by Kat Zhang
“Not . . . not a lot,” Addie said.
“I’m sure this Hally talked with plenty of girls,” Dad said, his voice tight. “Are you going to each of them one by one?”
His anger comforted and frightened us all at once. Did it mean he would fight for us? Keep that man from taking us away? Or was he angry because he already knew he had no choice?
Mr. Conivent ignored Dad’s question. His eyes stayed intent on ours, a smooth, slick smile on his lips. “What exactly have you been doing at Hally’s house, Addie?”
Addie tried to swallow and couldn’t. Our mouth opened, but our voice had gone, as if someone had reached down our throat and tangled our vocal cords.
“Addie?” Mr. Conivent said.
“Homework,” Addie said.
Mr. Conivent laughed. He was all sleek confidence and aplomb, a summer day compared to the oncoming thunderstorm that was our father next to him.
“I won’t drag things on,” he said, and held up a manila folder. I hadn’t even noticed it in his hand. “These are Addie’s medical and school files. Your daughter had . . . problems settling as a child, am I right?”
Mom stepped forward, her knuckles shining white against her black slacks. “How—you can’t have access to those.”
“In cases like this, we do get a little special authority,” Mr. Conivent said.
He opened the file. The top sheet was a black-and-white copy of what looked like our elementary school report card. He shuffled that aside, flipping through the pages until he found a sheet full of charts and figures. “She didn’t fully settle until she was twelve. That’s rather unusual, isn’t it?” His eyes passed from Mom to Dad. “Very unusual, I’d say. Only three years ago.”
Again, silence.
Mom’s voice broke the stillness. “What do you want?” Her voice made me hurt, made me want to reach out and grab her hand—squeeze until we were both numb.
“Just to do some tests.”
“Tests for what?” Dad said.
Mr. Conivent’s stare kept us fixed in our seat; his smile kept us dumb and disbelieving. “To see if Eva’s still there.”
My name slammed into the room like a hurricane, rocking the chairs, rattling the silverware. Or maybe it just felt that way to me. I’d gotten used to Hally and Lissa saying it. Ryan and Devon saying it. But this—this was a strange man. And our parents . . .
“Eva?” Mom said. The word crawled from her lips, frightened and blinking at the harsh light.
Yes. Eva, I thought. The name you gave me, Mom. The name you never, ever say anymore.
Dad’s hand crushed the back of our chair. “Addie’s settled. She settled a little late, but she’s settled.” Neither of our parents looked at us.
But Mr. Conivent did. “That’s what we’d like to verify,” he said. “We fear the process never quite finished—that there might have been an oversight when she was younger. There have been great improvements in technology over the past three years. Astounding, really. And I truly believe everyone would benefit from a few more tests.” He looked at Dad, then Mom. He smiled and said pleasantly, “I’m afraid, you see, that your daughter might have been lying to you all this time.”
“That’s not true,” Addie said, the words tumbling from our lips. “That’s not—that’s not true.”
Mr. Conivent spoke over us without even raising his voice. “Your daughter might be a very sick child, Mr. Tamsyn—Mrs. Tamsyn. You have to understand the consequences inaction now could have on her life. On all your lives.” Neither of our parents said anything. Mr. Conivent’s voice hardened. “A child suspected of hybridity is, by law, obligated to undergo the proper tests.”
“Only if there’s real reason to suspect—” Dad said. “You need due cause—”
Mr. Conivent dropped a Xeroxed sheet of paper onto the table. “You signed an agreement, Mr. Tamsyn, when Addie was ten. When she should have been taken away. They only agreed to let her stay because you agreed to allow any and all necessary examinations—”
“But she settled,” Dad said. His eyes finally met ours, wide and desperate. “She settled. The doctors said—”
But she spoke anyway, and our voice was steadier than I’d imagined. Tiny, so soft it was barely audible, but unwavering. “I’m not sick.”
For all the attention our words drew, Addie might as well have screamed.
“She says she’s not sick,” Dad said. “The doctors, they said—”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Mr. Conivent said. He shuffled through his papers again and came up with what looked like a computer printout. “Have you ever heard of Refcon?”
Dad hesitated, then shook his head.
“It’s what we call a suppression drug, a highly controlled substance. It affects the neural system. Suppresses the dominant mind. Taken in the right doses, in the right circumstances, it could allow a lingering recessive mind to slowly regain control of the body.” He passed Mom the paper. She took it as if in a dream.
“What are you getting at?” Dad said. He didn’t look at the paper.
Mr. Conivent turned to us. “Do you have anything to say, Addie?” He waited just a second, as if really interested in our reply. Then he continued, in the voice of a disappointed teacher, “We found a bottle of it hidden in Hally Mullan’s nightstand. Apparently, she’d stolen it from her mother’s hospital.”
A frown flashed across his face, the first time tonight he’d looked truly troubled. Then it was gone. His expression turned to one of silky reproof. “Addie, you knew this, didn’t you?”
“No,” Addie whispered.
“I’m getting confused here,” Dad said. “Are you a representative from the hospital or an investigator? Are you trying to help my daughter or accusing her of some—”
“I’m trying to do what’s best for everyone,” Mr. Conivent said. “Hally Mullan has admitted to medicating Addie in a misguided attempt to bring Eva out—”
“No,” Addie said, almost jumping from our chair. “No, she didn’t—I didn’t—” Had Hally really given us up like that? Or was this man lying through his teeth? I couldn’t tell at all, and the unknowing left us unable to even defend ourself. Our parents stared at us in silent, terrified horror. “That never happened,” Addie said, wrangling our voice back under control.
Mr. Conivent’s voice was like a chameleon. First harsh. Then condescending. Then righteous. Now it was gentle. “I have all the papers here. It would only take a day or two. She’d have to fly up to our clinic, but—”
“Fly?” Dad said. He barked out a laugh that felt like a wound, raw and hurting. “How far is this place?”
“A three-hour flight. But Addie would be very well taken care of.”
“Isn’t there someplace closer? When we—” Dad rubbed his forehead, then took a short breath. “When we had her tested as a child, we did it at the nearest hospital.”
“Mr. Tamsyn,” the other man said quietly. “Trust me, sir. If you care for your daughter like I know you do, you’ll let me take her to Nornand, not ship her off to some third-rate facility.” He paused. “Let the government help Addie, Mr. Tamsyn. Same way we help care for your little boy.”
Dad’s head flew up. But Mom spoke before he could. “This girl, Hally. She’s already at the hospital?”
Mr. Conivent smiled at her. “Yes, Mrs. Tamsyn.”
“And—and they already know she’s . . . hybrid?” Her voice broke at the last word.
Mr. Conivent nodded.
Mom took a shaky breath. “What’ll happen to her?”
As if she didn’t already know. As if we didn’t all already know.
Mr. Conivent’s smile
stayed as steady as ever. “She’s going to stay at Nornand a little while. We have some of the best doctors in the country for this sort of thing. They’ll look after her. Her parents are being very open to treatment, and things look hopeful.”
“She won’t be institutionalized?” Dad said quietly.
“Nornand’s program is different,” Mr. Conivent said. “First in the field. I told you, didn’t I, that you’d want Addie there instead of at some other hospital?” He opened his file again and began pulling out sheets of paper. “Here’s some more information. And here—here’s what you sign.”
The last sheet landed on top of the other two, right next to our plate. Mr. Conivent took a pen from his trouser pocket. One of those thick, shining fountain pens that seem to bleed rather than emit ink. “If Addie wants to go pack while you two go over these, I’d be happy to explain anything you don’t—”
“Pack?” Mom’s face had gone as pale as her knuckles. “You can’t mean—tonight?”
“The flight leaves tomorrow morning at five, and the airport is a good two hours from here. We didn’t realize Addie would need to come with us until today, you see.”
“Then you don’t have a ticket for her,” Mom said. “She couldn’t—”
“She will be accommodated,” Mr. Conivent said, and from the way he said it, I imagined people at the airport scrambling to do his bidding.
I didn’t want to be accommodated. I didn’t want to go—
“But alone—she—no, no. I’m going with her.”
“That’s entirely unnecessary,” Mr. Conivent said.
“I’m going,” Mom said, but her voice cracked. The words came out as a plea, not a statement.
He smiled. “If you insist, Mrs. Tamsyn, of course that’s fine. Unfortunately, we wouldn’t be able to provide another ticket.”
“Then we’ll take Addie there ourselves later.” Dad’s shoulders relaxed a little as he spoke.
Mr. Conivent sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Not recommended. You know how difficult it is to get tickets, and any that are available will be expensive. It might be a month or more before anything even vaguely reasonable comes up.” His lips thinned. “A month is a long time.”
If only they knew. A month ago, we barely knew Hally. We’d never met Devon and Ryan. I lived without hope.
“We could find something quicker than that,” Dad said. He gripped the back of our chair, refusing to look at the papers Mr. Conivent had dropped onto our table. “Give us two weeks—one week. We could—”
“A lot can happen in a few weeks,” Mr. Conivent said, raising an eyebrow. Then, like flipping between channels in a television, his expression flickered—morphed into something cold and hard. “She might get worse, as sick people often do. Think about it. Your little boy, for example. What would happen if he weren’t able to get his treatments for a few weeks?”
His words sucked all the air from the room.
“I think,” Mr. Conivent said into the vacuum, “it would be best for everyone if Addie came with me. Tonight.”
Addie said nothing at all.
Mom touched our shoulder with a trembling hand. “Addie. Addie, go pack, all right?”
Addie stared up at her. Our parents stood on either side of our chair like day and night. Mom, with her corn-silk hair pulled back from her pale, half-moon face. Dad gaping at her, his face red, his lips parted but nothing coming through.
“It’ll only be a few tests and things. Scans,” Mom said. Her voice was so low she might have been speaking to herself. “You had some when you were little, remember? It’s not such a big deal. It’ll be all right.”
Dad looked at us. Addie stared back. No, she mouthed. No. Please.
“Take that red duffel bag,” he said, and he sounded so weary. “Don’t pack too much. You’ll only be a few days.”
“Go on, Addie,” Dad said.
We had no choice but to obey.
The stairs were mountains. Our heart dragged down our feet.
Addie pulled out the duffel bag and began folding clothes, grabbing underwear and socks from our dresser, yanking a T-shirt from the closet.
But when we finally trudged down the stairs again, duffel bag hanging like a sack of bones from our shoulder, no one said anything about changed minds. Mom’s face looked thinner than I remembered. Lined. Weary. Dad had sunk into our abandoned chair, but he stood when Addie slunk into the room. On the table, the dinner we never got to eat slowly got colder.
“There you are, Addie,” Mr. Conivent said, smiling. “Your parents have already taken care of everything.” He gestured with his folder toward the door. “My car’s parked outside. Why don’t you say good-bye now and we’ll get going.”
Our eyes slid to our parents.
“Just give us a moment,” Dad said. He grabbed our wrist and pulled us into the far corner of the family room. There, surrounded by happy pictures of us and Lyle at various ages—from babyhood to only last month, he sat us down on the couch and kneeled before us, still holding our hands.
A tingling had started in our nose. Addie blinked. Blinked again. Again.
“It’ll only be two days, tops,” Dad said. The huskiness in his voice made the tingling worse. “He told us.”
“What if he’s lying?” Addie said.
“Any longer than two days and I’ll come get you myself,” Dad said. “I’ll fly right up there and kidnap you from under their noses. You got that?” He smiled weakly, and we tried, tried so hard, to smile in response, but couldn’t. Instead, we just nodded and wiped at our eyes with the back of our hand. “So just tough it out two days, okay, Addie? You can do that.”
We nodded. Held our breath so the tears wouldn’t come. Stared at the ground because it hurt too much to look at Dad’s face.
He pulled us into his arms, pressing us against his chest so tight he squeezed tears from our eyes. Addie put our arms around him, and in a moment Mom was there too, hugging the both of us. Dad let go, and we hugged Mom properly. Her eyes were red. They didn’t meet ours. But she clutched our hands until they ached.
“You understand, Addie,” she whispered in our ear. “You understand, darling. Lyle needs his treatments. They could cut off the treatments, and then—”
She tore herself away so only our hands remained connected, her eyes squeezing shut.
“Mom,” Addie said. Our fingers and hers were wound so tight I couldn’t tell where ours ended and hers began. “Mom, it’s—”
It’s okay.
But she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t force the words out, and so we said nothing, just gripped Mom’s hands and held on.
What would they tell Lyle when he came home? Half of me was glad he wasn’t here now, that he hadn’t been here to witness any of this. The other half wept because I wanted to tell him good-bye.
“He’s waiting,” Mom said finally. “We shouldn’t make him wait.”
“He can wait a little longer,” Dad said.
But a few minutes more and we had to go. Mr. Conivent led the way to the car, Dad carrying our duffel bag and setting it in the backseat. We were just about to get in, too, when he pulled us aside and hugged us one last time.
“Love you, Addie,” he said.
“Love you.” Our voice was soft.
We turned again to go. But again he stopped us.
For a long, long moment, he just stared at us, his hand on our shoulder, his eyes tracing our face. Then, just as Addie opened our mouth to say something—I didn’t know what—he spoke again. This time it was he who whispered.
“If you’re th
ere, Eva . . . if you’re really there . . .” His fingers tightened around our shoulder, digging into our skin. “I love you, too. Always.”
Then he pushed us away.
Twelve
The drive to the hotel took an hour and twenty minutes. An hour and twenty minutes of Addie hugging our bag to our chest and staring out the window. An hour and twenty minutes of me wishing we could disappear.
We got our own hotel room with a bed bigger than the one our parents shared at home. The coverlet hung perfectly parallel to the ground. The pillows sat at attention, downy chests fluffed out.
“Order dinner if you like,” Mr. Conivent said. “It’s covered by the clinic, and room service will bring it up for you.”
Addie nodded. Mr. Conivent leaned down slightly and showed us one last thing: our hotel key.
“I’m going to keep this with me,” he said. “We’re leaving before dawn tomorrow, and I don’t want you looking for it early in the morning.” He slid the card into his pocket. “Besides, you don’t really need to leave the room until then. Just call room service or reception if you want anything. Okay?”
“Okay,” said Addie.
“I told the front desk to call at three. I know it’s early, but please be ready by three thirty. I’ll come get you.”
“Okay,” said Addie.
He smiled. “Wonderful. Well, good night, then.”
“Good night.”
Addie didn’t order room service. The television screen stayed black and cold-faced like an enemy. The severely tucked bedsheet bound us against the mattress, and Addie curled up beneath it, shivering as the air-conditioning unit blasted under the window.
An hour later, we were still wide-awake, each minute oozing past. Our grip on the pillow tightened. Addie flipped from our side to our back to our other side, then back again. Finally, our eyes popped open.
My words shriveled up.
Water in our eyes. Salt on our lips.