XVII "Returning Home"

It was actually Riza who had the more difficult time in coming back to Central. She hadn't expected to, but one is rarely surprised by something anticipated.

Roy was in one of the numerous meetings that had been hastily requested when the various political powers had learned he was in Central, and so she had left to wander around the block. She'd never been down to this part of town, since it was poorer but peaceful. As she paced the streets, young children chasing between her ankles (followed inevitably by their flustered mothers), there was a sign in a shop window that caught her attention.

135 years in ownership of the Hawkeye family. Thanks for the business!

The first thing she thought was, 135 years is amazing for small facility like that. The second: Hawkeye?"

She ducked in through the narrow doorway, triggering a jolly little bell, but there was no one at the front counter. There was a small picture on the far wall, behind racks and racks of secondhand clothing, of a blonde girl that looked to be about sixteen. It was quite old, faded and curling at the edges of its glass frame.

"Linzey?"

Riza turned, startled, to see that a woman in her mid-fifties had emerged from the back room.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I thought you were someone else. But you couldn't be even her ghost, I don't think…you're probably twice her age."

Riza looked down at the dedication plate. It read, In loving memory of Linzey. Wrongs done will never be forgotten. "I've never heard of this shop before," she said.

"Small advertising keeps the costs down," the woman said, chuckling. "Can I do something for you?"
"No, I'm sorry…the name in the window caught my attention. My name is Hawkeye, too."

The woman's smile faded, and she muttered something softly to herself. To Riza's curious expression, she asked, "What's your name?"

"I—Riza," she said. Something didn't feel right.

The other shook her head. "So it is…how odd. Would you like some tea?"

So it was, indeed. Riza sipped at some kind of homemade brew as the woman, whose name was Ariel, explained herself. Her words seemed almost anticipated, pre-planned. "That girl, my sister of so many years ago, she was your mother. She died after you were born, and I was still young with our parents' business on my hands; I suppose I had trouble looking at you and not feeling angry and sad. I gave you a name, at least, before I gave you up. But I didn't know…we'd never figured out who your father was, there'd been five men and Linzey hadn't known their faces. She'd been a frightened child already fragile. I think you were her final stumbling block, as terrible as that is to tell someone."

Riza knew it wasn't her fault, but upon hearing those words she did feel an irrevocable guilt. She'd always imagined herself as the result of some tragedy, but it had always been a kind of frantic sadism, not a real wish. "Was I…given away directly to the military, or did they pull me out of an orphanage?"

"They must have taken you later. My father would never have forgiven me if I'd given them a child so young. He hated the military because of the wars he fought with them." Ariel shook her silver head again. "I did consider it at one point; I knew that the program was better funded than the common orphanages. In retrospect it didn't make much of a difference. Was it a difficult place to be?"

"Growing up under a strict regime is easier than going into one after a period of rebelliousness," Riza answered. It had never seemed difficult to her, but— "I've learned since about the childhood I missed, but when you're growing up and you don't know, you can't feel without."

"I keep feeling as though I should apologize," Ariel said, now for the second time. "I hoped then that I'd never have to explain about everything that happened, but I suppose as adults we all see things in a much more practical manner. I at least hope the world hasn't treated you too badly."

"Overall, I would say I've done all right. It's…it's been an adventure."

They sat together around the little wooden laundry table, sipping more tea, calming their nerves. Riza's mind was swimming with things not quite emotion, but not quite thought. What was she supposed to say, to think, to do? This wasn't the way an adoptee was supposed to meet their family for the first time, not by chance and surprise. She hadn't learned much useful, either.

The bell on the door jangled, and Ariel got up to tend to a customer. Before she'd reached the curtain, though, Riza heard Roy's voice calling her name.

"What's the matter?" He asked immediately when she fled for his arms. This was the life she wanted, away from all those past mysteries and tragedies and guilt. In school she'd always hated history, and she'd never managed to change her mind about it.

Someone tapped her arm with a piece of warm ceramic. Ariel had refilled her tea, was offering it as if in some small way seeking forgiveness.

"Riza, what's going on?" Roy asked, a rope pulling her insistently away from the drowning depths.

"I can't…" what was she supposed to say? It was all so confused in her thoughts, images and feelings that couldn't be expressed within one another.

Ariel tapped her with the mug again, more insistently. "I think perhaps we should all sit down."

It grew easier, hearing the facts repeated, knowing that at least they weren't some terrible lie. Having Roy's unspoken sympathies made it less painful, somehow, and she drifted back in her memory to all those times when he'd needed her. The realization of this mutual dependence had happened before, but not nearly like this, not when she herself had been the one at the bad end.

It was no wonder she was marrying him, she thought after he'd taken her back to the hotel, still weak and shaken. He knew her so well that there was nothing he had to say about it—and that was a kind of comfort.