Page 6 of Romancing the Clone (Sunrise Cantina #3)

CHAPTER

SIX

RUTH-ANN

Guilt is an annoying thing.

I shouldn’t feel guilty that my nemesis is sick and no one is taking care of her.

I have nothing to do with it. I didn’t give her whatever plague she’s down with.

We barely pass each other every day. She probably caught it from someone else in town.

It’s not my fault that she looks absolutely wrecked, her eyes hollow and skin pale as death.

She’s made it clear that she’s not interested in my sympathy.

I should just say good riddance and go on with my life.

Except…I can’t.

I’ve been mean to her for this last while because she irks me with her smiling face and her cart full of shitty baked goods that everyone seems to love.

No one realizes that they’re terrible and she should be doing better, and I feel it’s my duty to point this out.

I know it makes her angry. It makes me feel like a bad person for upsetting her, but then I get equally upset that no one else seems to have a problem with sub-par baking or soggy crusts.

Doesn’t mean I wish ill on her or want her to be sick. Doesn’t mean I want her to go broke, either.

Fuck money, and fuck making a living, right?

Perhaps that’s where the guilt comes in, I think to myself as I dress the next morning.

I slept like shit, thinking about Simone and her stupid pastry cart and her stupid cold all night.

Now I’m tired and cranky myself, because her words are making me wonder if I’ve been living in a privileged bubble ever since I got rescued.

Lord Straik is loaded. Even when he’s “light on credits” like he is right now, he’s still incredibly wealthy.

Since my sisters “found” me, I’ve had clean clothes and a comfortable room to sleep in.

I haven’t had to worry about money or making ends meet, because Ruth—Straik’s wife and my sister—will take care of me.

I imagine how my sisters would react if I was as under the weather as Simone.

They’d tend to me and make sure I had soups and hot drinks and the best medicine.

They’d drag me to Sakkar and make him look me over, even though he likes to hold his nose in the air and pretend he knows nothing about human physiology.

It’s on my mind so much that I almost plow into my sister on my way to the ship’s mess hall.

“Ruthie!” Kazex barks and snatches my sister to the side before we collide head-on. He wraps his arms around her, an accusing look on his face as he cradles her close. “Pay attention, Ruth-Ann. You nearly ran face-first into my mate.”

Ruthie just blinks at me, dazed and breathing hard from the scare. I hope we didn’t trigger her PTSD.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say quickly, holding my hand out for my sister to take. “That’s on me. I slept awful last night and I’m in a fog today. I’ll pay more attention, I promise.”

Ruthie takes my hand in hers and holds it tightly, a small smile on her face. Her hand in mine is trembling. She doesn’t leave the cradle of Kazex’s protective arms. “It’s okay. I just need a moment for my heart to stop racing.”

My poor sister. She looks so tough, with her piercings and her half-shaved head, and yet she’s just the most fragile of beings underneath it all. I’m glad she has Kaz to make her feel safe. I squeeze her fingers, letting her keep my hand in hers until she feels better.

Moments drift past, with the three of us standing in the midst of the hall of the ship, letting Ruthie get back to herself. When she lets go of my hand, she gives me a goofy little grin. “You look rough this morning.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says with a chuckle. “Just noticing the circles under your eyes.”

“Wasn’t a good night’s sleep,” I say. “Shall we head down to Port? Meet the others at the cantina?”

“Can we get some night tea first?” Ruthie suggests, surprising me. She turns to Kaz and holds two fingers up. “Would you mind, babe?”

“Of course not.” He kisses her temple, running his thumb along her lower lip and teasing the piercing there, then trots off to the mess hall in the ship.

I just eye my sister because she’s not normally one for night tea, the alien version of a caffeine jolt. “Are you okay?”

Ruthie chuckles and slips her arm through mine. “Oh, it’s not for me. One’s for you, and when you finish it, you can drink the other, too. You just look like you could use it, and I know you wouldn’t ask.”

It’s sweet and thoughtful—just like Ruthie—and somehow makes me feel worse, because I slept poorly and now I’m getting babied by my sister.

I’m lucky to have people that care for me.

Meanwhile, Simone, who’s really going through it, has no one to look after her.

She’s got a carinoux, but a carinoux isn’t people.

Maybe she’s better this morning.

There’s no sign of the bakery cart in Port for a second day in a row, and my heart sinks.

I’m not going to be able to rest until I know Simone is okay. I wouldn’t wish that suffering on my worst enemy, and I don’t exactly hate her. She gets under my skin, but that doesn’t mean I want her to be at death’s door. I’m not sure why it affects me so much, her sickness.

Then, a flash of memory hits. Of being violently ill when I’d first “woken up” as a slave.

My memories of that time are fuzzy, and now I know it’s because I’d been newly cloned and my mind was still coming online, more or less, parsing my slapdash memories with my current brain.

Memories from then are remote and dreamlike, but I remember being sick and weak from the strange food they’d been giving me, and being ignored.

Of people seeing my suffering and just walking past as if I didn’t matter.

No one reached out a hand to help, and I realized that I didn’t matter to anyone.

It was isolating and horrible and I’d never felt more alone.

That must be why I can’t let this Simone thing go.

I slow my steps, downing the last dregs of my night tea.

I scan the street just in case I missed the bakery cart, just in case it’s not rounding a corner and I’m panicking over nothing.

But no, there’s nothing but an idling air-sled at the far end of the street, by the Port Custodial office, and a few passersby on the walkways.

I glance at Ruthie and Kazex as they walk ahead of me, hand in hand.

He’s watching her as she talks, the most tender expression on his face, and my heart melts for them and their happiness.

And weirdly, I think of Simone again.

So I speak up. “Hey, guys? I think I’m going to bail out on today.”

They turn to look at me, Ruthie’s expression one of concern. “Are you all right?”

I gesture at the now-empty disposable cup in my hand. “Maybe a bit too much tea this morning. I’m going to head over to the general store and see if they have something like antacid and then head back to the ship to sleep. Will you be okay without me?”

“Of course. There’s not much for us to do until the construction is finished anyhow.” Ruthie nudges Kaz. “It’s not like they let us do the heavy lifting or use the power drills.”

“You’re delicate,” he protests. “Why would I make you strain yourself when I can do everything for you?”

She snorts.

“Really, I’m fine. I’m just dragging and I’m not going to be much use. I’ll head back to the ship.” I give them what I hope is a “sickly but not so sickly that I need constant tending” smile and wave.

They wave back and then head on to the cantina.

I watch them go, noting that Kaz rubs her wrist with his thumb even as he holds her hand and how she instinctively leans in towards him.

I’m happy for her and strangely envious.

Normally I’m fine on my own. I don’t mind being alone, because it’s something I choose.

It’s when you don’t choose it and you need help that loneliness becomes miserable. I think of Simone again and turn towards the general store across the street.

Inside the store, it’s temperature-controlled, cool and inviting. The avian alien behind the counter squawks a greeting at me and cocks his head.I march to the counter, pulling out a few credits that I keep on me for emergencies. “Has Simone been in today?”

His feathers arch on the back of his neck and then he shakes his head. “Her order is waiting but she hasn’t come by to get it.”

“Her order?” I ask, curious. This might be even better than my initial thought of “buy medicine and bring it.”

The avian squawks again, tapping a screen on his data pad and then showing it to me. “She picks up baking supplies every day so she can bake after her cart sells out. Fresh butter. Milk. Flour. Honey. Raw meat for her animal. Every day. But yesterday’s order is still here and unpaid for.”

“Every day?” I echo. “She bakes all that every day?”

“Every day,” he agrees. “Hardest-working human I know.”

I feel another stab of guilt, because I’ve thrown this narrative in my head that Simone bakes terrible pastries because she doesn’t give a shit.

I’ve seen what she puts out, though. She varies up her selection daily, with cookies and muffins in different flavors, and tiny pies and pancakes with fruits and nuts.

It’s a lot of baking, and she sells from her cart until she runs out, rain or shine.

She does work hard. She is just missing some piece of the puzzle to make it all click.

“I’ll pay for her order and take it to her,” I say. “And I want some noodles and fresh vegetables, too. Whatever would be good in a soup.”

A short time later, I have heavy bags full of flour and Simone’s baking supplies.

I can’t carry it all, but I promise the shopkeeper that I’ll be back once I’ve dropped the first load off.

I head to the boarding house and smile broadly at the woman at the front desk who’s busy perusing the most tattered copy of Outlander I’ve ever seen.

“I’m bringing Simone’s groceries to her,” I say, juggling the bags.

She barely looks up from her book. “Cool.”