Hearing him tease me, love me, I come to realize that he doesn’t hate me. Not at all. And I guess that means I have to hate myself even more to make up for his bad judgment.
Grandpa’s meetings run late, and goodness knows we aren’t allowed to eat without him. Not since Ms. Chancellor decreed that tonight’s meal is to be a family affair. Which is a little ironic, since she’s not family. Neither is Spence. But Ms. Chancellor took me into the tunnels. She told me something about my mother. And, most of all, she saved my life. We might not have the same blood, but we are bonded now, and I won’t even try to deny it. Even if sometimes I’m pretty sure she’d like to.
By the time we gather around the big, formal dining room table it’s dark outside and my stomach is growling, but I don’t say a thing.
“And how do you like West Point, young man?”
I can hear Grandpa talking from his place at the head of the table, but he’s so far away I have to strain to listen. Ms. Chancellor tried to force me into a dress, but we compromised on shorts that don’t have rips in them and a nice sweater. I can feel her watching me as I pick at my salad. It’s like she’s the only one who can see that Jamie is a time bomb that has landed back in our lives. It’s just a matter of time until the truth slips out and we all go boom.
“Is your father a military man?” Grandpa asks.
Spence wipes his mouth before speaking. “My mother, sir. She’s in the Air Force.”
“Excellent.” Grandpa takes a sip of his water. “Just excellent. And your father, what does he do?”
The conversation goes on like this through two more courses.
What classes are their favorites? What sites should Jamie show Spence in Adria? Will they be here for the Festival of the Fortnight?
And, through it all, I want to turn to my brother and scream. Did you know Mom was involved in some kind of secret society? Did you know someone ordered her death? Did you know that even though I pulled the trigger, someone else sent an assassin to her door?
Did you know it might not be over?
“The potatoes.” It takes a moment to realize that Spence is whispering to me. “If you don’t want to eat they make a great hiding place for the rest of your food.”
I look down at my plate, which is almost full. I haven’t taken a bite in a long time, I realize. My fork just dangles in midair.
“Or you could always slip whatever you don’t want under the table and give it to me. Like a dog,” Spence says, then grins. “I’m not joking. The food here is a lot better than what we get at school, and I’m always hungry. It would be an honor.” He takes a big bite and gives me a wink, but I can’t help thinking about what John Spencer doesn’t do.
He doesn’t ask me how I’m doing. He doesn’t wonder what is wrong. He isn’t watching as if waiting for me to implode or explode or just turn into a puddle of mashed potatoes. Spence is the only total stranger at this table. So he’s the only one I really trust.
“Well, John.” Grandpa’s never been a fan of nicknames. “Jamie tells me that you have family ties to Adria.”
“Yes, sir,” Spence says. “My grandmother on my father’s side was Adrian. Her family immigrated to the US after the Second World War.”
Grandpa considers this. “Yes. A lot of people left then. Those were dark days for Adria. But they passed, I’m happy to say. The dark days … they always pass.” Grandpa doesn’t look at me as he says this last sentence, but I can feel everyone at the table not staring at me as the words reverberate around the room.
The silence is too much. All I hear is the sound of Spence chewing his asparagus. I’m allergic to asparagus, but right now I would welcome the feeling of my throat closing up, an excuse to go to the emergency room — anything to leave here. Now.
“So, I hear you’ve made friends.”
It takes a moment to realize that Jamie is talking to me. It isn’t his teasing older-brother voice, though. It’s his I’m-trying-to-hide-how-worried-I-really-am voice. And I don’t like it.
“A few.” I would tell him about Noah and Rosie and Megan, but I don’t think my brother wants to hear about the hours we spent in the basement of the Iranian embassy or the time we broke into the Scarred Man’s house. There are a dozen lies I could give him, but suddenly I remember one essential truth. “Alexei’s gone.”
I wait for Jamie to react, to say something or make some kind of sign that he’s heard me, but nothing comes, so I go on, “Did you know that? His dad had to go back to Russia a few days ago. Alexei is gone, Jamie. I mean gone gone. I don’t think he’s coming back.”
“I heard” is all Jamie says.
“So have you talked to him? Did he tell you why he left or —”
“It’s for the best,” Grandpa says. He doesn’t look up from his potatoes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap, but Grandpa spears me with a look.
“Our relationship with the neighbors is hard enough without the two of you gallivanting around the city. You should have stayed away from that boy, Gracie.”
“Alexei running around with me was a problem? He and Jamie have been best friends for forever,” I say with typical younger-sibling outrage.
Grandpa cuts his steak. “And your brother is now a cadet at West Point. Jamie should not be gallivanting around with Russians either.”
My retort is on my tongue. Jamie, I can tell, is trying to decide whether or not to argue. But before anyone can say a thing, Spence turns to Jamie and asks, “You’re friends with a Russian?”
“Embassy Row.” My brother shrugs. “It’s a crazy place to grow up. The Russian embassy is next door. Alexei’s dad was the Russian ambassador’s chief of staff. We used to play together when we were kids. We kept in touch.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing — what Jamie isn’t saying.
“Alexei is your best friend,” I remind my brother, but Jamie only grins.
“In fact, I left Alexei in charge of Gracie here.” He gives me a wink. “No wonder he had to leave the country.”
Jamie is trying to tease, to take the awkward out. But Spence is staring at him, trying to process what he’s just learned. James Blakely, Jr. — Blake — is friends with a Russian. He’s looking at Jamie as if he never really knew him at all.
“Where in Adria was your mother’s family from, John?” Ms. Chancellor asks Spence. He takes a moment before turning to her.
“Valancia, ma’am.”
“And what was her name?”
Carefully, Ms. Chancellor draws Spence into a discussion of family trees and Adrian history, but I don’t listen. I just sit, staring at my peas.
After a while, Jamie leans closer. “You’re not eating.”
“I’m not hungry.”
I don’t look up, but I know Grandpa and Jamie share a look. I’m starting to regret not taking Spence up on his offer to help me smuggle food off my plate.
“She’s never hungry,” Grandpa says.
At the other end of the table, Ms. Chancellor uses her best posture and smiles her brightest smile. “Now, Jamie, how long will you boys be able to stay?”
“Three weeks, I think. The new term starts about then.”
“How lovely. You have certainly come at the right time of year. Jamie, you’ll have to be sure you show Spence all of the festivities.”
“I’m looking forward to it, ma’am,” Spence says.
For a second, I have to wonder how I’ve ended up here — at this table. It’s all so polite, so serene. So normal.
So fake.
I look at Ms. Chancellor. “May I be excused?”
“We have your favorite dessert coming, Grace. Don’t you want —”
“No.” I push my chair away and drop my napkin on the table. “I mean, no thank you. I have … plans.”
When I start to rise, Spence is already up and holding out my chair — not yet an officer, but maybe a gentleman. As I leave, he smiles at me and whispers, “I promise not to check your potatoes.” But I don
’t stop and I don’t laugh. I just hurry toward the door.
I’m almost to the gates when I hear the heavy steps that pound behind me.
“Gracie! Wait up!”
I don’t even slow down.
“Grace, I said wait.” Jamie doesn’t sound mad. No. He sounds like someone trying very hard to sound like nothing is wrong at all. “What are you doing?”
I don’t know.
“Where are you going?”
I stop and face him. “Out.”
“Out where? Are we gonna go climb the wall for old times’ sake? Get gelato? Hey, I know. We can —”
“No,” I say, harder than I should. When I look at Jamie, I can see how much he wants us to be who we were instead of who we are. I hate him for pretending nothing’s wrong and I hate myself for knowing that it’s not true. I’d give anything for that not to be true.
“I mean, I’m sorry, Jamie. I can’t. I have plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
Hiding from you. Beating myself up. Wandering the city by myself for hours and hours, hoping to find a portal back in time. All of these things are true. But I just say, “I’m doing something with Noah.”
Jamie steps back and eyes me skeptically. “Who’s Noah?”
My initial reaction is shock. How is it possible he doesn’t know? Then I remember that Jamie lives on another continent now. He goes to another school and is living in another world. My big brother has gone to some place I can’t follow. It was inevitable, I know, but a part of me can’t help but mourn the fact that I will never chase him and Alexei over the wall again.
“Noah’s my friend.” I sound almost defensive. As if maybe I’m not allowed to have any friend that he hasn’t preapproved.
Jamie bristles. “Boyfriend?”
I almost laugh. Suddenly, Jamie’s protective posture makes sense.
“Friend who is a boy,” I tell him, but Jamie doesn’t look so certain. He isn’t going to take my word for it. Not on this.
“I think I need to meet this Noah.”
“No need. I assure you, Grandpa and Ms. Chancellor both like him. He’s adequately safe — almost boring. A stickler for the rules.”
“But is he good enough for you?”
Is it Jamie’s question or the earnest look on his face that makes me laugh? I don’t know. And I suppose it doesn’t matter, because I just throw back my head and howl. Not a chuckle. A full-throated laugh like I haven’t had in ages. It’s the kind of laugh that, three years ago, might have gotten me tied down, my meds changed.
I know that I sound crazy, but the difference is, now, I no longer try to stop it.
“Gracie —”
“Don’t you know, Jamie?” I cut him off, and, suddenly, I’m not laughing anymore. I shake my head. “Your kid sister? The murderer? Maybe she’s the one who isn’t good enough.”
A darkness crosses my brother’s face, and I know I’ve finally done it. I’ve mentioned the unmentionable thing, and I couldn’t take the words back even if I wanted to.
“Don’t say that,” he scolds me. “Don’t make jokes.”
“Do you really think I’m joking?”
Does he hear my voice crack? Does he see the tears that are welling in my eyes? He’s an expert on battle strategy and discipline and making things straight and clean and even. But he will never, ever know how to fix me. And it hurts him. Turns out, hurting him is one of the few things that can still hurt me.
“I gotta go, Jamie.”
“I flew across an ocean to see you, Gracie. To help you.”
“Don’t you know? I’m too far gone to help. Besides, my shrink says I’m supposed to socialize and partake in activities that will cement my relationships with my social peers.” I put on my most serene smile. “Socialization is incredibly important for those of us who are emotionally unbalanced.”
“Hey. That’s my sister you’re talking about.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. And I am. Not because I said it, but because it’s true. Jamie deserves so much better than me. “Really, Jamie. I can’t … I can’t do this right now. Please. Just let me go. Please.”
“No,” Jamie says, suddenly the boss of me. “I’m not going to let you hightail it out of here and go to a party with a bunch of strange kids.”
“Kids? You’re nineteen!” I snap, but it’s like Jamie doesn’t hear me.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Better than staying here,” I mumble to myself.
“Let me help you, Gracie. Let me in.”
Jamie wants me to get better. He wants his kid sister to come back. He doesn’t quite know that his sister is dead — that she died the moment she murdered his mother and then, again, the moment she remembered.
“I love you, Jamie,” I say, and I mean it. I really do. I mean it far more than I can bring myself to say. “And I’m sorry.”
Then I hug my brother, who is so shocked that he lets me past him and out the gate without a word. Before he can quite realize what has happened, I am already gone.
I knew you’d come back.” Noah hops down off the stone ledge that runs around the German embassy. There’s a cocky bounce in his step as he tells me, “The ladies … they always come back.”
That is when Noah notices the new boy standing by the US gate, watching me through the wrought-iron fence. I know how it must look, my tall, handsome brother scowling after me, watching my every move.
For a second, Noah pauses. “New man in your life?”
“Not a man,” I tell him. “A brother.”
Instantly, Noah changes. “That’s the infamous Jamie? Come on. Introduce me.”
“No.”
When Noah stops cold, his expression is somewhere between amused and angry. I can’t read his tone when he asks, “Are you ashamed of me or ashamed of him?”
“Both,” I say, and start walking up the street.
A moment later, I feel Noah fall into step beside me. For a while, we walk along in silence.
“I will meet him eventually, you know.”
“I know.”
“He hasn’t seen you in months.”
“I know.”
“I’ve barely seen you in days.”
I stop. “You saw me a few hours ago.”
“You know what I mean. A week ago you disappeared into your room, and then today you finally came out and I saw you running toward the cliff like wild dogs were on your heels, so” — Noah pauses — “talk to me.”
When I stop and spin, I try to keep my voice calm, but the exasperation comes out anyway. “I don’t want to talk anymore, okay? My brother wants to talk. Ms. Chancellor wants to talk. My grandfather … well, he never wants to talk, but that doesn’t stop him from looking at me disapprovingly. So please don’t make me talk anymore. I’ll go to Lila’s stupid party as long as we don’t have to talk. Okay? Please, just one talk-free night — that’s all I’m asking. Please, Noah. Can you do that for me?”
“I was going to say that we’re walking the wrong direction.” Noah points both thumbs behind us and takes a step back. “Lila is branching out.”
As we start down the sloping street of Embassy Row, Noah is silent. He doesn’t ask me why Jamie’s here. He doesn’t even start to mention my mom. An easy, comfortable peace settles around us as we walk through the glow of the gaslights and under the arch of the city gates. We make our way outside the safety of Valancia’s wall, closer to the ocean.
I glance up at Noah’s strong profile. “Party on the beach?”
“Something like that.” Noah shoves his hands into his pockets. “So, Jamie …”
So much for peace …
“I said I don’t want to talk.”
“I know. I’m not asking about you and Jamie. I’m asking about Jamie. What’s his story?”
“He’s on break from West Point — that’s our big military academy for the army. It’s a big deal. He’s a big deal. He’s probably going to be a general someday. He might even b
e president. Everybody loves him.”
“Why is he here?”
“I told you. He’s on break, and —”
Noah stops. “Why is he here, Grace?”
For a split second, I actually want to tell him the truth. I want to pour out all the things I know or remember or would give anything to forget. But Noah doesn’t know what happened to my mother. When Noah looks at me he doesn’t see the girl I used to be or the monster I’ve become. He only sees a tiny bit of my crazy. And that’s more than enough.
“I was wrong, you know. About the Scarred Man. I was wrong for years, and Jamie knows it. He knows that finding out the truth has been hard on me. He’s worried about me.”
Noah takes a slow step back. There’s nothing but moonlight and the sound of the waves and this boy who could be at home almost anywhere on Embassy Row and yet has chosen to be here with me.
“Just so you know,” Noah says, “he’s not the only one.”
I’m just about to speak when Noah points to the darkness and I see a long pier. A tiny girl stands on the very end of it, her blond hair catching the light of the full moon that is rising over the city. She waves wildly in our direction. For a second, I think she might jump off the pier and swim toward us. As it is, she just runs.
“Grace! I haven’t seen you in ages!”
“I saw you a week ago,” I say, but Rosie barely registers the sound.
“But you missed my birthday! I’m a teenager now. Do I look like a teenager?” Rosie smiles and laughs, so happy she’s practically bouncing, and I’m suddenly reminded of the fact that she’s thirteen now.
The age I was when Mom died.
The age I was when everything went wrong.
This is supposed to mean something, a part of me registers. I’m supposed to forgive that thirteen-year-old version of me because she was young and scared and she was just doing the best that she could at the time. I’m supposed to be kind to thirteen-year-old Grace, and seeing thirteen-year-old Rosie is supposed to remind me of that.
But it doesn’t.
“I’m sorry, Rosie. Happy birthday. What else did I miss?”
Rosie shrugs. “Nothing. I find there is a lack of international intrigue at the moment.” For a second, her German accent is so heavy that she sounds like a spy in a black-and-white movie. “The prime minister is still in a coma, you know.”