The Triad

by Sarah Ettritch

  “No. Because Mo and I see enough of each other already.” But balancing her time with her Chosens wasn’t the only reason she wanted Lesley to go with her to the lessons. When Jayne had allowed herself to wallow in her disappointment at being rejected by the art college, and had thrown what amounted to a temper tantrum, rudely ignoring beeps and childishly removing all her artwork from the walls, Lesley hadn’t judged her. She hadn’t told her she was foolish, spouted platitudes, told Jayne to get over it, or twisted the application committee’s knife further. She’d listened; she’d comforted. Jayne would feel safe making mistakes in front of her, and wouldn’t be consumed by shame when Lesley heard Reed’s criticism at the same time she did. Jayne trusted both her Chosens, but for this, she wanted Lesley. “I’ll ask Lesley, but I don’t know if she’ll do it.”

  “She’ll know how important this is for you. Why would she say no?”

  Because Jayne had hurt her in a way nobody else could. But, once again, Carol was right. Unless it would interfere with her studies, Lesley would say yes, and Jayne’s love for her would deepen—along with her guilt.

  *****

  Mo examined the seating plan Adelaide had drawn up for the Joining supper. She peeked at Les, then reached over and squeezed her hand. She wanted to smile and cry when she felt Les’s answering squeeze. Here they were reviewing and discussing all the details they’d agreed upon last week, while avoiding more painful topics—or maybe that wasn’t true. What was there to say? If Les wanted to talk about it, she’d talk. Mo had expected Les to shut her out of her life while she licked her wounds, but their upcoming Joining Ceremony kept bringing them together, and Les seemed to want Mo around; she’d even invited her along to the Military Academy when she’d attended a half-hour meeting about the next phase of her commander training. Afterward, they’d flown sims together—cooperative sims, not ones in which Les could blast her.

  Yep, a week after their Joining Ceremony, Les would be off to the Military Academy. Lousy timing, but at least her Chosens could visit and it would only be for two weeks.

  “It looks like Mama did exactly what we wanted,” Les murmured.

  Mo nodded. All their Falcon friends were sitting together. Peggy was at a secondary family table, not at the main table, but it was the best they could do, and more than some families would do, under the circumstances. Ann was at the 72 table, which was comfortably away from the main family table, where Andrew would be. They could try to lob food at each other, but since they wouldn’t have a clear line of sight, someone else would end up with potato in their hair. Best of all, Mo and Les had managed to persuade Adelaide to put Carol and Ronald at the main table. Robert Adams and his date would sit with Jayne’s other relatives at a secondary table. When they were all on display at the Chosen House, they’d treat him like a brother. At the private supper, where appearances weren’t as important, they’d knock him down a notch.

  “Should we shake Robert’s hand when we meet him?” Mo asked.

  Les looked up. “He is family, so we can’t snub him. It would be an insult to only nod.”

  “Do you think Jason will shake Jayne’s hand?”

  “He’d better.”

  Mo grunted.

  “He will, and if he doesn’t, at least it’ll happen in private, not on the steps.” Les shook her head. “But I don’t think we need to worry. I’m sure Mama has told him what’s expected of him.”

  “Yeah.” Adelaide wouldn’t leave such things to chance. When she’d realized that the Joining of a triad was an “event,” she’d decided to go all out on the Joining Ceremony and the celebrations that led up to it. No small gathering of the embarrassed families; no slinking in and out of the Chosen House. Nope. On their Joining Day, the Thompsons and Middletons would behave as if a triad with Jayne was the best thing that had ever happened to their families. Adelaide’s tendency to go over the top with every celebration normally irritated Mo. Not this time.

  She lifted her elbow when Les tugged at the seating plan. “Let’s talk about something else,” Les said, moving the plan aside. She met Mo’s eyes and hesitated.

  Mo forced her gaze to remain on Les’s face. So much for not talking about it. “What?” she squeaked.

  “The crypt. You haven’t been. Don’t you think you should visit before the Joining Ceremony?”

  “There’s been so much going on.”

  Les’s brows shot up.

  “I know, I know, when I’m not on 72, I should have time.” How often had she practised her violin, played cards with Andrew or Nathan, or kept herself busy while the crypt nagged at her? “It’s going to be the one blot on our Joining Day.” She drew a shuddering breath and gripped Les’s hand. “Most of the time, when I think of her, I’m okay. If I tear up, it’s because I miss her, not because...I’m blaming myself. But when we’re in the Joining Chamber, and when I look around the main table at the supper, I’m going to feel it.” Mama wouldn’t see her Join, would never know that Mo had been right, that Les, the one she’d loved from the moment she was capable of loving, was her Chosen. Mama would never meet Jayne. “I want to go to the crypt. I thought you wanted to go with me.” She sounded whiny and knew she wasn’t being fair.

  “I do, and we’ve had plenty of opportunity to go with Jayne,” Les said evenly. “But you never suggest it, and I haven’t wanted to do it for you.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be reminded that I’m moving on with life—” Falling in love, Joining, teaching, smiling and laughing “—while Mama lies in the crypt.”

  Les’s forehead creased. “You can’t feel guilty for living your life.”

  She felt guilty for a lot more than that. “Maybe I’m just being selfish. I’m afraid of how it’s going to feel, and I don’t want to depress myself right now.”

  “If you don’t go, it’ll hang over you, from the first party to our Joining Day. You’ll feel worse when you look around the main table.”

  Mo nodded. She wanted her melancholy moments to be pure, not tainted with guilt.

  “Let’s go on my first day off,” Les said. “All we have that day is a gathering in the evening, and Jayne will be living on the estate by then.”

  “Okay. You might have to drag me.”

  “You can try to dig in your heels, but there will be two of us. We’ll each take a hand.”

  Despite her surprise, Mo couldn’t help but chuckle. Then her love for Les took her breath away. She wanted to stand, wrap her arms around her, hold her tighter than she’d ever held her before, but Les wouldn’t want that right now. She wanted Mo to play along, not make a big deal out of every time she managed to crack a joke, or say Jayne’s name without punching the table. If their positions were reversed... Argamon, when Jayne had told Mo about the art college instructor’s offer and the reasons she wanted Les to accompany her to the lessons, Mo had seethed with jealousy. She had no right! She must be supportive. Supportive! “Did you figure out when you and Jayne will see, um...”

  “Reed? We’re meeting on Thursday, just so they can chat and see if they’re comfortable with each other. The lessons will have to wait until after I’ve finished at the Military Academy.”

  “I guess with that and everything around our Joining Ceremony, there’s no point starting now,” Mo said, fighting the urge to say, “Hey, I’m around on Thursday. I’ll go with you!” She wasn’t even sure if she was jealous because Jayne had chosen Les, or because Les was going with Jayne. Probably both. Telling herself that she couldn’t be included all the time wouldn’t stop her from chewing her thumbnails on Thursday night, but it had prevented her from behaving like a selfish idiot—so far.

  *****

  Jayne took a deep breath and slowly exhaled when she spotted the entrance to Reed’s studio.

  Lesley turned to her. “You all right?”

  She nodded, not wanting to poison Lesley’s mind with the thoughts running through her own. She hadn’t stepped foot inside a proper studio for a long time. Would she always think of Papa and
Brenda Stewart every time she came for a lesson? Sometimes she wished it was possible to erase memories, but the lessons she’d learned, the person she was today, would disappear with them, leaving behind someone who didn’t understand herself.

  They’d reached the door. Nervous, Jayne knocked on it, then jumped when it immediately opened.

  “Good, I like prompt students. Come in.” Reed—in her fifties, Jayne guessed—stepped aside.

  Jayne surveyed the cluttered studio in wonder as she followed Reed inside. The magnificent paintings on the walls, the smell of paint, the draped canvases on their easels...and Papa. Why couldn’t she have been like Robert and taken after neither of them? She forced her eyes back to the paintings, which covered almost every inch of two walls and most of a third. One painting leaped out at her: her own!

  Reed wiped her fingers on her smock, something she did often, from the looks of it. “I’ve had the same studio for almost thirty years and can’t bring myself to part with anything, even the ones I hate.”

  Jayne’s heart sank. Was Reed referring to her painting?

  “But where are my manners? I’m Joanna Reed.” Jayne nodded and opened her mouth to reply, but Reed continued. “And you’re Jayne Adams, but I’m going to call you Jayne and you’re going to call me Joanna. And you,” her gaze shifted to Lesley, “are Lieutenant Commander Thompson, but that’s probably a bit too formal here, don’t you think?”

  Lesley’s expression remained neutral. “Call me Lesley.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. Come through to the back.” Joanna wheeled.

  Jayne followed her, carefully navigating around the odd crumpled sheet, discarded brush, and coloured pencil. Her mouth dropped open when she entered an immaculate room containing a tidy desk, plush guest armchairs, and a carpet she could probably eat off of.

  “Let me take your cloaks.” Joanna hung them on the row of shiny cloak hooks and swept her arm out. “Sit yourselves down.” Jayne lowered herself into one of the comfortable armchairs as Lesley did the same. Instead of going to the chair behind the desk, Joanna went to sit in the remaining free armchair, then groaned and frowned down at her smock. “I’m not supposed to wear this in here, but we won’t tell her.”

  “Who?” Lesley asked, voicing the question in Jayne’s mind.

  “My Chosen.” Joanna sat down and pointed toward the messy studio they’d first entered. “Not long after we Joined, she cleaned the studio. First and last time. We have an agreement. She can tidy up in here. Not out there.” She crossed her legs. “Now, let’s get down to business. First, I have to apologize to you, Jayne.”

  Jayne tensed. Had Joanna changed her mind about the lessons? “Why?”

  “For not contacting you sooner. I should have sent you a dispatch the moment I left the meeting. But instead I agonized. What would they think if I took you on as a student? Would my reputation suffer? Would I lose my other students?” Joanna tutted. “I let that foolishness go on for too long.

  “You did a very brave thing, applying for admittance. When Pauline lifted your painting to show it to us, I was instantly excited at the prospect of having the artist enter our program, but then I read your name, and I knew it would never happen. I don’t fight battles I know I’ll lose—at least, not anymore,” she said with a wry smile. “So I sat silently and fumed while they all came up with reasons why you weren’t suitable for the program—all nonsense, of course. I left knowing I wanted to work with you, but I wasn’t as brave as you, I’m afraid. I needed time to pluck up the courage. I did have the good sense to request your painting, though. And no, it’s not one of the ones I hate. I think it’s brilliant. I see your papa’s influence, but you’re definitely your own artist.”

  Jayne could hardly believe her ears. “You know of my papa’s work?” she asked, struggling to accept Joanna’s praise as genuine.

  Joanna nodded. “Of course. Your papa was widely known, and very well-respected in the art community. His...death was a tragedy on all sorts of levels. You don’t need me to tell you that, I’m sure. Anyway, I’m pleased you’re here. Have you worked with anyone before?” She frowned. “No, of course you haven’t. Can you accept constructive criticism, along with praise?”

  Constructive criticism? After years of enduring thoughtless, malicious comments about her work, she’d cherish suggestions and admonitions from an artist who wanted to help her. Working with Joanna would be the oasis she’d dreamed of as she’d dragged herself starving through the unforgiving desert, determined not to die. Every well-meaning comment, whether good or bad, would be a drop of water on a parched tongue. “I want to learn, to improve. I’d like to think I’m getting better, but I don’t know.”

  “You’ve done remarkably well on your own, though that’s not surprising. Your papa had more innate talent in his little finger than most of our students will ever develop. If you inherited even a quarter of it... I find teaching most rewarding when I learn as much from the student as the student learns from me. I suspect that will be the case here. Now, what about you, Lesley?” Joanna turned to her. “What will you do while we’re working? I don’t think we need her staring at us, do we, Jayne?”

  “I always have work to do,” Lesley said. “As long as I have my comm unit, I’ll be busy.”

  Joanna grunted. “Interior never stops working, does it?” She held up four fingers. “Four siblings, three Interior officers,” she said by way of explanation, lowering one of her fingers. “I expect you’ll find me more relaxed around you than most. No violations, nothing to fear.” Her mouth turned up at the corners. “The conversation around our next family supper table will be quite interesting when I tell them about my new student. Not that I see them very often. They’re all up in the L sectors. I moved down here when Abby and I Joined.”

  Since Joanna wore her Chosen ring on her right hand, that wasn’t surprising. Joined couples usually lived in the Principal’s home sector.

  “But enough chatter. We won’t start anything new tonight, of course, so why don’t we have a look at your painting and have a little discussion about it? Sound good?”

  Jayne nodded. “Yes.”

  Joanna fixed her gaze on Lesley. “Ground rule, Lesley—and I know you’re good with rules. No interrupting, no talking. You will hear me praise Jayne’s work. You will hear me criticize Jayne’s work. Sometimes she’ll get upset with me. Sometimes I’ll get upset with her. If we want your opinion about something, we’ll ask for it. All right?”

  “I’m merely here as the third party,” Lesley said. “I’ll be quiet.”

  Jayne cringed. Lesley appeared mildly amused, not offended, but was she regretting her decision to attend the lessons? She was too polite to say anything to Joanna. What would she say when they were alone?

  “Good.” Joanna pushed to her feet. “Well then, let’s go back into the studio.”

  Butterflies took flight in Jayne’s stomach as she rose. It was one thing to say that she was ready to accept constructive criticism, and another to listen to it. It would be difficult—and frightening—but she would listen. She would improve. She wouldn’t squander an opportunity she never thought she’d have. It wasn’t a joke. For the first time, someone was taking her seriously as an artist.

  She turned when Lesley nudged her arm. A lump rose in her throat at Lesley’s encouraging smile. No, Joanna wasn’t the first person to take her seriously; she was the first artist to do so. Carol, Lesley, Mo...if not for their support, Jayne wouldn’t be following Joanna back into the studio. When Jayne’s lessons began, Lesley would sit quietly for two hours every week so Jayne could grow as an artist. How many would perform such a kind and loving act for someone who was hurting her, intentionally or not?

  Jayne had resolved not to tell Lesley about her feelings for her until Lesley showed signs of reciprocating those feelings. But that might never happen, and Jayne no longer wanted to use it as an excuse to remain silent. Lesley deserved to know that both her Chosens loved her—and Jayne would tell her
.

  *****

  Jayne smiled as she left Joanna’s studio. She’d survived! Yes, indignation had stirred when Joanna had pointed out areas for improvement and made suggestions, but Jayne had bitten back any retort, determined to listen and learn. Her pride had soon taken a backseat to her passion for her work. When she’d explained a colour choice in response to a query, and Joanna had grunted and nodded, tears had sprung to Jayne’s eyes. To discuss her painting with another artist, someone who understood, who took her seriously...she’d forgotten how wonderful it felt.

  But she hadn’t forgotten Lesley. Every time she’d cast a surreptitious peek her way, Lesley had been focused on her comm unit. Had she overheard the criticism? What had she thought? “Did you manage to get any work done, or were we too much of a distraction?” Jayne asked her.

  Lesley patted the cloak pocket containing her comm unit. “I got a lot done. I answered a number of outstanding dispatches.”

  Good, maybe Joanna’s more critical comments hadn’t registered with Lesley. “I know what it’s like to be so absorbed in what you’re doing that the world around you disappears.”

  “Occasionally I took a break and listened to your conversation.” Lesley raised a finger. “But I stayed quiet.”

  Despite her embarrassment over what Lesley may have overheard, Jayne chuckled. “Sorry. She is a little blunt.”

  “I don’t mind. I prefer that to feigned respect, and she wasn’t disrespectful.” Lesley turned to her. “I respect that she had the courage to take you on as a student, in spite of the potential consequences.”

  Jayne agreed, especially since Papa had probably committed Chosen Violations in his studio. She shuddered. Had Brenda Stewart been a private student and he’d ignored any guidelines? No, it must have been a group class, but hadn’t anyone noticed that Stewart always stayed behind? Or did Jayne have it all wrong? She was only guessing at what had happened—or rather, where it had happened. If any Interior officers who knew the details of the Incident found out that she was taking lessons with Joanna, what would they think? “Thank you for agreeing to come with me. With an Interior officer there, nobody can accuse me of anything.”