That afternoon, Adeline visited Constance.
As she walked up the brick-paved path to the red front door, her heart hammered in her chest. Her palms oozed sweat. Adeline hadn’t even done anything wrong, but just knowing she was going to made her nervous.
She wasn’t cut out for this. What was she thinking? As she knocked on the door, holding the backpack, she considered calling the whole thing off—just sitting with Constance and talking and never deploying the listening devices.
But she couldn’t do that. Her father was counting on her.
Constance’s small home was styled like an English cottage. Inside, it was cozy, filled with art and personal pictures and large, plush furniture. Every wall was painted a warm color. The ceilings were all detailed, with painted shiplap and distressed brick.
Constance led her to a living room at the back of the home, where a natural gas fire burned in the fireplace and the accordion door was open to the patio outside. A cool breeze blew through. Adeline found it refreshing, a nice complement to the fire.
On the horizon, a thunderstorm was gathering, just starting to lay rain on the vast solar field known as the sea of glass. It moved toward the city as they began to talk.
Constance wore a teal wrap around her body and a knit hat. In her hands was a cup of chamomile tea, and on the pushcart nearby was a pot and cup for Adeline, which she had declined.
An older woman with gray hair pulled back into a bun and wearing a light blue uniform stopped at the edge of the living room.
“Do you need anything, ma’am?”
“No thank you, Gretta.”
When her footsteps had receded, Constance smiled at Adeline. “First, I want to tell you something about your father that I’ve never told anyone.”
Adeline swallowed as she nodded, suddenly nervous again.
“People who have never been sick think that the worst thing about losing your health is what it takes from you. Not being able to do what you want. To live the life you desire—to have the enjoyment taken from you. That’s not the worst of it. The worst part is seeing how the people around you change. Some leave you behind. The best lean in. And they treat you the same. They know you’ve changed, but they see the old you, and that’s what they remind you of. They treat you like the person you were before. They are your tether to your true self.”
Constance took a sip of tea. “The thing about your father is that as I got sicker, he never changed. He never treated me any differently. Not like I was sick. Or fragile. He treated me like a person—like the person he had known, a person who was simply trapped in a sick body. He was like the Rock of Gibraltar to me. He was my link to my old life.”
A strong wind gusted through the living room, whipping against the fire, making it hiss like a provoked snake in the desert.
Constance set the teacup down. “I think he learned that from your mother, from seeing what she went through. Watching someone you love lose their health has an effect on a person. It teaches you lessons no human should ever have to learn. And could never forget.”
Adeline stood on weak legs, fighting tears she knew were coming. “I need to use the restroom.”
She didn’t wait for Constance to respond. She staggered out of the cozy sitting room, down the hall, and slipped into the powder room. She placed her hands on the counter of the vanity and let the tears come.
She felt like she was in a sea in the middle of a storm, adrift in the dark, with no hope of sighting shore.
She felt lost.
Alone.
Confused.
She stared at herself in the mirror, at her bloodshot eyes and trembling lips. And she wondered if she was strong enough to do what she knew she had to.