Part Two, Chapter Sixteen

Carina sat nervous and silent throughout dinner at the taqueria up the block from their motel. She nibbled a quesadilla but spent most of her time rearranging the beans on her plate and pretending not to notice the tension running just below the surface as Alvi and Donovan discussed the food, the town and whether the fine weather would hold. “On base they are saying a front is on its way and to expect storms,” Alvi said.

“Are their reports usually accurate?”

“Yes, unfortunately, and I’m afraid I have no choice but to head out in the morning. I’m behind schedule.”

Carina looked up. “Why would a peddler be on a schedule?”

“All of life is a schedule, my sweet, but I recommend you wait until the storm passes before trying to go home.”

“If you can travel through it, so can we. I hate this place. Being isolated in the country is better than being surrounded by the phonies and government parasites around here.”

“I have more experience traveling in bad weather than you have, and your route is directly in the path of the storm.” He shrugged. “But the front is still a few days out. Things might change. If you make good time, perhaps you’ll be home before it arrives.”

“We should have no trouble,” Donovan said. “We cleared some of the roads of hazards on our way up, and the animals are adequately rested.”

“I’ll try not to worry, then.” Alvi motioned to the waitress and ordered flan for everyone. “I shouldn’t be ordering dessert for a girl who hasn’t eaten her supper, but I’m afraid I can’t resist.”

Carina looked away. “I don’t want it, Alvi.” But once the custard was in front of her, she made short work of it.

After dinner Alvi walked them to their motel room, but left almost immediately, claiming to have a lot of packing to do. Donovan couldn’t imagine what kind of packing a man had to do when he took his home with him, but he was glad to be rid of him. Carina seemed glad to see him go, too. “He tires me sometimes,” she confessed as she collapsed into a chair.

“He’s a very intense person,” Donovan said diplomatically.

“Yes.” She gazed at nothing, pondering. “Thank you for putting up with all of this. I’ve been a lot of trouble.”

“You’ve been no trouble at all.” Donovan wandered over to his packages and pulled out the bottle of scotch.

Carina sat up. “Can I have some?”

“After last night?”

She ducked her head. “I’m sorry. Just a little to help me sleep.”

There were no glasses in the room, only earthenware mugs, but Donovan poured a generous amount for her, and then some for himself. He looked at all the packages that would have to go into the wagon and suddenly felt weary to the bone. Maybe it wouldn’t take long to get everything staged by the door. He could hire someone to pack the wagon in the morning. There would enough to do once they were on the road. No point making things harder than they had to be.

“You shouldn’t lie to me,” Carina said, startling him out of his reverie.

“What are you talking about?”

“You. Saying I’m no trouble. I’ve been nothing but trouble.”

“It’s not your fault.”

She frowned and sipped her drink. “It's not all my fault, but enough of it is. Still, you shouldn’t lie. Alvi lies. I’m not sure why, but he does. It depresses me to only get more lies from you. I count on you to tell me the truth when he won’t.”

“What does Alvi lie to you about?”

“You tell me.”

Too late, he saw the little trap she had sprung. Well, it wasn’t like he had been sworn to secrecy. “Alvi has to lie. He’s an informer.”

Carina nodded, as if the explosive news was something she had already suspected. “I should’ve realized long ago.”

“I don’t think there’s any malice in it,” Donovan said, surprised to find himself taking up for him. “He gives a lot of disinformation. He’s even helped people escape to the Underground.”

“So he plays both ends against the middle. Nice.”

“Whatever his faults, his feelings for you and Amalia are sincere.” He thought back to Alvi’s remarks while they were sitting in Margaret’s waiting room. “He'd do anything for you.”

“Except take no for an answer.” Carina tossed back the rest of her scotch and stood up. “I’m going to pack my things and get ready for bed. Thanks for the drink.”

After she left, Donovan stacked and staged his purchases near the door, then poured himself another drink and went into the bedroom. He found Carina in her new nightgown, thankfully white, not black, standing in front of her empty luggage. Clothes and other items were spread across the bed in disarray and there was an expression of utter confusion on her face. “Do you need help?” he asked.

“No, it’s just...” She shook her head and smiled at her own folly. “How hard can this be, right?” She began picking things up and stuffing them into a bag with abandon. “It just seems so hard to get started on anything. I’m afraid I’ll do it wrong, and then I won’t have another chance. It's like every decision is irrevocable.”

“I don’t think how you pack is going to make much of a difference on the rest of your life,” he said. “But if you don’t leave out something to wear tomorrow, you’re going to find yourself irrevocably having to unpack again.”

Carina looked at her bag with a start, then sat on the bed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know why you put up with me. I feel like I’ve totally lost my mind.”

“Lost your illusions, more like.”

“I guess I had a lot of them to lose.” She looked up and searched his face earnestly. “Isn’t anything as it seems?”

“I’ve never thought so.”

“I liked my illusions.”

Donovan fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a blue velvet box and handed it to her.

The necklace seemed to glow with an inner light in its nest of white satin. Carina’s breath caught and she looked up at Donovan in confusion. “This must’ve cost a fortune.”

“Not really.”

She rose to her feet. “You didn’t steal it, did you?”

“No.”

“But you probably stole to pay for it.” She hesitated, as if she would give it back. “I can’t wear blue any more. I already made up my mind about that.”

Donovan took the necklace out of her hands and held it up so she could see the full effect of the light shining through the gems, then he clasped it around her neck. “Of course you can wear it. It’s the color of your illusions.”

She reached a hand to her collarbone and touched the cool stones. Without meaning to, she smiled. When she looked at Donovan again, a little of the old warmth and humor lit her eyes. “I guess there’s no harm,” she said, “In wearing a reminder of how foolish I can be.”

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