happened in the last couple of days than during the previous five years
he’d been in Cogo. He was so preoccupied, he didn’t give a thought to
the Equatoguinean soldiers as he and Candace crossed the square.
Kevin had not been in the rec center since his initial orientation tour.
He’d forgotten its quaintness. He’d also forgotten how blasphemous it
was that the church had been recycled to provide worldly diversion. The
altar was gone, but the pulpit was still in place off to the left. It
was used for lectures and for calling out the numbers on bingo night. In
place of the altar was the movie screen: an unintended sign of the
times.
The commissary was in the basement and was reached by a stairway in the
narthex. Kevin was surprised at how busy it was. A babble of voices
echoed off the harsh, concrete ceiling. He and Candace had to stand in a
long line before ordering. Then after they’d gotten their food, they had
to search in the confusion for a place to sit. The tables were all long
and had to be shared. The seats were benches attached like picnic
tables.
‘There are some seats,’ Candace called out over the chatter. She pointed
toward the rear of the room with her tray. Kevin nodded.
Kevin glanced furtively at the faces in the crowd as he weaved his way
after Candace. He felt self-conscious, given Bertram’s insight into
popular opinion, yet no one paid him the slightest attention.
Kevin followed Candace as she squeezed between two tables. He held his
tray high to avoid hitting anyone, then put it down at an empty spot. He
had to struggle to get his legs over the seat and under the table. By
the time he was situated, Candace had already introduced herself to the
two people sitting on the aisle. Kevin nodded to them. He didn’t
recognize either one.
‘Lively place,’ Candace said. She reached for catsup. ‘Do you come here
often?’
Before Kevin could respond, someone called out his name. He turned and
recognized the lone familiar face. It was Melanie Becket, the
reproductive technologist.
‘Kevin Marshall!’ Melanie exclaimed again. ‘I’m shocked. What are you
doing here?’
Melanie was about the same age as Candace; she’d celebrated her
thirtieth birthday the previous month. Where Candace was light, she was
dark, with medium-brown hair and coloration that seemed Mediterranean.
Her dark brown eyes were nearly black.
Kevin struggled to introduce his lunchmate, and was horrified to realize
that for the moment he couldn’t remember her name.
‘I’m Candace Brickmann,’ Candace said without missing a beat. She
reached out a hand. Melanie introduced herself and asked if she could
join them.
‘By all means,’ Candace said.
Candace and Kevin were sitting side by side. Melanie sat opposite.
‘Are you responsible for our local genius’s presence at the ptomaine
palace?’ Melanie asked Candace. Melanie was a sharp-witted, playfully
irreverent woman who’d grown up in Manhattan.
‘I guess,’ Candace said. ‘Is this unusual for him?’
‘That’s the understatement of the year,’ Melanie said. ‘What’s your
secret? I’ve asked him to come over here so many times to no avail that
I finally gave up, and that was several years ago.’
‘You never asked me specifically,’ Kevin said in his own defense.
‘Oh, really?’ Melanie questioned. ‘What did I have to do–draw you a
map? I used to ask if you wanted to grab a burger. Wasn’t that specific
enough?’
‘Well,’ Candace said, straightening up in her seat. ‘This must be my
lucky day.’
Melanie and Candace fell into easy conversation, exchanging job
descriptions. Kevin listened but concentrated on his hamburger.
‘So we’re all three part of the same project,’ Melanie commented when
she heard that Candace was the intensive-care nurse of the surgical team
from Pittsburgh. ‘Three peas in a pod.’
‘You’re being generous,’ Candace said. ‘I’m just one of the low men on
the therapeutic totem pole. I wouldn’t put myself on the same level with
you guys. You’re the ones that make it all possible. If you don’t mind
my asking, how on earth do you do it?’
‘She’s the hero,’ Kevin said, speaking up for the first time and nodding