There’s a long silence and I think he may have fallen asleep again but then another frail whisper breaks through. “Sera?”
“Yes?”
I feel the slightest pressure on my hand as he attempts to squeeze it. “Did I ever tell you about the bench?” he asks.
My brow furrows. “What bench?”
“I guess not.”
“Why don’t you tell me now,” I suggest, desperate to make this rare moment of coherency last as long as possible.
“It was made of white marble,” he goes on with difficulty. “In your front yard.”
“On the compound?”
He lets out a ragged cough, blood spattering the sheets. “Yes.”
I pluck a tissue and wipe his lips.
“It was how I knew every time they erased your memory of me.”
“From a bench?” I clarify doubtfully, wondering if the fever is making him delusional.
He attempts a nod but his head barely moves. “Every morning when you woke up, you were supposed to bury something under the bench.”
“Bury something? Like what?”
His smile is strained as he remembers. “It was always different. Some days a flower. Other days a rock. One time you buried a spoon. It was your signal to me that you remembered.”
“Remembered what?” I ask.
“Me.”
I fall silent, pressing my lips together.
Zen continues. “If I arrived and didn’t find anything buried under the bench, I knew that they had erased me again. And that I’d have to start all over.”
“How did you find the strength to do it so many times?” I ask. “Why did you keep coming back when you knew I’d look at you like you were a stranger?”
He closes his eyes and for a moment I think he’s fallen back asleep. But then he whispers, “You never looked at me like I was a stranger. That’s how I knew they could never win.”
I rest my head on his chest, listening to his irregular heartbeat.
“I haven’t forgotten, you know,” he says.
“Forgotten what?”
“What we promised to do. In the woods. Are you still ready?” His words come out choppy. Disjointed.
I close my eyes, remembering that unfamiliar craving I felt when I was lying on top of him. The warm desire that flooded through me. Zen’s promise that whatever it was would bring us closer together. As close as we could ever be.
Remembering how we were torn apart—by sickness, by guards, by Diotech—before we could hold true to our promise.
I lift my head and lock onto his dark eyes. “Of course. I can’t wait.”
His lips curl into a weak smile and he drifts to sleep like that. His breathing falls back into an easy rhythm and his body goes still again.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It reads 7:05.
I don’t know if Cody has had ample time to digest everything he’s learned or what kind of mental state he’s in but I need to get out of this room. I need to breathe different air. See different faces. Occupy a new space. I bend forward to kiss Zen’s hand and then set it to rest by his side. I rise achingly to my feet and ease open the door. Completely unsure of what I’ll find on the other side.
39
OFFSPRUNG
The delicious smell of food cooking wafts into my nostrils and nearly knocks me over as soon as I enter the hallway. My mouth starts watering and a gurgle emanates from my stomach. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I haven’t eaten since … well, since 1609.
And the last meal I had there was stale bread and water in a dirty prison cell.
To say that I’m hungry would be a severe understatement.
The walls of the hallway that leads into the main area of the house are covered with square frames. Each one holds a small screen in the center that plays a series of photos and videos in a constant loop.
I must not have noticed them when I first came in, too distracted by helping Zen. But now I pause long enough to watch one complete its full cycle, starting with a photo of a tiny infant wrapped in a blue blanket, transitioning to a video of a larger, pudgy baby taking wobbly steps across a carpet, then a little boy with bright red hair and a sprinkling of freckles on his face blowing emphatically toward two candles in a cake, and finally ending on a still picture of that same boy, dressed in a white collared shirt and navy-blue shorts, with a backpack on his shoulder.
“That was his first day of school last year,” Cody says as he comes up next to me. “We couldn’t put the video in the frame because the footage was too shaky. My wife was crying so hard.”
For a moment I’m speechless. I gawk openmouthed at Cody. “You’re a father?”
He beams back at me. The previous sinister version of him that stormed out of the guest room is suddenly nowhere to be found.
He nods. “He’s my whole world.”
Now it’s my turn to be completely rocked by the truth. Cody? A husband? And a father?
It’s too much.
When I look at him, I still see the moody, pimple-faced thirteen-year-old boy who got grounded for helping me sneak out of the house.
“What’s his name?” I ask.
“Reese.” I marvel at how bright his face becomes when he says this. It’s as though someone is lighting him up from the inside. “He’s five and I’m convinced he’s already smarter than I am.”
“Well, that’s not hard,” I joke.
Cody raises his eyebrows. “Hey, look who mastered sarcasm.”
“You remember.”
“I remember everything about you.” I watch his face color with that familiar shade of red as he looks away. I’m happy to see some parts of him haven’t changed. “I guess I had a pretty bad crush on you.”
“Crush?” I ask.
He still refuses to meet my eye. “I liked you. A lot.” He lets out a small snort. “Don’t tell my wife.”
I glance back at the frame, taking in the boy’s round blue eyes and freckled face. “He looks like you.”
“Well, let’s just hope when he gets to be thirteen he’ll start looking more like his mother.”
I let out a laugh that feels like it’s been trapped in me for years. “I remember your mom telling me you were at an awkward age when we first met.”
“My mother had a way of downplaying the truth. I was a complete nerd.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
He brushes a chunk of dark blond hair from his forehead. “It’s something you never have to worry about being.” He falls quiet.
“Look,” he says after a moment, his voice turning somber. “I want to say thank you.”
This surprises me. “For what?”
“For trusting me with … well, everything. I know it took a lot of courage to show me those things. I’m sorry I walked out. It was…”—he pauses, struggling for the words—“it was a lot to process. I’m still trying to sort through it all. You know, make sense of it.”
“I know,” I say softly.
I feel something warm against my hand and when I look down I see Cody has wrapped his fingers around mine. “We’ll figure out what’s wrong with him,” he vows.
Gratefulness wells up inside me, threatening to overflow from my eyes. “Thanks,” I whisper.
He gives my hand a tug. “C’mon,” he says, his entire demeanor shifting, lightening. “I want you to meet my family.”
I’m not sure what Cody has told his wife about the strange teenage girl in his house—if he’s even had a chance to tell her anything. I wince when I step into the kitchen and see a petite and slender attractive woman with long red hair pouring a burgundy liquid from a bottle into two stemmed glasses. I guess after the way Mrs. Pattinson acted about having me in her home, I’ve come to expect the worst when meeting new people.
But it quickly becomes apparent that Cody’s wife is nothing like Mrs. Pattinson because when she looks up at me, she has a beaming smile on her face. She wipes her hands quickly on a towel that hangs from the ov
en and flitters over to me.
“Seraphina,” she says brightly. “It’s so lovely to meet you!”
She pulls me into a hug, a greeting that still confuses me, but I manage to return the gesture with a clumsy pat on her back. She releases me and holds me at arm’s length. “I’m Ella.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
“Would you like something to drink? Water?”
I nod. “Yes, please.”
Ella retrieves a glass from a cabinet and fills it with water from a thin spigot installed on the sink. When she hands it to me, the first thing I notice is how crystal clear it is. I’d grown so accustomed to the slightly brownish color of the water we drank on the Pattinsons’ farm. My first sip is glorious. It’s so fresh and clean. Like I’m drinking directly from the sky. I finish the entire glass in a single gulp.
Ella laughs and takes the glass from me. “Thirsty?”
“I guess so. It’s been a long day.”
Ella gives me a pitying look from the sink as she runs the spigot again. “I do hope your friend is better soon.”
“Me, too,” I say quietly.
“Well, you must join us for dinner,” she says, handing me the refilled cup. “Cody is an excellent cook.”
I raise my brows at Cody. For some reason, I simply can’t picture the thirteen-year-old boy from my memory, who did nothing but read science magazines and play video games, cooking a meal. “Really?”
Cody chuckles. “It was a matter of necessity. Either learn how to cook or be forced to eat takeout every night.” He walks over to his wife and tenderly kisses her shoulder.
She shrugs. “Guilty as charged. Cooking is just not in my DNA.”
Cody and I share a quick look before he clears his throat. “Let’s eat.”
“Sweets,” Ella says to Cody, “will you call Reese down?”
Cody walks over to a staircase off the living room and yells, “Reese! Dinner!”
“I thought you were working late tonight?” Ella asks her husband.
“I was planning to. But something more important came up.” He shrugs and gives me a wink.
Working late?
I automatically flash to the memory. The one that takes place at two in the morning tomorrow. But my thoughts are interrupted by the patter of excited, tiny footsteps as a red blur comes whizzing down the stairs. I’m fairly certain he’s moving as fast as I do. He skips the last two steps and leaps energetically into Cody’s arms.
Cody laughs and swings the boy back and forth. “Hey, kiddo.”
“Daddy,” the boy says, and then he starts talking so rapidly, I can barely follow. “You’ll never guess what happened today at school.” He doesn’t give Cody a chance to guess; he just keeps talking. “This one girl, Rhi, she brought her frog to show-and-tell and Mrs. Beecher doesn’t like frogs. She thinks they’re slimy. But Rhi’s parents said she had to let her bring it anyway because Mrs. Beecher can’t say who can and can’t bring things, unless they’re dangerous things like knives and snakes. So Rhi brought the frog and this boy, Brayden, he was supposed to put the frog back into its aquarium, but he didn’t close the door all the way and the frog got loose and it climbed into Mrs. Beecher’s hair and she was screaming and flapping her arms so crazy.” Reese is waving his hands in the air to demonstrate his story and Cody has to continually duck his head to avoid being slapped in the face. “And everyone was laughing, except Mrs. Beecher, who was screaming, and no one would help her because it was too funny.”
When the boy finishes his story, he draws a long breath. I think he used up all the oxygen in a five-mile radius.
Then he turns and seems to notice me for the first time because he lets out a small yelp and goes very quiet. “Who’s that?” he whispers to Cody.
Cody laughs and takes a step toward me. “This is my friend Seraphina. Seraphina, this is my son, Reese.”
I paint on a bright smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Reese.”
But Reese, miraculously losing his ability to speak, turns and buries his face in his father’s shoulder.
“Aw, c’mon,” Cody coaxes. “Don’t be shy. She’s very nice.”
It takes a moment, but eventually Reese emerges from his hiding place in Cody’s shirt and turns to look at me. He stuffs two fingers in his mouth, but Cody immediately pulls them out.
“Do you know how to play Super Suds Sub?” Reese asks.
“Uh.” I look to Cody for help.
“It’s a virtual sim game,” he tells me. “His favorite.”
“You get to drive a submarine,” Reese explains eagerly.
I look to Cody for a definition of the word submarine. He seems to understand my silent request. “A vessel that travels deep underwater.”
“Yep,” Reese goes on, his face lighting up like a lantern as he cuts his hand through the air. “They go really deep in the ocean. Zoom! Zoom! Really fast! And it blows soap bubbles and you look at fishes and play musical instruments!”
“Wow,” I say, widening my eyes. I’m reminded of little Jane Pattinson and the way her features illuminated when I told her the story of the magic princess. My heart pangs silently for her.
“That sounds fun,” I reply. “But unfortunately I don’t know how to play it.”
Reese looks like I’ve just murdered his entire family.
“But,” Cody says, coming to my rescue, “maybe after dinner you can teach Seraphina how to play.”
Reese’s eyebrows rise hopefully as he glances at me for confirmation.
“I … I would love that.”
I’m relieved to see that this has evidently erased all the harm that I may have caused. Reese bounds from his father’s arms and dashes into the living room. “I’ll load it!”
“After dinner!” Cody calls.
“I’m just gonna get it ready!” Reese yells back.
Cody sticks his hands in his pockets. “Sorry, I hope you didn’t have any plans tonight. He’s pretty hard to say no to.”
“He’s very”—I search for the right word—“interesting.”
Cody chuckles. “Thanks. Coming from someone as literal as you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
A sudden panic floods through me. “It was a compliment!”
“I know.” Cody bumps against my shoulder. “I’ve definitely missed you.”
A smile breaks out over my face. It feels good. “I’ve missed you, too, Cody.”
40
NORMALCY
Ella was right. Cody is an amazing cook. Maybe it’s just because I’m so incredibly famished, or maybe it’s because Mrs. Pattinson’s cooking was so bland and flavorless, but this chicken is the most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted. Even better than the grilled cheese sandwich Cody’s mom, Heather, made for me on my first night at their house.
It’s so rich and succulent and full of delicious spices that I can’t even begin to identify.
“So,” Ella says, taking a sip of her wine, “Cody told me you were a friend of the family back when he was a teenager?”
Cody gives me a clandestine nod, indicating that she hasn’t, in fact, been told the truth about me.
I smile warmly back at her. “That’s right.” Even though the words out of my mouth might be dishonest, my smile is genuine. Cody’s wife has an infectious joy about her. It’s hard not to smile.
“You must have been very young then,” she calculates, “because you don’t look much older than a teenager now.”
“She’s twenty-five,” Cody is quick to put in.
I nod. “That’s right.” I know exactly why he lied about my age. I can’t possibly be a teenager. That would mean I wouldn’t have been born in 2013.
“You look so young,” she remarks, swallowing a mouthful of chicken. “And so incredibly beautiful. I’m sure you get that a lot.”
I feel my face warm and look down at my plate.
“I mean, truly stunning,” she goes on. “Like a model.” She turns to Cody. “Which reminds me, did you see the new billboa
rd that went up next to the market? I swear the women in those clothing ads are looking thinner and thinner. It makes me want to stop eating completely.”
“Babe,” Cody says, giving her a warm look. “You know models aren’t real people. They’re computer generated.”
She takes another sip of her wine and sighs. “I know. It should be illegal, though. How am I supposed to shop for clothes when the department stores are filled with digital projections of synthetic people who don’t have a single curve or wrinkle?”
Cody and I share another glance. Thankfully, he changes the subject, asking Reese more about the incident at school today.
After dinner is over, Cody and Ella do the dishes, and Reese takes my hand and leads me into the living room, thoroughly explaining everything I need to know in order to become a master at the virtual sim game called Super Suds Sub.
The game is magnificent. It’s not played on a regular TV screen, but rather in a digitally simulated world that completely surrounds you.
I stand next to Reese, with controllers strapped to each wrist, steering a giant, unwieldy vessel through an underwater universe as Reese uses his controllers to identify passing sea creatures.
The projected steering wheel in my hands has physical weight and resistance. The fish blow bubbles that float by my head, making popping sounds in my ears.
“Isn’t it cool?” Reese asks.
But I can’t even respond. It’s beyond cool. It’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.
We play again and again. Even Cody comes in and steers the submarine for a while and Ella stands in the back of the craft and plays a holographic piano, matching notes to color-coded keys to give us more fuel and make us go faster.
After a while, I excuse myself and sit on the couch, watching the Carlson family of three moving around an invisible underwater landscape. From this angle, outside of the digital projection, it looks rather ridiculous. Cody maneuvering a steering wheel that doesn’t exist, Ella tapping her fingers rhythmically on invisible air, and Reese dancing with an imperceptible dolphin.
Cody emerges from the underground kingdom a few minutes later. “Take over command of the ship, Captain,” he calls back to Reese, and disappears into the kitchen to refill his wine. I follow him and he asks me how I’m holding up.