Page 64 of The Pansy Paradox
“I’m curious about how you’ve managed this particular situation. Is your mother still collecting a pension?”
“She took a lump sum when she retired and invested it. It’s in a trust, under both our names. Well, just mine now.”
“My father wasn’t officially retired, but he did much the same with his own assets.”
“She bought private health insurance as well, so she wouldn’t have to use the Enclave’s.” That I did cancel, because talk about expensive. “The house is paid for, and in my name, and all our accounts were joint accounts. She started setting this all up after I turned eighteen and came back from my last summer at the Academy.”
His gaze touches mine, that thoughtful, scholarly expression in his eyes. “She clearly had a plan.”
“Right up to an urn with fake ashes.”
He exhales. “Interesting.”
It is, now that I look back at it, and it’s making me feel foolish for not asking about the rules that ran—and still run—my life.
“I know it sounds odd, like I never questioned anything, but it was just?—”
“The water you swim in,” he finishes. “As it is for all of us. Most of the time, Enclave rules save our lives, or at least make our jobs easier. But then there are times when…”
“They don’t?” I suggest.
“Or perhaps the rules are…” He pauses as if he can’t actually say wrong in relation to rules. “Detrimental. It’s possible another agent might not have questioned the fact that your family line was already earmarked for retirement.” He peers at me now. “Because why would the Enclave make a mistake like that?”
“But you did question.”
“And I can imagine a time when I wouldn’t have.”
Oh, the chagrin in his voice, the self-recrimination. I wonder how close I came to losing both my job and my umbrella. She trembles in my grip, but the sensation is filled with reassurance. That big black behemoth on Henry’s arm inflates its canopy, just a bit, also in encouragement.
We’ve reached the downtown and the pedestrian mall that holds the farmers market. It’s crowded today, mostly with locals. Off to the west, clouds promise an afternoon thunderstorm. Above us now, the sky is that brilliant blue. Everything smells ripe and earthy and warm.
But it’s Henry’s grin that delights me the most. It’s full of boyish wonder at the bounty of King’s End. He turns to me, and his expression is filled with a wistfulness that makes my heart squeeze.
“This is truly a marvelous little town.” He gestures with his umbrella, and for a moment, I see King’s End through his eyes. The cobblestones and stalls, the quirky little storefronts selling everything from groceries to hand-thrown pottery to vintage-inspired clothing.
“It must be quite comforting to have such a home,” he adds.
I’m not sure those words are meant for me, but I reply anyway. “Most of my friends couldn’t wait to leave.”
“The water you swim in is perhaps not as enticing as somewhere else.” He considers me now. “Where shall we start? I’m in your hands.”
Several highly inappropriate responses stream across my mind. With a tremendous amount of willpower, I choose none of them.
“I have an order to pick up,” I say instead and point to Matilda’s stall. “We can start there.”
Of course, that means introducing Henry Darnelle to Matilda and anyone else we might meet. I give him a quick once-over: umbrella, suit, ridiculous hat.
“If anyone asks,” I say—and they will, oh yes, they will—“You’re one of my friends from camp.”
“I’ve already established that at the bed and breakfast.”
Oh? “Really?”
“It’s the conclusion Carrie jumped to.” He hefts his umbrella again. “I thought it best to let her.”
It’s not that people in King’s End don’t carry umbrellas. I cast my gaze toward the sky above. They tend not to on days like today.
“She seems to be under the impression that the Academy is…” He clears his throat but doesn’t continue.
