Arc 2 – Chapter 7 – The Trouble with Simple Answers / Those We Leave Behind

Chapter 7

The Trouble with Simple Answers / Those We Leave Behind

            I wake in a cold sweat and for several seconds, I have no idea where I am.  My heart pounds against my ribs.  My blankets are tangled around my legs, and pale morning light slips between the curtains.

            I stare at the ceiling as I fight to calm myself.

            There is a knock at the door and Mary’s voice comes from the other side.

            “My lady?”

            “Come in,” I tell her.

            She enters and heads straight to my walk-in closet.  After a few minutes, she reappears and begins laying out my clothes for school while I reluctantly climb out of bed.

            Tomorrow is the day.

            The thought arrives without warning, not that I've forgotten.

            I've known for months that Angus's service was coming.  He turned eighteen and has graduated from the Elgossian Military Academy, which noble boys are required to attend.  Service isn't optional simply because he's a prince.

            Tomorrow has been sitting on the calendar for months, but tomorrow isn't just a date on the calendar anymore.  Which makes today the last full day I have with him before he leaves.

            Mary helps me into my school uniform as I stare at the calendar hanging there.

            “His Highness will return, my lady,” she assures me as she begins taming my hair for the day.

            “I didn't say anything,” I comment, giving her a look.

            “No, my lady.”

            “Then how did you know what I was thinking?” I ask.

            “You have been staring at the calendar for several minutes,” she tells me.

            I look back at it.

            “So I was,” I say with a soft smile as she continues working on my hair.

            After that, the rest of the morning passes quickly, and before long, I find myself in a carriage with the familiar buildings of St. Astra's Academy for Young Ladies coming into view.

            It is Saturna, my final day of classes before Heliosa… THE Heliosa.  It seems the past week has gone by too quickly since last Heliosa, when Angus and I had a whole day together.  At least during the past week there hasn’t been any more religious nonsense.

            Today, I have three classes to get through, History and Geography, Civics, and finally, Math.  Then I get one final afternoon and evening with Angus.

            I am absolutely not going to spend the entire day counting the hours, I promise myself.

***

            By the time I settle into my seat for History and Geography, I have successfully gone almost twelve minutes without thinking about Angus leaving tomorrow, mainly due to navigating the traffic in the halls and several acquaintances stopping me to chat.  Even then, I find myself distracted.

            Lena drops into the seat beside me and sets her books on the desk.

            “Tired?” she asks.

            “What makes you think I'm tired?”

            “You're staring at your book,” she points out as if it explains everything.

            “Yes,” I say slowly.  “That is generally what one does with books.”

            “It's upside down.”

            I look down, and indeed it is.  I turn it around.

            “Okay, maybe I’m a little tired,” I admit.  “I had a nightmare last night but I can’t remember what it was about.”

            She gives me a supportive smile and opens her own book.

            I smile despite myself and flip to the page written on the board at the front of the room.

            THE FOUNDING OF THE KINGDOM OF MUIRVEN

            Seeing the section we are going to be covering, I prepare myself because I am intimately familiar with this subject.  Angus's older sister Margaret is married to Prince Albert, and while I haven't exactly spent my free time interrogating him about his kingdom's history, Albert has opinions.  A great many opinions, as it turns out.

            Our instructor begins with a map of the southern Corvanian Mountains, tracing the old boundaries of the Muil'dra Empire and Ru'hven.

            For a while, I actually manage to lose myself in the lesson.  After all, the story is familiar.

            Dwarves of Muil'dra and humans of Ru'hven fought over access to the mountains and the resources beneath them. Neither side was willing to give ground until Dark Elves began emerging from deep beneath the mountains and threatening both peoples.

            Faced with an enemy that threatened both of them, they did the sensible thing, they stopped killing each other long enough to kill someone else.  The alliance worked.  The Dark Elves were driven back beneath the mountains and their routes to the surface were sealed.  Unfortunately, so was the reason for Muil'dra and Ru'hven to continue pretending they liked each other.

            “Although relations between Muil'dra and Ru'hven had never been friendly,” our instructor says, “the humans discovered after the campaign that their dwarven allies had deliberately interfered with shipments of food and other supplies intended for Ru'hven's armies.”

            The dwarves had expected the war against the Dark Elves to end with both nations weakened.  They had simply taken steps to ensure Ru'hven would be weaker, which turned out to be a spectacularly bad decision.

            A second war was fought between two armies that had only recently stood beside one another, and despite the damage done to Ru'hven's supplies, the humans had something the dwarves couldn't sabotage… numbers.  In the end, Muil'dra fell.

            “And so,” our instructor continues, “rather than exact vengeance upon the surviving dwarves for their betrayal, King Allen Al’Muir offered them mercy.  The remaining people of Muil'dra were permitted to join with Ru'hven, and from those two peoples arose the modern Kingdom of Muirven.”

            My hand goes up and beside me, Lena giggles softly.

            “I was wondering how long it would take,” I hear her say under her breath.

            “How long what would take?” I ask, giving her a look.

            She glances pointedly at my raised hand.

            Oh, right… She already knows where this is going because this comes up every time we study Muirven.

            “Yes, Lady Beira?” Instructor Upton calls, clearly expecting this.

            “Calling it mercy is somewhat misleading, isn't it?” I point out, lowering my hand.

            Lena covers her mouth to hide the ghost of a smile.

            “Please continue, Lady Beira,” the instructor says.

            “I don't mean that King Allen Al’Muir wasn't merciful.  He could have expelled the surviving dwarves, or done something considerably worse, but Ru'hven had just fought two wars back-to-back, and Muil'dra's people had spent generations living and working in the Corvanian Mountains.  Ru'hven needed them, but it’s not like the dwarves were treated as equals afterward.”

            “No,” the instructor agrees.  “They were not.”

            “So, simply saying the humans spared them and allowed them to become part of Muirven makes it sound considerably more generous than it actually was.”

            There's a brief silence.

            “Then how would you describe it?” Instructor Upton asks.

            “Practical,” I say without thinking.  “And unethical because the dwarves were effectively made into slaves for a number of centuries.  To call it merciful is a gross misrepresentation of generations of slavery, even if in the end they became equal.”

            Our instructor studies me for a moment before nodding.

            “A fair distinction,” she says.

            Lena is smiling at me in amusement and for the first time this morning, I realize I haven't thought about tomorrow in quite a while.

***

            Civics, proves considerably less comfortable subject matter than my previous class, not because I don't know the material.  I do.  Unfortunately, I know it from two entirely different perspectives.

            “Who can tell me the primary requirement for elevation into the nobility?” Instructor Greyson asks.

            Several hands rise around the room, but mine isn't one of them.  I know the answer, as should everyone in the class.

            The instructor chooses a girl near the front whose name eludes me.

            “An affinity, Instructor,” she answers.

            “Correct.  Regardless of birth, a citizen of Elgoss who demonstrates a magical affinity may be elevated to the lowest tier of nobility.  Now, what accompanies that elevation?”

            “Land and title,” the girl answers.

            Beside me, Mari's pen continues moving across the page despite all of this being basic knowledge all nobles should know.

            “And what occurs,” our instructor asks, “when someone born into the nobility reaches adulthood without manifesting an affinity?”

            Fewer hands rise this time, that surprises me.  Not because the answer is obscure, it isn't.  Perhaps knowing something exists and being comfortable saying it aloud in a room full of people it could theoretically happen to are different things.

            “Their noble status is revoked,” another girl answers when called on.

            “Correct.”

            Nothing about this is new to me.  The original version of me knew it before she was old enough to understand why it mattered.  It was simply part of growing up noble in Elgoss.  Michelle, on the other hand…

            Congratulations.  You were born with the wrong innate characteristic.  Please surrender your social class upon reaching adulthood.

            Seventeen-year-old me would have had opinions.  Come to think of it, sixteen-year-old me has a few, too, regarding this subject.

            “Those,” our instructor says, “are the laws. Today I am less interested in whether you know them than in whether you believe they are fair.”

            Oh, this is a different way to take the class this year.

            Several of the other girls straighten in their seats and even Mari stops writing.

            “Lady Amani, do you believe the affinity requirement is fair?”

            The girl hesitates a moment before answering.

            “Yes, Instructor,” she says.

            “Why?”

            “Nobles are expected to serve the kingdom,” she explains.  “Many of those duties require magic.”

            “Then noble privilege is compensation for service?” Instructor Greyson asks.

            “In part,” Lady Amani states.

            “Does anyone disagree?” the instructor asks.

            A hand rises across the room.

            “What about someone born noble who doesn't have an affinity?” the girl, Alissa McConnel, I believe her name is, says when pointed to. “They didn't choose not to have one.”

            “Neither did a commoner choose to be born without one,” another girl says.

            “That isn't the same thing,” Alissa argues.

            “Why not?” Instructor Greyson asks, interrupting whatever the other girl was going to say.

            “Because the noble loses something,” Alissa argues.  “And the commoner never had the opportunity to possess it.”

            That produces several murmured conversations amongst the students present.

            I sit back slightly.

            Okay, maybe Civics isn't going to be boring today.

            Our instructor allows the discussion to continue before raising her hand and the room quiets.

            “Lady Beira,” Instructor Greyson calls on me.

            Damn it.

            “Yes, Instructor?”

            “You have remained unusually quiet,” she says.  “Do you believe the system is fair?”

            I glance toward Mari, who gives me the slightest of nods as way of encouragement.

            “No.”

            The answer comes out before I can think better of it, and several heads turn toward me.  Admittedly, as a Duke's daughter with two magical affinities and engaged to a prince, I’m possibly not the ideal person to announce that Elgossian nobility is unfair.

            “I mean... not entirely,” I clarify.

            “What part do you consider unfair?”

            “That someone's rights depend upon whether they can use magic,” I state.

            A girl across the room frowns, and replies, “But noble status isn't a right.”

            “Isn't it?” I ask, looking at her.

            “No. It's a privilege,” she states, and I gesture for her to continue.

            “My father governs his lands in the King's name,” she explains.  “He is responsible for protecting the people who live there, collecting taxes, enforcing the King's laws, maintaining roads, and organizing defenses if they're needed.  His affinity allows him to perform duties a common citizen cannot.”

            She has a point, I concede in my head.  Inside a part of me screams that a group of common citizens can potentially do everything a noble can, given proper education, minus magic-specific tasks like fighting certain monsters that are only weak to certain affinities… though even that could be overcome with proper planning as well.

            “So, if someone cannot perform the duties expected of a noble,” she finishes, “why should they receive the privileges?”

            “I didn't say they should,” I point out.

            “But you said taking those privileges away is unfair.”

            “I said making someone's rights depend upon magic is unfair,” I clarify.

            “But she is talking about privilege,” I hear a voice from beside me say.

            I glance at Mari.  She's staring at me in a way that tells me to address the girl's argument instead of preaching about rights.

            “Fine.  Let’s talk privilege then,” I concede.

            I turn back toward the other girl.

            “But what happens to the person?” I ask her.

            “The person?” she asks in return, confusion on her face.

            “Let us say that someone grows up in a noble family.  They're educated for that life.  Their home, their future, and probably most of their relationships are built around it.  Then they reach adulthood without an affinity,” I say, gesturing vaguely.  “So, we just tell them ‘Sorry, you're not one of us anymore?’”

            “They don't stop being part of their family,” she replies, shaking her head.

            “Legally, they stop being part of their class,” I point out.

            “Yes.”  She nods, still not getting my point.

            “And you don't think that changes anything?” I ask.  “For most nobles, losing one’s status is tantamount to being removed from one’s house and family.  They are seen as a shame on the family name.  Some are even barred from ever using their family name again.”

            Her eyes widen in shock.

            “But the opposite happens too. Someone born a commoner who develops an affinity becomes noble,” says a girl beside her.

            “And receives land,” another adds, then continues, “which gives commoners more opportunity for advancement than they would otherwise have.”

            “But only commoners with magic,” another girl points out.  “The system isn’t equal for all.”

            And there it is.

            The last girl to speak clasps her hands over her mouth as if it had betrayed her as the discussion spreads amongst the girls.  Someone points out that magical ability provides an objective standard rather than allowing the Crown to ennoble people arbitrarily, then someone else asks why magical ability should qualify a person to administer land in the first place, while another points out that newly elevated nobles receive instruction before being expected to govern anything.

            “How much?” Instructor Greyson asks the class, pausing the discussion.

            None of the other girls seem to know, but I don’t answer even though I do.

            I glance at Mari and realize she has been transcribing the entire discussion.

            “Do you?” I ask her, making her pause.

            “Yes,” she says, then continues writing.

            I wait for a moment but she says nothing else.

            “Mari.”

            She looks at me, her expression flat as usual.

            “How much?” I ask her.

            “It varies.”

            “Lady Beira?” the instructor calls and I look at her. “If you believe the current system is unfair, what would you replace it with?”

            Politics was much easier when my primary experience with it involved complaining about politicians on the internet.

            “I don't know,” I answer truthfully.

            “What about eliminating the affinity requirement?” someone suggests.

            “And then what happens to commoners with affinities?” Instructor Greyson asks.

            “They could still be ennobled,” the student replies.

            “Then magical ability still determines who gets elevated,” I point out.

            “Not if other people can be elevated too,” she says.

            “Based on what?” I ask. “Service?”

            “Who decides what qualifies?” asks the girl who said noble status was a privilege.

            “The Crown,” the previous student replies.

            “So instead of something objective, noble status depends upon whether the Crown likes you?” I ask.

            There is more murmuring as I lean back in my chair.

            This conversation has taken a turn.

            I know what Michelle thinks about hereditary nobility, or at least, I know what she would have thought about it.  The entire concept had sounded absurd when studying world history in high school. 

            However, the original Beira didn’t feel that way, not entirely.  For her, nobility wasn’t merely wealth or a fancy title.  There were duties attached to it.  Expectations.  Obligations to the Crown and to the people living on their lands.  And magic did matter.

            Even if nobility were a privilege, that didn’t mean it was fair.  It also doesn't make every part of the current system meaningless… damn it, I’m starting to argue with myself now.

            I glance toward Mari.

            She meets my eyes and there is the slightest shift in her expression.

            “I don't know,” I mutter.

            Her eyebrow moves.

            “I know that's what I already said,” I tell her.  “I was hoping you'd have an answer.”

            She looks back toward the instructor and gives an almost imperceptible shrug.

            By the end of class, we have successfully solved none of the inherent inequalities of Elgossian society.

            I gather my books while the rest of the room dissolves into smaller versions of the argument we've spent most of the class having.

            Mari closes her notebook and I look at her.

            “You barely said anything,” I state.

            One eyebrow rises.

            “Yes, I know. You said enough,” I reply with a sigh.  “Lunch?”

            She nods.

***

            We find Lena waiting outside the classroom, and the three of us have barely started toward the dining hall when Izzy comes barreling down the corridor toward us.

            “There you are!” she shouts in dramatic Izzy fashion.  “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

            “You knew where our Civics class was,” I say and Mari gives her a look that practically agrees with me.

            “Yes, but I didn't want to wait outside it for you,” Izzy replies as if that were the natural conclusion.

            “That isn't the same as looking everywhere,” I point out.

            “I looked in three places,” she states with a huff.

            “Were any of them our classroom?” I ask, my expression as flat as Mari’s.

            “Nooooo…” Izzy says, drawing it out.

            “Then why…” I start to ask, but she cuts me off.

            “I'm hungry,” she states as if that explaines everything.  She then hooks one arm through mine and starts pulling me toward the dining hall.

            I look helplessly back at my other friends.  Lena just smiles and Mari simply follows.

            By the time we have our food and find somewhere to sit, Izzy has informed us about an argument between two girls in her previous class, complained about something served at breakfast in the castle, asked Lena whether she has finished a novel I have never heard of, stolen something from my plate, and denied stealing it while still chewing.

            I stare at her.

            “What?” she asks innocently.

            “That was mine,” I point out.

            “I don't know what you're talking about.”

            “You're still chewing it,” I add.

            Izzy covers her mouth while she chews.

            “That proves nothing,” she replies.

            Lena laughs as I look to Mari for support, but she ignores me and takes another bite of her lunch.

            “You saw her.”

            Mari's eyes move briefly toward Izzy, who freezes, then she looks back at me and gives me a fraction of a nod.

            “Thank you, Mari,” I say.

            “You're welcome.”

            “I don't appreciate being judged,” Izzy says after swallowing.

            Mari looks at her.

            “See? She's doing it again,” Izzy points out.

            “I think that's just her face,” Lena says.

            Mari turns her eyes toward Lena. Lena immediately looks down at her plate.

            “Sorry,” she replies, instantly remorseful.

            For a little while, that's all lunch is.

            Izzy talks enough for the four of us.  Lena occasionally manages to get a word in, and Mari eats quietly, listening to everything, only contributing whenever she actually has something worth saying.

            And I... I look at the clock.

            Izzy is saying something about one of her brothers, but I missed enough of the beginning that I have no idea which one.  “...and I told him that if he doesn't want me borrowing his things, he should stop owning things I want.”

            “That isn't how ownership works,” Lena informs her.

            “It should be,” she states.  “It would be more convenient.”

            “For you,” Mari interjects.

            “And?” Izzy replies.

            Mari looks at me as Lena laughs and I know exactly what she is asking.

            What's wrong?

            I shake my head slightly.

            Nothing.

            Her eyes remain on me for another second.

            That wasn't true.

            I look away.  A few moments later, Izzy steals from my plate again and this time I don't try to stop her.  That gets Lena's attention.

            “You're letting her do that?” she asks.

            “What?”

            Lena points at Izzy who is hurriedly stuffing the evidence into her mouth.

            I shrug.

            “You always complain,” Lena points out.

            I shrug again and Izzy slowly stops chewing.

            “Oh no,” she says dramatically.

            I glance at her.

            “You're sad,” she states, pointing her fork at me.

            “I am not.”

            “You let me take your food,” she replies.

            “I let you take one thing.”

            “Two,” she corrects.

            “I called you out on the first.”

            “There were three things I took,” she replies.

            I stare at my plate and see that there is an extra piece of fish missing.

            “When did you take a third?” I ask, looking at her.

            “Not important,” she says with a wave of her hand.

            “Izzy…”

            “Why are you sad?” she asks.

            I sigh, not having the emotional energy to argue.

            “Angus leaves tomorrow,” I tell her.

            “Oh…”  For once, Izzy has nothing immediately ready to say.  Her expression falls, and I instantly regret bringing it up.

            “He'll be fine,” I add.  “And it's only a few months.”

            “I know,” she says with a nod.

            “And he has to do it,” I say.  “It’s not like he has a choice.”

            “I know that too.  He is my brother, you know.”

            I've spent months thinking about what his leaving means for me, but Izzy is losing him for exactly the same amount of time.

            Her hand creeps toward my plate again and I slap it.

            “Hey!”

            “Me being sad doesn't entitle you to my lunch,” I point out.

            “It should,” she says, puffing her cheeks out.

            “There are very few things you don't think should entitle you to my lunch,” I state.

            “I am a princess.”

            “You have your own lunch,” Mari says plainly.

            “I don't want mine.”

            And like that, the moment passes.

            I look around the table.

            Izzy is already telling Lena something else.  Lena is listening with that slightly helpless smile she often gets around her and Mari has gone back to eating.

            For months, I've known tomorrow was coming and I've hated it.  I've wished time would slow down and that Angus could stay, but sitting here, surrounded by people I love, another thought occurs to me.

            I'm lucky.

            Painfully, ridiculously lucky.

            Tomorrow Angus leaves, which means I have Angus to miss, but I have Mother and Father waiting at home.  I will still have Izzy stealing my food and Lena sitting beside her while Mari watches all of us while pretending she isn't.  I still have Rún and my classes at St. Astra's.  I have a life that, once upon a time, a part of me would never have believed could belong to me.

            I look down at myself.  At the uniform Mary helped me into this morning, at the hand holding my fork, and at the strands of celeste blue and gold slipping forward over my shoulder.

            It’s mine.  All of it, mine.

            “I should thank Damian more,” I state suddenly.

            Mari looks up and Izzy stops talking… perhaps I said that louder than I intended.

            “For what?” Izzy asks.

            “This,” I say, gesturing vaguely around me.

            Izzy looks around the dining hall and cocks her head to the side.

            “The food?” she asks.

            I shake my head.

            “My life.”

            “Oh.”  Izzy considers this.  “That makes more sense.”

            Mari is still looking at me and I know that look too.

            “Oh, don't start,” I tell her.

            “Did I miss something?” Izzy says, looking between us.

            “No,” I answer.

            Mari lowers her eyes to her plate, not saying anything.

            “I know what you're thinking, Mari,” I tell her.

            One eyebrow rises and she looks back at me.

            “What is she thinking?” Lena asks, looking at the two of us.

            “That Damian murdered me,” I state.

            Izzy chokes and Lena nearly drops her fork.

            Mari takes another bite of her food.

            “Geez, sorry,” I tell them.

            “Beira!” Izzy hisses.  “Not while I'm eating!”

            “I didn't realize there were appropriate times to discuss my murder,” I tell her dryly.

            Lena is staring at me.

            “Damian murdered Michelle,” I clarify.

            “Yes, you’ve told me the story,” she says.

            “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

            “Because you just announced it nonchalantly over lunch!”

            I glance around and thankfully, nobody at the nearby tables appears to be paying us any unusual attention.

            I lean closer.

            “Fine.  Damian murdered me,” I say quietly.

            Izzy groans and Mari looks at me again.

            “I know,” I repeat. “That doesn't mean I can't be grateful, because if he hadn't done what he did, I wouldn't be here.”

            Nobody says anything.

            “I wouldn't have Mother or Father.  I wouldn't have Angus and I wouldn't have any of you,” I point out.

            Izzy’s expression softens as does Lena's, while Mari just watches me.

            “And yes,” I continue, “I know murdering Michelle was wrong, and putting him into Beira's body when part of her soul was still there was also...”

            “He didn't know?” Mari asks, slightly tilting her head.  “He didn't check.”

            I open my mouth, then close it, because she's right.  Damian hadn't known that part of Beira remained because he'd been in a hurry.  Her body was dying and he believed the ritual had removed her entire soul.  He simply hadn't looked closely enough to discover the tiny fragment left behind and by the time he did, it was too late.  Michelle and Beira were already becoming entangled and eventually, separating us would have meant deciding which one of us deserved to keep living, which was a choice neither of us was willing to make, so we made another.

            I touch the gold side of my hair without thinking.

            “Neither part of me regrets merging,” I tell them.  “I like who I am and I love my life.”

            Mari gives a tiny nod.

            “Then you understand why I'm grateful.”

            She gives another and I wait for the rest.

            “That's it?” I ask when she doesn’t add anything.

            “Yes,” Mari replies without emotion.

            “You agree with me?”

            She nods.

            “But you also think I should be angry with Damian,” I state.

            She nods again.

            “You know those things contradict each other?” I ask.

            She shakes her head.

            “You could elaborate occasionally.”

            Mari returns to her lunch, not bothering to explain further, and something about that…  something about sitting here talking myself in circles while Mari listens, saying almost nothing until she finds the few words that matter, feels familiar.  Something outside of Beira’s memories.

            I've always assumed that's why I understand Mari so easily.  She and Beira grew up together.  She's my cousin.  Beira knew every tiny shift in her expression, every look over her glasses, every silence that means continue and every silence that means you know perfectly well why you're wrong.  Those memories are mine now, so of course I understand her.

            Except...  Michelle understood someone else this way once too.

            Someone who would sit quietly while I rambled myself into increasingly elaborate excuses.  Someone who rarely needed to tell me I was being an idiot because one look usually did the job.  Someone who figured out the secret I was terrified to tell her and simply waited until I was ready.

            Chloe.

            My fork stops halfway to my mouth and Mari notices.

            Her expression changes so slightly that I doubt anyone else at the table sees it, but I do.

            What happened? her eyes inquire.

            “Nothing,” I mutter.

            Her eyes remain on me and I look down.

            “Okay. Not nothing.”

            She waits.  Chloe would have waited too.

            Gods, when was the last time I thought about her?

            The question comes so suddenly that my stomach twists.

            I don't know.  I've thought about Earth.  About my- Michelle’s mother and my grandparents.  About who I was in that life.  But Chloe?  Not yesterday or last week.

            I try to remember the last time her face crossed my mind and can't.

            Has it been months?  More?  I have been here for over a year.  Living and growing.  Going to school.  Falling even more hopelessly in love with Angus.  Becoming a daughter to parents who thought they'd lost theirs.  Becoming a new version of Beira, and yet, somewhere on Earth…

            I don't even know… I don't know what happened to Chloe after I died.  I don't know if Mom told her.  I don't know if anyone told her.

            My throat tightens.

            “Beira?” Lena asks, knocking me out of my thoughts.

            I look up and all three of them are watching me now, even Izzy has gone quiet.

            “Sorry,” I mutter.

            “What's wrong?” Izzy asks.

            I almost say nothing again, but Mari's expression stops me.

            I sigh.

            “I was thinking about someone,” I admit.

            “Who?” Izzy asks immediately.

            Lena gives her a look.

            “What?” Izzy says defensively.

            “You don't have to tell us,” Lena says.

            “No. It's okay,” I say as I put my fork down.  “She was someone from Earth.”

            The mood shifts around the table, it’s discomfort exactly.  They all know about Michael and Michelle.  About the life I had on Earth before, but knowing about it and hearing me talk about it are two different things.

            “Her name is… was, Chloe.”

            Mari's eyes stay on me.

            “She was...” I stop.

            What was Chloe?  Simply saying she was my friend seems painfully inadequate.

            “She was the first person who really knew Michelle,” I explain.

            For once, even Izzy seems to understand that silence is the better option.

            “She figured it out before I told her… or most of it, anyway.  She never pushed.  She just...” I glance at Mari, who is waiting.  “She was there for me.”

            Lena reaches across the table and rests her hand over mine.  I turn mine beneath hers and squeeze.

            “I haven't thought about her in a long time,” I tell them. “I don't even know if she knows Michael died.”

            Izzy's eyes widen.

            “Wouldn't your family tell her?” she asks.

            “I don't know,” I admit.

            My mother knew Chloe existed.

            That doesn't mean she would have called her, especially after… I stop that thought before it goes anywhere useful.

            “I was just gone,” I state quietly, and suddenly Angus is there in my thoughts again.

            Tomorrow morning.  I've spent the entire day counting down the hours because I don't want him to leave, but I know when he's leaving, I know why, and I know he's coming back.  I get this afternoon and evening with him… I even get tomorrow morning, sort of.  I get to say goodbye.

            Chloe got none of that.  One day Michelle existed, then a truck hit me and I woke up here.  What did Chloe get?  Unread messages?  A phone that never answered?  Nothing but silence?

            My eyes sting from tears building in them.

            Damn it, not here, not now.

            Lena squeezes my hand reassuringly, and Izzy reaches across the table, then apparently decides that's too far, gets up, walks around it, and hugs me from the side instead.  I lean into her, thankful for my friends. 

            Mari remains where she is.  She doesn't tell me not to feel guilty or that Chloe is probably fine.  She doesn't offer some comforting answer neither of us can possibly know is true.  She just looks at me with those eyes that say more than her mouth ever will... You miss her.

            “Yes.”

            Mari gives the smallest nod.

            For a moment, the four of us sit there, then Izzy reaches toward my plate and I slap her hand without looking.

            “Ow!”

            “I'm sad, not blind,” I tell her.