The Weight of Truth, Part 2

The Banquet Hall at midday was the closest the hotel got to being a real place. Sunlight shattered through the diamond tessellation of the upper half of the windows, pooling on the flagstone floor in irregular blobs. The long tables were set for lunch, a scatter of mismatched plates and green glass tumblers. Ferns and climbing ivy draped from the upper ledges outside, and every so often a breeze would make the leaves shiver, sending shadows in slow motion across the faces at the table.

Andy slid into his usual seat, one down from the head, and surveyed the assembly. Claire was already there, notebook open but ignored; she picked at her salad, ears pointed toward the conversation but eyes tracking the play of light on her water glass. Chloe lingered at the far end of the table, posture drawn in, shoulders almost hunched, as if preparing for a verdict. Sam sat with her back to the window, legs crossed, cell phone face-down next to her sandwich. Norah was late, as always, and would probably arrive with a story about being waylaid by a technical emergency or a wardrobe malfunction. Emi was the only one actively eating, her hands coordinated in their attack on a mountain of sushi and sliced mango.

Next to Andy, Emily watched him with a kind of cautious interest, as if waiting to see which version of the man would show up today. He felt her gaze but kept his own on the bread basket, tearing a roll in half and spreading butter with meticulous attention.

The noise in the Hall was subdued: forks on ceramic, the occasional cough, the faint trill of a bird perched somewhere outside. Nobody was in a hurry to fill the space with words.

Eventually, it was Emi who broke the spell. She set her chopsticks down and said, "Laura used to hate sushi. But she always pretended she liked it because Andy did."

The table fell still. Claire looked up, and Chloe flinched—just for a second—then **** herself to relax.

Andy smiled, a little sad but grateful for the memory. "She'd eat it, but she'd make a face the whole time. Like she was swallowing medicine."

Emi nodded. "I remember. She'd sneak wasabi onto your plate when you weren't looking. Said it was ****."

Sam grinned, her gaze flicking to Andy. "Did you ever catch her?"

He shook his head. "Not until the last time. She smiled, and I forgave her."

Chloe's voice, when it came, was so soft it barely reached the center of the table. "She used to bring me lemon drops. In homeroom. Said they were for 'bravery.'"

Everyone looked at her, not with pity but something closer to respect. Chloe's face flushed, but she didn't drop her gaze. "I still have some, back at my parents’. I can't eat them, but I can't throw them away either."

A hush followed, but it was warm this time—something shared, not imposed. Emi offered a gentle, "She'd probably want you to eat them."

Chloe smiled, small and real. "Maybe. One day."

Andy watched Chloe's shoulders loosen, the tension in her hands easing as she spoke Laura's name aloud. The lemon drops. The wasabi ****. The shared memories hung in the air like motes in the sunlight, and for the first time, Andy felt Laura not as a wound but as a presence—alive in their words, in the spaces between them. This was what Arabella had meant, back at the beach party, he realized; to remember Laura for her life, not just the manner of her ****, and not because the hotel demanded it, but because together they could resurrect her, piece by piece, story by story.

He felt Emily watching him, her expression curious. He tried a tentative smile, wondering if she could see it too—how Laura seemed to hover just beyond the glass, listening, almost laughing. Emily's smile back was small but real. Not quite understanding, but something close.

Norah arrived, breathless and dramatic, with a rip in her leggings and an excuse that involved a runaway laundry cart and an overzealous Roomba. The story, embellished with gestures, broke the heaviness and sent laughter ping-ponging down the table. Even Chloe laughed, her eyes closing for a moment as she let the sound settle.

It wasn't perfect. There were gaps—Riley's absence left a shadow at the table—but it was better than the silence.

Afterwards, Andy lingered as the women filtered out, one by one. He watched as Chloe and Emi walked the length of the atrium together, arms brushing, their voices low and indistinct. He saw Claire pause at the door, turn, and flash him a look that was all tail and ears and the faintest hint of a smile.

He smiled back, then looked down at the origami flower in his breast pocket, still bright and undamaged.

Norah ambushed him just outside the Banquet Hall, eyes bright, stride confident. She looked up, cheeks flushed. If anything, she seemed slightly pleased.

"Hey," she said. "You busy?"

He shook his head, fighting back a grin. "Not anymore."

"Good. I need you."

Andy raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"It's a surprise, for our date," she said, then, seeing the look on his face, she glared at him and added, "No, it's not that kind of surprise. Get your mind out of the gutter, Andy."

He laughed. "Okay. Lead on."

Norah bent to scoop up her bag, then they made their way down the hallway, Andy watching Norah's careful steps in her heels. Five paces in, her ankle wobbled and she pitched sideways, catching herself on his arm. "Goddamn Top Heavy transformation," she muttered, straightening her shirt. "Nothing sexy about it after all. You may not believe it, but I hate heels, and with these,” she said, grabbing her boobs, “my balance is all off.” She sighed. “I used to rock climb competitively." Three more steps and her heel caught on an another carpet runner, sending her tumbling against his chest. He steadied her, feeling the press of her breasts against his ribs. Her cheeks flushed as she extracted herself. "Sorry. It's worse around you. Like some cosmic joke. Might as well have gotten the Klutz transformation."

"You know," Andy said as they reached the end of the hall, "if you just wanted an excuse to keep falling on me, you could've asked."

Norah rolled her eyes, but the look she gave him was softer than usual. "Cute. But this is important. I want to show you something. And no, it's not another 'accidental' wardrobe malfunction."

They turned down a side corridor lined with windows, the afternoon light throwing sunbars across the tile. The path led to the resort's gym complex—normally a wasteland at this hour, but today the glass doors were propped open and the air inside hummed with a quiet, focused energy.

Norah led him to the far end, past the treadmills and weight racks, to a new addition: a massive indoor climbing wall, floor-to-ceiling, glass-fronted and spiked with colored handholds like the world’s most intimidating Lego set. The wall jutted up three stories and then curved out, forming a gentle overhang that looked both impossible and inviting. Through the glass, the blue sweep of the lagoon shimmered in the sunlight, the beach and hotel reflected in the mirrored surface.

Andy blinked. "Whoa."

Norah: 4050 BP - 1000 BP = 3050 BP

Norah grinned, pride unfiltered. "I got them to build it last week."

He took it in: the spectrum of holds, the bright crash mats, the digital timer glowing on the wall, the neatly coiled ropes and harnesses. It was, in a word, awesome.

"You climb?" he asked.

"Not really," she said, already unspooling a harness. "I live for it." She tossed him a harness and pointed at the wall. "We're doing this."

Andy hesitated, looking down at his jeans and T-shirt. "Now?"

"Now," she said, threading the harness through her legs with the ease of long practice. "Unless you're scared."

He snorted. "Not even a little." He hesitated, then glanced at her shoes. “That the correct equipment, though?”

Norah grinned. “Turns out, climbing isn’t considered walking.” She plopped herself right next to the wall, kicked off her heels, grabbed a pair of climbing shoes sitting nearby, and laced them on tightly. Then, entirely unselfconsciously, she got on all fours and crawled to the wall.

She buckled herself in, then reached for the chalk bag and dusted her hands. Andy followed suit, adjusting the straps, feeling the odd nostalgia of high school P.E. classes and awkward team-building exercises.

Norah clipped in first, gave the rope a test tug, crawled up to the wall, lifting herself up by using the lower handholds, and grinned at him over her shoulder. "Try to keep up, Andy."

She launched herself at the wall, arms and legs moving in a precise, almost mathematical sequence. Andy started after her, quickly realizing she wasn’t just good—she was gifted. She climbed like she thought in code: efficient, purposeful, never a wasted movement.

Andy grinned, climbing up alongside her. The holds were set for all body types, but Norah's new proportions—shorter, wider hips, bigger chest—made the balance more challenging, and she seemed to delight in both the struggle and the success. Whenever she slipped, or her breasts would get caught onto a particularly handsy handhold, she just laughed louder. When she stuck a tricky move, she looked over at Andy, eyes daring him to match it.

They raced to the top, both huffing and chalk-streaked. Norah touched the finish buzzer first, but only because Andy's foot slipped in the last three feet and he nearly face-planted into the glass. He steadied himself, and together they dangled, three stories up, the view of the ocean and the whole hotel stretched beneath them.

Norah whooped, a pure sound of joy that echoed in the empty gym.

"See?" she said, swinging herself around to face him. "Best feeling in the world."

Andy smiled, faintly surprised that he wasn’t feeling sore or out of breath. His Gifts had improved his stamina tremendously. "It's pretty great."

She hung there, grinning at him, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. "You want to know why I like it?" she asked, voice softer.

He nodded.

"Because when you're climbing, nothing else matters. You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to win. You just have to keep going." She looked down, then back at him. "I used to think I could outsmart everything. But this—" she gestured at the wall, at the harness, at herself "—you can't hack your way up. You just have to try, and if you fall, you get up and try again."

Andy watched her, understanding something for the first time.

"I like this version of you," he said. "You're less scary up here."

She laughed, a genuine bark of surprise. "I am terrifying everywhere, Andy. Don't get it twisted."

He shook his head. "No, I mean it. I always thought you hated losing. But up here, you seem happy even when you fall."

Norah looked at him, a long, measuring gaze. "Maybe that's the trick," she said.

They rappelled down, landing side by side on the mat. Norah flopped onto her back, breathing hard, sweat shining on her skin. Andy lay next to her, surprisingly energetic, then he realized the Achievements had boosted his stamina even more than he had thought. Had he somehow obtained another one?

"Thank you," she said, after a long pause. "For not making a joke about this."

He smirked. "I think it’s a great way for you to bond with something as hard as your head."

She elbowed him in the ribs, then lay back, spent. They were quiet for a long time. Andy felt the pleasant ache of use in his arms, the way his shirt stuck to his skin. Eventually, Norah sat up, dusted herself off, crawled to her heels and swapped her shoes, then stood. "Come on," she said. "I'll race you back to the Suite."

They walked the corridors in companionable silence, Andy slowing his pace to match her shorter stride. Norah stumbled only once, this time into his side, and he caught her easily.

"You know," she said, looking up at him, "by my calculations, today we’ve spent a full month together, all of us. It’s safe to say you’re definitely not what I thought you were at the beginning."

Andy smiled. "Is that a good thing?"

She pretended to consider. "Maybe," she said. "Ask me again tomorrow."

They reached the elevator to the Suite. Norah hesitated, then turned, her eyes serious for once. "Thank you," she said again. "For today."

He shrugged, suddenly unsure. "Anytime." She nodded, then entered, and he followed suit.