Текст книги "The Variables"

Автор книги: Shelbi Wescott

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“No,” Lou replied. “You won’t shoot her.”

Darla shook her head and then forcefully moved Lindsey closer to her; Lindsey gave a yelp of pain as Darla yanked her arms tighter. She resisted the urge to apologize. Her hair smelled like basil and lavender. Darla imagined Cricket and Lindsey sitting together in the daylight hours crafting soap.

Muttering an expletive under her breath, Darla watched as Lou raised the Taser again. His hands were shaking. He aimed and fired. The prongs shot out of the small black box and hit the middle of the hand draped across Lindsey’s shoulder. She absorbed the pain. Grinding her teeth and concentrating on keeping the gun in Lindsey’s back, she felt the power surge through her system. Then it stopped.

“Take the barbs out,” she said to Lindsey breathlessly and Lindsey complied. The woman’s face was streaked with tears. The long wires dropped to the floor and Lou looked at her like she were a rabid animal.

“Lou—” Cricket yelled from the corner.

“You…risked that…” Darla said slowly, “…even though I have a gun on your daughter?” Her voice was level and measured. Her heart still beat wildly; the effects of the stun gun still coursing through her body. “Is my information more important than she is?” Darla took a step forward and shook Lindsey’s shoulders. She moved fluidly in her arms, no longer putting up a fight. “For what purpose? What kind of man are you?”

“I know you’re Sweepers,” he offered weakly. “I’ve worked my entire life to keep my family alive in times of turmoil. But I can’t keep them safe from you.”

“You’re wrong. We’re normal people like you!” Darla said slowly. She looked down at her hand. Two round circles had formed and they were bleeding. None of her other Taser wounds had bled; she looked at the injury and shook her head. Then she tightened her grip on the top of Lindsey’s shoulders and took the gun and aimed it at Lou. Cricket screamed and buried her head.

“Not normal people like us! Not normal people like us!” Lou cried and he flung his hand wildly, knocking a candle off of his bed stand. It crashed to the floor and went out, hot wax splattered on the carpet and the bedsheets, a tendril of smoke escaped upward.

“You fear the Sweepers,” Darla said. “But you don’t know anything about those guys except for something you heard on a radio weeks ago. You don’t know anything...your whole life here is based on the idea that someone is out to get you.” Darla yelled and her voice filled the tiny room.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, weaker than before. “I don’t believe you,” he said again and again. And then he began to cry. The man sunk to his bed and wept into his hands. Lindsey moaned in solidarity and Cricket peaked out from her place of hiding.

“Let me go to him,” Lindsey whispered and Darla loosened her grip. She let Lindsey slip forward. She sat next to him on the bed, the bed springs calling out as she sat down, and she put an arm around his shoulders. He continued to cry.

Darla lowered the gun. She walked calmly over to the night stand and opened it. There were several sets of keys and instead of trying to ascertain which one was better, she grabbed them all. She looked at Lou and Lindsey, huddled together on the bed.

“They kidnapped my son,” Darla said slowly, but loud enough for the family to hear over Lou’s sniveling.

The old man lifted his head. His eyes were red.

“I’m not telling you where I’m going or what I know. But I’m telling you that. The people that did this to us…they took my child. And you’ve prevented me from going to get him…”

“You could have told me,” Lou said. “I only wanted to know if we were in danger.”

“You could have trusted me,” Darla replied. “You didn’t tell me about the other people or what you were going to do after you knew the truth…you don’t deserve peace, Lou.” She looked at him and backed her way to the door, the gun still firmly in her hand. “You deserve to live in fear. You have an amazing house and prepared for your family…but I can’t…”

Downstairs Darla could hear shouting. There was a rumble of footsteps and then the sound of glass breaking. In an instant, she heard footsteps on the stairs. Darla looked at Lou and his face had gone ashen; a look of terror on his face.

“Sweepers,” he breathed. “You lied!”

Then he launched himself at her, his skinny legs carried him over the floor. Darla held her gun away from his prying grasp. Lou dug his fingers into the open sores created by the Taser prongs. She screamed as he ripped at her skin and the pain radiated down to her elbow.

“You called them to kill us! You signaled them to kill us!”

“Dad! Dad!” Lindsey screamed from the bed and she jumped up and tried to pry him off of Darla, but Lou was determined.

Darla rolled and then kicked wildly, catching Lou in the stomach and she pushed herself away. The door to the bedroom swung open and a very tall man in a button-down flannel shirt stood framed by the darkness.

“Ray,” Cricket yelled.

Lou turned. He was breathing heavily against the floor. His right hand covered in Darla’s blood.

“Ray,” he repeated.

The man named Ray surveyed the room. “This isn’t good, Lou,” Ray said in a deep drawl. “I warned you.”

“They escaped. I thought you were…” Lou didn’t even finish his sentence. He nodded slowly and his shoulders sunk to the floor. He resumed blubbering into the carpet. Darla didn’t know if she should comfort the man or spit on him. She looked down at her hand and then looked away. It was a bloodied mess of torn skin.

“We’re taking them.”

“I don’t know you,” Darla started and she say Ray’s eyes go to the gun in her hands.

“Well, Darla, I don’t know you either. But your traveling companions, Dean and Ainsley, have already crawled into the back of our pickup truck. So, unless you imagine you’d like to stick around here for a bit longer, I’m thinking you’ll probably want to join us.”

“Wait,” Lindsey said and she stepped forward. “Wait. Just wait.”

Ray took a step inward and motioned for Darla to step out of the room.

“I’m sorry, Lindsey,” Ray said.

“But I wanted to go with you,” she said in a whisper. “Please?”

Ray looked at Cricket and Lou, then back at Lindsey. “Sorry, Lindsey. We think it’s best that the entire Hales family just take some time to reevaluate. We’ll stop on by later to discuss it.”

“Later?” Lindsey looked panicked.

“You had a chance to make the right choice.” He bowed his head. “Lou. Cricket. Lyle’s downstairs. You folks…” he started, but then he didn’t finish his sentence. He just waved his hand and looked at them with a sad, disappointed glare. Then he walked back down the hallway where Darla was already waiting for him, slipped by the framed pictures and down the stairs.

Right on his heels, Darla followed him out of the house and into the thick darkness of the country night. There were two trucks waiting for them—Dean sat in one and Ainsley sat in the other. Wordlessly, she climbed into the truck closest to her and sat down in the center of the bed. Ainsley was there with her back against the edge.

Darla looked at the driver of her own truck; it was a woman, her hair tucked up into a baseball cap. A young man sat next to her, big and balding. In the bed of the other pick-up were two teenage girls, huddled together holding rifles.

“Ray and Jillian and friends,” Ainsley offered with a weak smile.

“Yeah,” Darla replied. “To our rescue.”

“Everything okay up there? We heard shouting.”

“Everything will be okay,” Darla said. Then she added, “For us, at least. Everything will be okay for us.”

She looked back at the Hales’ house and she could see the silhouettes of Lou and Cricket in their upstairs bedroom; they had removed the coverings to watch their captives go. The truck engine roared and they started to roll down the long driveway. Then, Darla gasped. Lindsey was running after them: her arms flailing by her side, her feet slapping the pavement. She pumped her arms and tried to chase the fast moving truck with every ounce of energy she had left. And even as the truck rounded the corner and fell out of sight, Darla thought she could hear her calling for them to stop. Come back. Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Take me with you. I’m sorry. We’re so sorry.

The truck maneuvered through the small neighborhood, back past the grocery store where they had tried to spend their first night, and then up to the highway. The farmhouse was long gone out of view before the truck slowed to a stop and pulled to the side of the road. The second truck sped up and stopped in the road. Ray threw the pick-up into park and slid out of the cab.

Dean sat in the passenger seat. Unharmed and calm, he opened the door and walked over to them.

“You okay?” he said. “You two okay? Oh man, oh man. Darla...your hand...”

Darla looked down. A steady stream of blood trickled down her arm. She ignored Dean and wrapped the hand in her shirt, and then she got a better look at the man standing next to him—a tall cowboy-type with graying hair and a thin beard. Ray.

“So, who are you?” she asked. “And what the hell just happened back there?”

“That’s what happens when Lou Hales has some trouble living in the real world,” the man said. “Just stopping by for a little climate check tonight…and it seems like our timing was spot-on. We’ve been having some disagreements over his decision to keep you in the basement…but looks like you solved that issue on your own.” He winked at her. She didn’t crack a smile back.

“You are the people we heard? The ones who visited the Hales? You got a place up in Montana?”

The man nodded.

“He didn’t attack me until he thought you were Sweepers. I had the keys.”

“Sorry about that,” Ray said and he smiled. “But Lou keeps his car keys in a safe in the kitchen. Those are all decoys. Wouldn’t have made it very far.”

“Lindsey set me up?” Darla asked and she didn’t feel as badly about the image of Lindsey running after the truck.

“No, darlin’,” Ray replied. “Lou doesn’t even trust his own daughter not to make a run for it. I imagine she told you honestly what she thought.”

Darla nodded. She looked down and closed her eyes.

“Look, Lou told us he thinks you know something about the people who did this...the terrorists...”

“Oh,” Darla sighed, her stomach sank and she felt ill-at-ease. Her eyes went to the young vigilantes in the other truck. Their vacant stares scared the shit out of her. “I see…so, this rescue is far from altruistic in nature? We don’t know anything…so, I’m sorry if you wasted your time. You wanna take us back now?” She couldn’t help the bite in her voice. Dean put his hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off.

The man didn’t budge. He cleared his throat, “I won’t lie. I wished you did know something. But you have to understand...I got a good community growing and a lot of people to look out for. My intentions in asking you what you know are only because I want to protect the people who have asked me for protection,” he said. “If you say you don’t know anything, then I believe you. Either way, we’ll take you where you want to go. Or leave you be. The choice is yours.”

Darla didn’t answer. She scanned the faces again. They all watched and waited intently.

“The Hales, well, they found us you see,” the man continued. “Before the radios cut out. It’s not important, but you should know that they’ve been helpful to us. No doubt they’re paranoid. Lou’s not right in the head. He still thinks of his kids like they are twelve and not thirty, but they didn’t see us as a threat and they’ve been kind and generous. Even if they won’t leave their house and join us. He says it’s too risky to congregate.”

“They might be right,” Darla said. She turned her attention to Ainsley, who was still huddled against the bed of the pick-up. The girl looked pale and sickly under the moonlight. She wondered how long it had been since she had eaten anything substantial. “So…why come to rescue us? If you don’t care about the information I possess and it could potentially risk your relationship with those people, then why?”

“Look, that’s a pretty cynical world view…if you think that just because we’ve had a good relationship in the past we’re not able to overlook a wrong. It’s not right what they were doing. Not right to keep people like prisoners. I don’t care what the world has come to…right is right and wrong is wrong. We thought...”

“You just do all that for strangers? I don’t buy it,” Darla replied. He already thought she was cynical, there was no use trying to prove him wrong. “You’re Ray and Jillian?”

“I’m Ray. My wife Jillian,” he nodded to the woman in the cap. “That there is Liam. Survivor from Texas. And my daughters Alexus and Alia.” He paused. “Our intentions are good, Ma’am. We’re just doing what’s right. Not what’s easy or maybe even what’s sane. Just what’s right.”

“Texas?” Darla looked at Liam. Liam nodded to her; he acknowledged her wayward glance.

“People from all over. Canada, too,” Ray continued. “And we bet there are others. Maybe some like the Hales, paranoid and holed up. Maybe some like us, eager to rebuild.”

“How many people you got in Montana?” Dean asked.

“Fifty.”

“That’s not many,” Darla said with a sigh. She had hoped for hundreds. Thousands. Fifty. That’s all that was left across the Western United States?

Ray bowed his head. “Each of us thought we were the only ones left at some point. Fifty seems like plenty to us.” He paused. “Look...if you don’t know anything, that’s fine. But we’re fighting for our lives out there. Sweepers, sure. But also everything else. Little flu bug went through our place…little baby got really ill.”

“You have babies up there in Montana?” Darla asked, her voice catching.

“Two babies. And one was super sick for a long time. We don’t have a doctor, but we’ve been doing okay so far.”

“I was going to be a nurse,” Ainsley added from the sidelines.

Ray acknowledged her with a smile. “Well, we’d be happy to have you join us.” He turned back to Darla. “Look…if you do know something, I can’t tell you how glad we’d be to finally have some knowledge of what we’re up against here. We’d be happy to give you a place to stay, a meal, a place to clean up...”

“No,” Darla said quickly. “No, thank you. I can’t even begin to tell you how fortunate we are that you were there to give us a lift and get us out of that house without incident. Whatever your intentions...” she trailed off. “We don’t want to seem ungrateful. But we have earned the right to be a bit suspicious.”

“A meal. And a shower,” Ray said with a nod. “Then you’re on your way…no strings attached.”

“I’m sorry,” Darla said again. “We don’t have time for that.”

“There’s something more pressing you have to do?” His question was honest, genuine. He rapped his hand against the side of the truck and waited.

“Can you give me and my friends a ride to Nebraska?”

The request caused Ray to pause, and he looked back at his kids and then his wife. Jillian nodded. Liam leaned over and whispered in her ear, and she nodded again.

“We’ll drop the kids and Liam back off at our community and then we’ll take you where you need to go. But...”

Darla put up her hand. She knew where this was heading. His offer of no-strings had been too good to be true. “You want to know what’s in Nebraska. And what we know.”

Ray nodded.

With a look to Dean and then to Ainsley, Darla rubbed her eyes. “I just spent God knows how long in someone’s basement because I didn’t know if I could trust them. Why on earth should I trust you?”

“That’s valid,” Ray replied. “Very valid. It’s been a rough time for you. Well, you have a drive to Montana to think about it. And your ride to Nebraska is free of charge. What I mean is, if you don’t feel like you can trust us after meeting everyone, then you don’t lose that extension of our hospitality. And if you think you can trust us, we’d be happy to keep your stories safe.”

“Who are you?” Darla asked. “Why not demand I tell you...why not force me? Why any of this?” She motioned to the trucks, the silent spectators with guns.

Ray nodded again. “Because we believe.”

“Believe what?” Dean asked.

“In goodness. In the capacity of the human heart to be kind. We believe that we’re here, alive, for a reason. In helping those who’ve lived through the biggest terror of our time...we’re not each other’s enemy, I believe that.”

“Are you some kind of modern day Jesus, Ray? Prophet of Montana? Your little group some sort of cult?” Darla winced as a sudden pain from her hand shot up her arm. The adrenaline was wearing off; the damage might have been worse than she had originally suspected.

Ainsley sighed from the truck bed. “Cult,” she repeated with authority. “Too nice. Like the Mormons.”

The comment made Ray smile. “We’re not necessarily nice. And we’re definitely not a cult. We’re just people who are trying to make this work. Come on. You can ponder as we get going.” He tapped Jillian’s truck and waved her forward; she started to drive again, and pulled out in front and led the caravan down the dark and winding roads. Behind them, Ray got back into his car with Dean. They followed behind.

Darla leaned back against the plastic truck bed and stared up at the stars. The trees passed by overhead in a steady rush. Ainsley nestled in against her. Normally, Darla would push Ainsley away, but it was nice to have some warmth and comfort tonight. Their sides touched and Ainsley turned her head.

“Everything that happened back there…it just feels like a dream.”

“Because of the drugs,” Darla answered.

A moment later, Ainsley turned her head away. She stared above. “Are we really free?” she asked Darla.

“I think so,” Darla answered.

“Then why am I still scared?”

“Because it’s dark outside,” Darla said. “And because a scary thing just happened to us. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Promise?”

“No.”

Still staring at the stars and the moon, Darla put her good hand straight up into the air and felt the rush of wind around her fingers. She thought she saw the North Star, or maybe a planet, burning brighter than the others right above her. Then it slipped away out of sight. She closed her eyes and felt comforted by the engine’s constant hum and the steady sway of the truck.

“Teddy,” she whispered to the sky. For the first time since they had left Portland, Darla felt like she was close to him. It wouldn’t be long. She imagined her words floating to him. “Teddy....Teddy...Mama’s coming. Stay strong little bug. Mama’s coming.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Lucy couldn’t sleep. Grant’s letter, still in her bag and marooned in Cass’s apartment, remained unread, and with each growing hour of insomnia, her anger threatened to boil over. It wasn’t just the letter, because leaving her bag there was her own fault, but it was the whole murky relationship she witnessed in that brightly lit hallway that was getting under her skin. Ethan’s brooding combined with Cass’s secrecy about befriending her brother unsettled her and she felt herself growing anxious.

If Grant were here, she wouldn’t feel so alone. Without him, Cass was her only friend and ally.

If Cass had ever really been her ally.

That thought ate her up inside the most.

As best friends go, Salem had been a lot of work. Dramatic and self-absorbed, sometimes Salem went entire conversations without stopping to listen to Lucy’s side. But Salem was honest and real. She never tried to be someone she wasn’t, and she didn’t keep secrets.

When Lucy had stormed back into her new home on Kymberlin after she watched Ethan slip into Cass’s apartment, she found her parents cuddled on the couch looking out over the ocean. Her mother was in a fuzzy tan bathrobe, and she was sipping a hot drink. Her father sat behind her, and he rubbed his hands across her back in a way that made Lucy feel like she shouldn’t have interrupted. They were whispering, smiling, tangled up together. Lucy never knew if she should be happy that her parents still loved each other or disgusted that they weren’t shy about public displays of affection. Watching them nuzzle each other made her feel a mixture of both.

Bowing her head, she walked briskly through the room, right past them.

“You’re back,” Maxine said as Lucy crossed through her line of sight. “Your dad made a mean hot chocolate tonight. The little kids are down. Want to join us?” It was an invitation to crawl back into a different time, when evenings were spent over worn out board games, with warm drinks and salty snacks; when her mother offered them up extended bedtimes like a trophy.

None of that held any power for her anymore.

She declined and climbed the stairs into the loft and crawled into her new bed—a tan quilt, with teal pillows—and tried to sleep, fully clothed. Rest eluded her in waves. She’d doze for ten minutes, then startle awake, and then stare at the ceiling, wishing for reprieve. All night she listened for the door and for Ethan’s telltale footsteps, but one thing for was certain: Ethan never returned.

Cass opened the door wide. She wore a soft pink tank top and with matching cotton pants and she held a cup of coffee. Her curtains were drawn tight, but still they were no match for the rising eastern sun which shone directly through her window wall. The whole place was light and yellow, hazy like a lemon-filtered dream.

“Good morning, darling,” Cass said when she saw her, and she leaned in to kiss Lucy’s cheek, but Lucy ducked away from the kiss and walked straight over to the chair that held her bag. It was right where she left it, untouched. She slung it up on her shoulder and walked back toward the door, head bent down to the floor. But Cass stood in her way, blocking her exit. “I was going to bring it to you.” Cass nodded toward the bag. “But I figured you would come back if you needed it.”

Lucy mumbled something incoherent—a mix of “it’s not a big deal” and “whatever”—and tried not to look up. If she looked up then Cass would see her threadbare nerves, her bloodshot eyes, and all the questions she had about Cass and Ethan.

“Sit down,” Cass instructed and she pointed a finger to her couch. Lucy turned. There was evidence someone had slept there—several crumpled blankets, an extra pillow. Lucy’s eyes lingered on the remnants of her brother’s presence for a beat too long, and when she turned back to Cass it was clear that Lucy had tipped her hand. Cass raised her eyebrows knowingly.

“I’d prefer to go,” Lucy whispered. “Grant wrote me a letter last night and I didn’t get a chance to read it. Because my bag was here.”

“Read it now,” Cass said. “I’ll pour you a coffee. Then we can go exploring—”

“No,” Lucy replied. “I want to be alone.” Her emphasis was clear. She made a move to leave.

“It’s not what you think.” Cass stretched her long body against the doorway, preventing an escape. “You could ask me about it, if you want. Instead of making all sorts of presumptions that aren’t true,” she said. And then Cass raised her eyebrows, waiting. She added, “Do you have something you want to ask me?”

Acknowledging that Lucy was misguided and pushing all the hostility out in the open caused the air in the room to shift. Now everything felt fragile and tenuous. Lucy let her bag drop off her shoulder and she held it with both hands in front of her.

“You’ve been seeing my brother,” Lucy said. “Behind my back.”

Cass nodded and motioned to the couch, then leaned over and blew on the rising steam of her coffee, displacing it in a cloud. Lucy turned and glanced at the sofa with its discarded reminders that Cass had shared a moment last night with Ethan—and then she looked back at her friend. Cass’s eyes were wide and expectant, but still inviting, and Lucy knew that if she sat down and spoke with Cass to unravel all the details of why and how, she would be forced to abandon her indignation.

She wasn’t willing to do that yet.

Grant’s letter was still unread. And she replayed Ethan and Cass’s conversation in her head—focusing on their intimacy, their chemistry, their playfulness.

“Sit,” Cass said, and motioned again.

Lucy bit her lip, and her hand went to the place where Salem’s necklace usually sat. When she found her neck empty, she placed her hand flat against the upper part of her chest and kept it there, still.

“I have a letter to read,” Lucy replied, and she pushed her way past Cass and out into hallway. The smell of coffee followed her as she went.

“I don’t hold a torch for Ethan,” Cass said, peering out her door. Somehow it seemed unconvincing.

Lucy looked back. She was ten feet down the hall now, standing in front of someone else’s door. The name was in Chinese and she couldn’t read it. “Who says things like that, Cass? You don’t hold a torch? Just stop with your silly ways of saying things, and your flighty kindness like everyone’s your best friend. Why can’t you just be honest with me? Spit it out. Just admit it. Ethan was new and mysterious and fun—”

“Ethan,” Cass raised her voice, “was dismissive and terse and rude.”

“And yet you wanted to spend time with him instead of me?”

“You’re jealous?”

Lucy’s nostrils flared and her jaw clenched tightly.

Cass bowed her head, and when she looked up, she was smirking, but not kindly. “I love you Lucy King,” she said. “But please stop sounding like such a teenage drama queen.” Then she took a step back inside her apartment and slammed the door; the echo of it carried down the hallway and hit Lucy like a slap.

Cass’s words haunted her. Drama queen. Those were words used for Salem or the other flighty girls who reigned supreme back at Pacific Lake High School—the girls fueled by gossip and the need for attention. She was the one who dealt with the drama queens, who stayed in the background of the messes they created and hoped to rise above it all. She could be called so many things, so many barbs would have stuck, and yet Cass chose that one. The one that didn’t.

She had a right to be jealous, didn’t she? She had a right to be upset about the secrets Cass kept. But she didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. No one whose guidance and counsel she could seek.

Holding Grant’s letter, Lucy slipped out into the main tower of Kymberlin and stood where the party had been the night before. The space was now clean and empty, and it boasted a woman in a blue pantsuit with a button that said New Arrival Liaison. Ask me about your day! A young couple with a weepy toddler stood at her table. The woman pointed toward the elevator and then leaned down, holding out a sticker to the boy, who snatched it tentatively.

As the family walked away, Lucy walked up.

“Good morning,” Lucy said, her voice dry. She swallowed and cleared her throat. She was wearing the same dress from yesterday. It felt itchy against her skin. “Good morning,” she tried again.

“Good morning, Miss King,” the woman replied. “May I direct you to a specific location this morning?”

Lucy stood there, her hands dangling by her sides, and she tilted her head. “Oh,” she said, taken aback. “I just—” she brought her hand up over her neck again. Her eyes scanned the atrium, and she spotted the tiny domed camera, like at a Las Vegas casino, positioned above the arrival liaison’s head. The woman smiled, a bleached-white grin, and kept her eyes trained on Lucy. “I need—” Lucy started again and then she shook her head. “I’m fine. I’ll just explore.”

“Of course,” the liaison said. “May I recommend floors one through five? The museum of North American artifacts is quiet interesting. Or, of course, there’s always the library. And if you need anything, Lucy, please don’t hesitate to come back.” Without missing a beat, the woman turned her attention to a man standing behind Lucy. “Ohayou gozaimasu, Tanabe-san. May I help you find your way?” The man spoke in Japanese and the woman bowed and made murmurs of understanding; Lucy shook her head, confused, and began to walk backwards, but she stumbled when she hit someone walking behind her. Hot liquid traveled down her back and she shrieked, spinning, to see Gordy standing there, his coffee cup now half-empty, brown streaks of liquid dripping off the sides. There was a puddle of coffee on the carpet beneath them.

“This is brand new,” Gordy chastised, looking at Lucy and the mess with disdain. He snapped his fingers toward the liaison, and she pushed a button on her table and nodded at him with a smile.

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy said, and she bent down to the spill. Digging in her bag, Lucy felt a hot flush in her cheeks, and she tried to eke out another apology, but it came out mangled. “I have...maybe...some...” she stammered. Lucy pulled out a t-shirt, her last remaining clean clothes, tossed it on to the coffee, and rubbed the stain with flustered vigor.

“Stop, stop,” Gordy said, pushing her hands away. “Don’t grind it in.” He tossed the t-shirt back to her—a stain had formed under the armpit and across the right arm. Besides her sundress and her Kymberlin sweat suit, that t-shirt and a pair of jeans were the only clothes she owned. She hoped that their ocean view home had a washing machine. She doubted it. “Stand up.” Lucy obeyed.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, looking down.

“You’re a mess,” Gordy replied.

“Like always? Or just right now?”

The question made him pause and offer her a hint of a smile. He motioned to the stain, “I overreacted. It’s nothing. Just a spill. Tatiana will get someone up here to clean it up...but you...your shirt.”

“I’m fine. It’s fine.” Lucy shoved the t-shirt back into her bag and began to walk away toward the main elevator. The coffee-soaked dress clung to her back and felt lukewarm against her skin. She pushed the button and the glass elevator greeted her, and when she stepped inside, she saw Gordy sneak in right behind her. She shoved herself into the corner, and busied herself looking down at the floors of shops and signs below.

“Do you just want me to choose?” Gordy asked and Lucy looked at him.

It was the first time she had ever really looked at the man who saved her life back in the System. He had gray hair around the temples, and a soft baby-face that belied his actual age. Gordy had to be closer in age to her father, but he seemed younger, less tired. His skin was shiny and clean, the beginnings of a beard neatly trimmed, and Lucy caught a vague whiff of his fruity aftershave from the other side of the elevator. Not a drip of coffee had found its way to his tailored khaki pants, white shirt, and argyle sweater vest. And instead, Lucy stood there reeking like coffee with her unwashed hair clinging to her neck.