Текст книги "The Variables"

Автор книги: Shelbi Wescott

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ethan sat on the edge of the bed. The prosthetic limb stretched out in front of him, a giant block of plastic and metal. He had no interest in getting up and walking around; his now unusual gait prevented him from feeling like the leg offered him a piece of himself back. Instead, it felt foreign, robotic. He pushed the plastic foot into the floor of the hospital room, and he felt the hydraulics bounce. It was heavy, cumbersome. The doctor had told him that it would take adjustment and therapy, but Ethan hadn’t said a word. Sometimes, especially when his mother came to visit, he wanted to speak; she was so relentless in her attempts to get him to talk. While she hadn’t quite slipped into bribery, he knew it was coming.

He wasn’t doing it to spite them.

There was simply nothing to say.

He had not been entirely lucid when the men arrived, but he relived those ten minutes in snapshots. It was like he was trying to call forth a dream after waking: some things felt so real, other things seemed so strange. First, he could see Doctor Krause’s body falling in a heap beside the couch. One minute she was there, the next minute she was gone. Teddy was crying. And there was smoke. From there, he couldn’t quite recall what happened next. He woke up in an elevator; lights flickered like he was headed into a mineshaft. After that, nothing. Not a glimmer of memory until he awoke from grogginess and realized, with deep anger, that his leg had been violated again.

What could he say?

His friends were gone.

And they had been right all along.

He hung his head and wept for them, like he did so often during the silence of his afternoons—when the doctors and nurses didn’t bother to engage him, and his own mother seemed preoccupied with other tasks. Kicking the prosthetic against the ground, he hoped it would break, but it proved resilient, and Ethan abandoned the effort.

The door creaked open and Ethan sat up. He wiped his tears and composed himself. When he finally turned around, he saw the black girl, the one his sister had brought with her on one of her visits, entering his room. Her hair was in braids and piled on the top of her head; she wore jeans and a bright green shirt that slipped off her shoulders. Ethan’s eyes lingered on her exposed collarbone for a second longer than he wanted them to. Under her arm, she had tucked a book, and when they made eye contact, she smiled and gave him a half-wave. She assessed him and examined his running nose and red eyes, but she didn’t look through him, like the others did. Her eyes were not pleading, not indifferent. Instead, they were intense, focused, determined, and soft. She was not here without a purpose, but she wanted him to know that she did not mean harm.

Cass. He remembered. Cass.

“Bonswa,” she said and took another step inside. “I’m Cassandra. Cass. But you remember me. I know that you are not much for speaking these days, so...don’t worry...you don’t have to say a word.”

Ethan exhaled, unaware that he had been holding his breath.

“Did you hear the alarm? I suppose they didn’t make you go, but you missed quite the show.” She scratched at her hairline and tapped her fingers against her arm. “We’ll all be moving soon. You and me? To Kymberlin. I must admit, I knew I was going there...my father built me my own house. An apartment, really, but it will be mine. That is the reality of my life...isn’t this the time I’m supposed to be exploring life on my own? I’m twenty-two. Ha! Not that much older than you, but here we are, right? My place is lovely, or so I hear. It’s right at the water. When I open my shades, I will look out into the sea hitting my window. I could have had an underwater view, but this felt right. Better. I’d worry too much about the darkness of the deep if I couldn’t see the sky. There’s something about the sea that is quite terrifying, right? Your family will have quite the place, too. Not like here...crowded into a tiny space. No, no. I imagine you will be well cared for once the move occurs.”

She paused. Took several steps forward.

Ethan hadn’t moved, but he watched her. Cass.

“You wonder why I’m here. It’s strange?”

He turned away.

“I brought a book. Charles Baudelaire. Both in English and in French, which is lovely, isn’t it? It’s my father’s book, from his personal collection, and I’ve stolen it. May I sit?” she motioned to a chair in the corner. Ethan looked at the empty chair and then back at Cass. She smiled again and then walked over to the chair and sat.

“I just thought,” Cass continued, “that you’d want some company.”

Ethan looked down at the metal and plastic contraption hooked to his leg. He scooted himself back up on to his bed and then swung the prosthetic upward, where it landed with a plop. He stared at it, so unwieldy, and yet, if he were to cover himself with a blanket, it gave the illusion of wholeness.

“No expectations,” she added. “It’s not that I like to hear myself talk. I don’t, certainly, but...”

Cass stopped and looked at Ethan; he couldn’t tell what she was thinking, what she was trying to convey.

“We could have a signal. If I get too annoying and if you just think I should go. I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome. So, how about this...if you want me to go, just put your hand on your head like this.” She put her own hand on top of her braids. “Then, if you do that, I’ll just go.”

She paused as if waiting for Ethan to confirm that he would comply. When he didn’t, she just continued on. Sitting back in the chair, she crossed a single leg over her other leg and set the book down in her lap.

“Well then. French poetry. I’m so sorry...it was the best I could do. I don’t like Baudelaire, myself. And it’s not because he’s too esoteric or too French, but really, I don’t agree with him. He believed mankind to be evil. Inherently. And I can’t bring myself to believe that yet. Not yet.” Cass paused and opened the book randomly, placing her finger over a poem and humming to herself. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s fine. I don’t see evil...I see sadness, anger, confusion, and...whether you want to believe this or not...good intentions. That doesn’t mean I have to go along with it. You either, for that matter.”

She looked down and examined the chair, then stood up and dragged it across the floor to the bedside.

“Better,” she announced. The green top slid further down her arm; Ethan looked away. She looked at the pages of her book and then started to read in French. Ethan watched her lips read the poem, listened to the sound of the language roll off her tongue. “Quand notre Coeur a fait une fois sa vendange vivre est un mal. C’est un secret de tous conmu, une douleur très simple et non mystèrieuse et, comme votre joie, èclante pour tous. Cessez doc de chercher, ô belle curieuse. Et, bien que votre voix soit douce, taisez-vous!”

Cass stopped and put the book in her lap. She looked up at Ethan and laughed, her head rolling backward, her loud roar filled the room. “It’s a joke. You see?”

She picked the book back up again and handed it over to Ethan, getting up off her chair long enough to point out the line she thought was so funny. “It ends with a line that says, and though your voice is sweet, be still. Which is funny because you’re not talking, and you’re already quiet and still. You see?”

Ethan handed the book back, but not before scanning the English translation first: The secret all men know...to live is bad. An understatement, he thought. Somehow Cass had captured the moment with perfect precision, and he didn’t think for a minute that she had picked that poem randomly. She watched him read the words, and then placed her hand out for the book, but not before she grabbed her shirt and lifted it back up to just below her shoulder.

“Maybe Baudelaire was a bad choice. He’s a bit too impenetrable for me.”

Ethan turned his head away from her. His hand hovered at his side, and he was seconds from putting it on top of his head, just to get her to leave, so he could weep again without an audience. She was trying too hard to get through to him, but he didn’t want to reward her.

“Let’s try this poem instead,” Cass said in a low voice, and she opened the book to a different page. Instead of reading it, she set the book down next to the bed, and then took Ethan’s hand and placed it on the open page. He wanted to pull away from the warmth of her touch; it was the first time in weeks someone had touched him with tenderness, not poking and prodding and taking his blood pressure. His mind went to Ainsley. Then his next thought was of Doctor Krause’s body and the smoke and the crying. He could not disconnect his memory from playing the disjointed scenes in a loop. Thinking of Ainsley had triggered it all and he pushed his eyes closed.

But Cass’s hand stayed on his hand, lingering. So, he looked down and took the book.

Taped over the page was a note.

Without reading it, he looked up at his visitor, whose face stayed still.

“Take your time,” she instructed.

Ethan looked back down at the handwriting. He read it slowly.

It read: “If you care and love Teddy, then you need to fight for him. By the end of the day he will be in Blair’s care. More later, when I can. Enchantè.”

He looked at Cass when he was done. She leaned over the bed and took the book from him.

“I see that poetry was a poor decision altogether. Next time, I’ll try to find something more engaging. A spy novel? What is it that you read?” she paused, as if he would answer her. “This is a touch embarrassing, but can I use your toilet? My pod isn’t far, but I have to make a stop on the way...may I?” She rose and pushed the chair back to its original spot and then waltzed, without waiting for an answer, into his private bathroom. The door shut and locked behind her; he heard her singing to herself, a deep hum.

He couldn’t help finding her beautiful. And mysterious. At one point in his life that might have meant something, but it was no use. He could no longer recall Anna’s face with clarity. They were going to get married, he was certain of that. His parents were married before they had finished college; of course, while no one ever talked about it, he was there, too—his mother’s burgeoning stomach unable to hide beneath the empire waist of her white wedding dress. He had grown up with the knowledge that the timing of his arrival made life and early marriage a bit harder, but that didn’t mean it was a mistake. His parents were young, full of life, and they loved each other. That’s all he had ever really wanted. People judged him for his romantic notions, but Ethan knew his heart. Whether or not Anna was his soulmate was never a question; Anna gave him everything and he, in return, gave her everything. That was how he defined marriage; theirs would have been a good partnership.

Ainsley was an act of hopefulness; a bet on the possibility of a happy future.

And maybe Cass had touched his hand with affection and asked him to trust her, so something stirred within Ethan, but there was still a voice of warning that reminded him that he was a stranger here, and while he may have been rescued, he was an enemy.

It was futile to dream of a future.

Cass’s message was ominous.

He felt a twinge of resentment. Had she come in here and brought any other message, she would have been easy to ignore, but she had come with news of Teddy. He felt responsible for Teddy and connected to him; Teddy was the only thing tethering him to this world, and somehow Cass knew that, intuitively.

Cass returned from his bathroom and set the book down on the nightstand near the hospital bed. She put her hands on her hips and gauged Ethan’s reactions once again, holding her gaze for longer than was comfortable and not hiding the fact, either.

“I must go,” she said. “Should I come again? How about that spy novel? Or are you more of a science-fiction man?” She waved her hand, “Never mind. I’ll figure it out. Take care. And I’m just an elevator ride away if you need me. Or...maybe I’ll see you soon? Out of here? Well. Ethan King.”

With that strange non-goodbye, Cass spun and exited, shutting the door behind her. He watched the space she had just left for a long time and wondered if she had been a dream, too.

After a few moments, he reached down and grabbed the Flowers for Evil book and flipped through its pages. It didn’t take him long to realize that the note she had left for him was gone.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Maxine opened the door to their apartment. Blair stood there, her long blonde hair pulled up into a cascading ponytail, her makeup touched up since the meeting a few hours earlier. Her lips were extra glossy—distractingly shiny. In her hands, she held a small wrapped gift, and when she saw Maxine, she waited, staring, until she was offered a chance to come inside.

“Well. You were serious,” Maxine said. “Come on in. Come in.”

Lucy and Grant rose as Blair entered. She shifted uncomfortably in the middle of the room and held the present against her stomach.

“Hey,” Lucy said. She hadn’t talked to Blair since she had brought Frank to her and used him as a bargaining chip to earn some time with Grant. It had been a wasted effort. Blair had tried to kill her. That was the only piece of information that mattered.

“Hello,” Blair answered formally. She looked back at Maxine. “I brought something for Teddy.”

“I’ll get him,” Maxine said. She went into the boys’ room and came out holding Teddy’s hand. He looked up at Blair and then scurried behind Maxine, peering out and staring at the present in her hands.

Blair crouched down to the ground and extended her gift. “This is for you,” she said. “Do you want to open it?”

Teddy nodded, but he didn’t move.

“Well, you’ll have to come out from there if you want to see what’s inside,” Blair said and she set the present down between them on the floor like she was training a puppy.

Lucy wanted to scoop Teddy up and run away. She felt like screaming, “It’s a trap!” But even though everyone else in the room held their collective breaths, Teddy didn’t seem enticed by the package. He clutched Maxine’s hand tighter and ducked away from Blair’s eagerness.

“Well, then,” Blair announced and she stood up, taking the gift with her. “You’ll just have to open it later.” She cleared her throat and looked between Maxine and Teddy, and then Lucy and Grant. “There will never be a good time to announce this, so...”

“No,” Maxine interrupted. “You’ll need to leave.”

“It’s not up for debate,” Blair said coldly.

Maxine turned to Teddy and kissed him on the head. She directed him back to the room and instructed him to play. When the door was shut, she stalked over to Blair and stood in front of her—although Lucy’s mom was shorter, Blair seemed cowed by her presence.

“Let’s get one thing clear. Your father killed that boy’s mother. And told my husband that he was our responsibility. So, he’s been my responsibility. When Ethan is out of the hospital, Ethan will continue to care for the child. And there is no way on God’s green earth that you can come in here and take him somewhere else. It’s monumentally unfair.” Maxine crossed her arms and peered upward.

“Unfair,” Blair repeated. “I can get the guards if this is going to be a problem.”

“It is a problem,” Maxine said. “That boy does not belong to you.”

“He doesn’t belong to you either,” Blair snapped with unadulterated petulance.

Lucy watched the exchange and felt the intensity of her mother’s words. Yet, she knew, and she could see her mother knew it, too, that they were going to lose Teddy. She wanted to run to the door and barricade herself in front of it. How could Blair act like she cared about the boy when she wanted to uproot him again? How much displacement and fear could one little boy handle?

“He’s scared,” Lucy said from the other side of the room.

“Lucy, just stop,” her mother replied. Hurt, Lucy sat on the couch and Grant sat by her side. They had known Darla for only two days, and yet they felt her loss deeply in every part of them. Raising Teddy and keeping him safe was a way Lucy knew they could repay their debt to her.

“Get him. It will be painless, I promise. I’ve already prepared a room for him. He won’t have to share.” Blair added this last piece as if sharing a room with the other King children had been an extreme hardship for the boy.

“I want to talk to your father,” Maxine demanded.

“He’s busy with Island prep. The entire Board is meeting right now. But I’m sure your husband can get you some time to discuss this once we’re on Kymberlin,” Blair said and she made a move toward the bedroom door.

“Don’t you dare,” Maxine snapped.

“The child is mine. He’s more assuredly not yours. He’s been promised to me.”

“Like a present?” Maxine was disgusted. “Your daddy doesn’t know what to get you, so he rips apart someone’s family and hands you their child like it fixes something? You are a cold, ruthless woman...”

“I’m a cold, ruthless woman?” Blair stalked forward tentatively. “Go pop out another baby of your own.” She threw the threat outward and Maxine didn’t flinch. She kept going, “Or...better yet, why don’t you spend some time parenting the children you already have. Is your oldest son speaking yet?”

“Get out of my house,” Maxine said with a steady voice. She said it with the same cadence as if she requested Blair return a book she had borrowed—forced ambivalence. “You have exactly ten seconds to leave my family alone.”

“Fine,” Blair said. She flipped her head; her ponytail wagged. “I’ll get the guards. We’ll do this the hard way.” Still holding her wrapped gift, she spun back toward the door and began to rush her way out. Her head was high, but Lucy could tell that Blair had not anticipated a roadblock.

“No!” Maxine shouted after her. When Blair didn’t stop, she yelled louder. “Don’t you dare bring guards into this. Stop. Now.”

Blair turned. The package in her hands shook.

“Get me the boy,” Blair said.

“Wait,” Maxine replied and she put her hand up. “There are things you should know. He wakes up with nightmares. And we’ve discovered that you can calm him down by singing Bob Denver songs.”

“I don’t know any—”

“Learn some,” Maxine said. She narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “He doesn’t like anything with tomatoes. The boxed lunches with the crackers are his favorite. He’s been sleeping with one of Harper’s dolls and I think you should take it with you...”

“I have some toys for him,” Blair said, her voice getting weaker.

“It’s not about toys. It’s about comfort and stability. This boy is fragile and scared...he’s not a damn pet.”

“I’m not a monster.” Blair’s nostrils flared.

“No.” Maxine ran her hand through her hair. “But you’re selfish enough to think that you can storm inside someone else’s life and not cause any damage. So,” she continued, “be kind to this child. He deserves every ounce of love you can give him and nothing less.”

“Mom—” Lucy said again from the corner of the room. Her heart raced and her gut ached. She felt like she was going to throw up.

Maxine turned and Lucy could see her mother was close to tears. She had a clear tell: she bit the fleshy part of her lower lip. But she would never let Blair see her cry; she would never give Blair the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt.

“Lucy,” Maxine said, her voice steady. “Go bring Teddy to me.”

“Mom,” Lucy breathed.

“It’s done.”

Lucy left Grant on the couch and walked into the bedroom where Teddy sat huddled under the covers. Harper giggled from the corner and the twins tossed pillows down off the bunk beds, obliterating targets left below.

“We’re playing time machine,” Harper said.

“I’m in the time machine!” Teddy called, his voice muffled from under the blankets.

“Oh yeah?” Lucy asked and she glanced underneath. Teddy burst out into a laugh and squealed, pulling back down on the covers to bury himself again.

“You can’t look when I’m in the time machine! You’ll ruin it!”

She let the blanket fall. “Where are you going?”

“To the future!” Harper exclaimed.

Teddy crawled out from underneath. “Okay, I’m here! In the future! What can we do in the future?” he asked. “Fight bad guys?”

Lucy swooped him up and held him tight. “You should absolutely fight bad guys in the future, little man,” she said. “Hey...come with me for a second, okay?”

“Okay.” He rested his head on her shoulder.

She walked back out into the main room. Maxine was waiting by the door. Blair extended her hand.

“No,” Teddy said. “I don’t want to go.” Instantly he was trembling, and Maxine walked over and reached out to him and he slipped into her arms. She whispered in his ear and smoothed his wild hair. Teddy nodded, but he began to cry. She kept whispering soothing words, staring at Blair as she said them. And Blair looked on. “Okay. Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

“Brave,” Maxine said audibly. Teddy nodded.

She let him slide to the floor, and then she handed him Harper’s doll. He clutched it against his chest and stood mournfully in the center of the room.

Blair reached down and took his hand. He inhaled and jutted his lower lip out. And Blair opened her mouth to say something and then changed her mind. Silently, she led him back out into the hallway, and Maxine shut the door slowly, careful not to let it slam behind them. Leaning against it, she buried her head in her hands and began to cry.

Unsure of how to respond, Lucy hesitated and then she walked forward. “Mom? Mom?” When Maxine looked up, her eyes were red, and her nose was running.

“I’m fine,” she said biting her lip. “God, I’m fine. I will be fine. But Teddy? I don’t know. It’s just...” she paused. “Lucy, Grant...just...let it be a lesson. Nothing in Huck’s world belongs to you. Not your possessions, not your home, and certainly not your dignity. Don’t ever let him trick you into thinking it does.”

With that, she slipped past Lucy, walked into her own room, and slammed the door behind her.