker off. And afterward, she put her face in her hands giving in to the hot, bitter tears that poured from her eyes.
Simon was gone and she’d never see him again.
???
The next day Gemma awoke early and wasted no time dressing and going out to look for work. She headed straight for the docks counting on the biggest employer in town to have something available.
A long line of hopefuls was already stretched out from the front gate. The docks did daily picks for odd jobs, she learned as she waited. People hired for the day got paid by the hour, so she’d receive her earnings without delay. On the downside, she ran a risk of never getting picked.
Gemma decided to give it a chance.
She was patient. She stuck it out despite the cold and empty belly and her aching foot. But after several hours her hope dimmed.
Many able-bodied men got called in to do heavy lifting and repairs after the Perali attack. Gemma’s small form was blatantly passed over by a wizened old man in a mushroom hat who was doing the selections.
Gemma quit the line and walked over to the militant barracks.
“The recruitment day is the first Thursday of each month,” she was told. “You’ve got to have good eyesight and be able to pass the physical test.”
Gemma thanked the lady for the information thinking that there was no way in hell she’d be able to pass the physical test. Not with that foot of hers.
Taking a mental note of the date nevertheless, she left the barracks and made stops at the school, and the sewing factory, and the comm center, and the magistrate offices, and a dozen other places of business. And everywhere she went she had to compete with hordes of other contenders for any job available, willing to work for a pittance, any day or time. And everywhere she was met with indifference and told to come back later, and at best her name was added to a waiting list of applicants.
By the end of the day when darkness had fallen and no glimmer of a prospect materialized on the horizon, Gemma began to grasp the full scope of her problem. There were no jobs to be had in the City.
It had been snowing all day and the streets were covered in sleet. By the time Gemma trudged back to the McKinleys’ home, her damp coat ceased to keep the cold at bay and she could no longer feel her toes inside her damp boots. Hunger gnawed at her insides.
The windows were ablaze with lights - a surprise, for Aunt Herise disapproved of using too much light because, naturally, electricity wasn’t free. Gemma picked up her pace, her attention sharpening.
A sleek little transporter was parked near the house, its side bearing a medical cross. It looked as conspicuous in their neighborhood as a whore in church. Did Uncle Drexel take a turn for the worse? Gemma took the steps two at a time and used her key to unlock the door.
It took Gemma a few blinks to adjust her eyes to the bright light of blazing lamps and her heart plummeted.
“Good evening, Gemma,” Dr. Delano greeted her politely.
He and two men in medical scrubs were sitting at the table with the family. The atmosphere in the room was expectant and a little tense. Aunt Herise was smiling but her eyes were darting back and forth with nervousness.
“Dr. Delano,” Gemma acknowledged him. “Is this a house call for Uncle Drexel?” She looked in her uncle’s direction silently inviting him to explain.
His long face hadn't brightened.
“Dr. Delano isn’t here for me,” he said sourly. “He’s here to talk to you, Gemma. And he had to wait for a long time for you to finally come home.” He gave her a look full of reproach, as if she had known about the visit but chose to be late.
