Damaged Goods

by Jennifer Bardsley

  “Thank you.” My muscles feel weak with relief.

  “You’re welcome any time.” Jeremy pushes up his sleeves.

  I look back at my impromptu press conference. “That’s all the questions I have time for tonight.” I link my arm with Cal’s and follow the security guards to our car. They muscle onlookers out of the way, but we’re trapped. The crowd presses in deeper. Strange hands claw at me and pull threads from my sweater. I cling to Cal for support, but he is jostled too. Someone grabs the knot of my halter top and pulls the tie. My neck snaps back as I choke.

  “Blanca!” Cal lashes out at the people around us, shoving them away.

  “Defectos!” Jeremy shouts. “She needs help!”

  Vestal-rejects stream into the fracas. The noise of the mob ratchets up ten decibels.

  “That’s my camera!” someone yells.

  “My nose!” a guy shouts.

  I hear screaming and cursing.

  I hug myself and tuck my head down. Cal steps closer, a shield of protection. A minute later, the crowd ripples back ever so slightly. As the Rejects take control, an escape route opens.

  “Run, Blanca!” Cal tugs on my arm, and we break for the parking lot. He clicks open the doors to his yellow sports car, and we leap into the front seat.

  By the time the ignition growls, the mob has followed. Cal inches the car along for several yards, trying not to hurt anyone, until we reach the street and can pick up speed.

  We don’t say anything until the last Virus is out of sight.

  “You did great, sweetheart. You were excellent.” Cal’s voice shakes.

  I am trembling too. “Where do you think Seth is?” I activate my chip-watch to see if there are any messages.

  “He said he had to meet with someone.”

  “Who?”

  Cal adjusts his collar. “His lawyer,” he answers.

  “Oh.” Tiffany.

  “We should probably get you to another lawyer too. Nancy’s excellent, but she’s not a defense attorney.”

  “Neither is Tiffany.”

  “No,” Cal admits, “but she’s an expert in Internet law. And Seth takes care of himself. Him I’m not worried about. But you, Blanca—this is all new to you.”

  “No it’s not. It’s the same old garbage over and over again. Viruses out to get me. And why do I need a defense attorney if I’m not guilty?”

  Cal presses his lips together in a tight line. “The law defines guilt in strange ways.” He pauses for a moment and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “Is there anything you want to tell me? I might not understand, but I’ll listen. There’s nothing you could ever do or say that would make me stop loving you.”

  “That sounds too good to be true.”

  “No,” Cal says. “That’s what it means to be a father.” The bright lights of the road reflect through the windshield, lighting up his face.

  I lean back into the seat and wipe my nose. “I can’t tell you about yesterday. It’s safer that you don’t know. But the important thing is that Seth and I didn’t see anything. His eyes were messed up, and I didn’t look. That’s exactly what I told Agent Plunkett. That I have no idea what happened.”

  “What do you think occurred?”

  I look down at my hands. “Probably Keung made things right for a lot of people, including me.”

  Cal grimaces. “Okay, then. That’s all I need to know.”

  We spend the twenty-minute drive in silence. At some point, I drift off to sleep, knowing I’m safe with Cal. When he flicks on the blinker and turns the car onto the long private road of McNeal Manor, I awaken. Cal waves his chip-watch at the guard station and opens up the gate.

  As soon as we roll onto the grounds, I feel at home. I’m still new to that force on my soul. I have a home with people who love me. A place where I am wanted. All the madness of the day fades away.

  Cal pulls into the garage and parks the car next to the spot where Alan’s limo should be. “Everything will be okay.” Cal reaches out and squeezes my hand before unfastening his seat belt.

  “Cal, wait. I have one more thing to tell you.” I reach into the slim pocket of my pants and pull out the silver key. “I think this belonged to Ms. Lydia.”

  Cal takes the offered key and examines it closely. “When did you find it?”

  I explain about the loose cobblestone in the courtyard. I also tell him how I tried to ask Pilar for ideas, but she wouldn’t tell me anything. “What do you think? Could it be the key to Ms. Lydia’s house?”

  “That’s a definite possibility.” Cal places the key on my palm. “This means there’s something I need to show you too. I was waiting until you had more appointments with Dr. Meredith and I was sure you could handle it, but after the courage you showed tonight in a very difficult situation, I feel remiss for holding it back.”

  “What?” I ask, my curiosity piqued. “What haven’t you told me?”

  “Your mother,” Cal answers. “When Lydia was still alive, I hired a private investigator to follow her, to reveal information about the Vestals she tried to hide.”

  My hand claps tight around the key, and my whole arm quivers.

  Cal switches on the lights and illuminates his extensive collection of old-fashioned books that line the library on mahogany shelves. The one row of windows is walled off by closed shutters.

  “I’m sorry.” I say. “I forgot to open the shutters in my courtyard so you could get some light in here.”

  Cal walks over to his desk. “That’s okay. It doesn’t matter much at this hour.” He unlocks a drawer with the swipe of his chip-watch and pulls out a large folio. “I didn’t trust these files to be electronic. Not when I was trying to convince Lydia that my intentions were sincere.” Cal hands the bundle over to me. The weight feels heavy in my hands.

  I stumble to the green leather couch. “I don’t understand. Wouldn’t Ms. Lydia have known she was being followed? I always know when people are watching me.”

  “She wasn’t in the public eye like the rest of you,” says Cal. “Sure, she had her usual Vestal paranoia, but for the most part, she was off the grid. She had no reason to suspect anyone knew who she was or what she looked like. The only two signs that she was a Vestal were her white clothes and platinum cuff. Apparently, most days she’d throw on a brown coat or green jacket to avoid detection. Look,” Cal points to the files, “you’ll see that in the notes.”

  I take a deep breath and open the pages, but they only serve to confuse me further. “I don’t get it. This is a bunch of dates and locations.”

  “Flip to the back page,” Cal says. “You’ll find the summary.”

  My fingers fumble with nerves, until they finally land on the right page.

  Case Summary: Lydia XXXX. Subject’s last name unknown at this time.

  Observation Period: Four weeks, late fall.

  Behaviors: Subject is constantly on the move. During the course of the investigation, the subject made frequent trips to downtown Silicon Valley in her role as the liaison between Vestal graduates and the companies they work for. Subject also coordinated with the production crew of former Tabula Rasa students who shoot commercials. Subject frequently seen in public wearing a brown coat or a green jacket.

  Transportation: Subject drives a nondescript Japanese make sedan with sophisticated tech upgrades. Unable to trail the car through normal electronic means. On November 1, 2062, attempt was made to put a tracker on the undercarriage of the car, but something, perhaps lead, blocked transmission. The only recourse was to physically trail subject, which added considerable cost as documented in the expense report.

  Locations: McNeal Manor, Tabula Rasa, cottage in Gilroy, Mountain View soundstage, Vestal suites of eleven different companies, and private terminal at Mineta San Jose International Airport.

  I let the papers fall to my lap. One word has jumped out at me in neon letters. “Gilroy? But that’s where Headmaster Russell tried to tak
e us yesterday.”

  “I wondered about that too. It could be a coincidence or it could be meaningful.” Cal sits next to me on the couch, his hand clasped over his knees.

  “But I don’t understand. If you knew where Ms. Lydia lived, why didn’t you tell me before now? Why hide this from me?”

  “I wasn’t hiding it from you, sweetheart. I didn’t know if you were ready to deal with it yet. I wanted you to have more sessions with Dr. Meredith before we laid this on you.”

  “Dr. Meredith knows too?” I can’t keep the smack of betrayal from my voice.

  “Yes, and the plan was Dr. Meredith would inform me when you were further along in the grieving process for your mother. We wanted to make sure you were capable of handling your mother’s death before you had to deal with her house too.”

  “Ms. Lydia wasn’t my mother.”

  “Blanca.” Cal touches my shoulder, but I pull away.

  “She gave birth to me. There’s a difference.”

  Cal’s eyes looked pained. “Lydia had a lot of issues, but deep down—”

  “No! I don’t want to hear it. Ms. Lydia didn’t love me like you love Seth. She wouldn’t fight for me. She—” Unbidden tears spring up on my cheeks, and my whole body tenses as I try to stop them.

  “I love you too.” Cal sits there, helpless, his forehead wrinkled with worry.

  A second later, I throw my head on his shoulders and cry into his scratchy tweed blazer. Cal wraps his arms around me and hugs me tight. “You’re my daughter now every bit as much as Seth is my son, and I would fight for you too.” Cal offers me a handkerchief, and I blow my nose hard.

  A few minutes later, when all my tears are all gone, Cal says, “About this key …”

  “Yes?”

  “We could drive to Gilroy tomorrow if you want. There’s an address in the report.”

  “Do you think I’m up to it?”

  “Yes. I do. But it’s not important what I think. We’re talking about your life, Blanca. Do you think you’re up to it?”

  “Absolutely.” I nod. “And, Cal, so you know, I’m never seeing Dr. Meredith again.”

  “What? Why?”

  “For starters, she kept this from me, and I think that was wrong. And also because the last time I saw her I was abducted.”

  “Blanca,” Cal protests, “that wasn’t Dr. Meredith’s fault.”

  “We can’t know that for certain. And it doesn’t matter anyway. My instincts tell me not to trust her. You taught me to listen to my own intuition.”

  “Yes, but in this case—”

  “In this case I’m right. Dr. Meredith will never understand what it’s like to be me. She has no idea how Vestals think or what’s important to them.”

  Cal sighs, and then pauses a moment, like he’s choosing his words with care. “Blanca, there are a very small handful of people in this world who will ever understand what it’s like to be you. But that doesn’t mean you need to stop seeking help. You have nineteen years of turmoil to process.”

  “I know, but don’t worry.” I reach into my pocket and pull out Jeremy’s card. “I’ve found somebody else to talk to.”

  “Whom?”

  “A whole support group of people who get it.”

  Cal raises his eyebrows as understanding hits him. “You don’t mean …”

  “Yes. I’m talking about the Defectos.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I thought there would be flowers, but I was wrong. There’s nothing here, not even un-mown grass or a lawn full of dandelions. Bare dirt surrounds the small house with shingle sides. There’s no front porch. The only color is the grayness of the wood and the fine mist of grit that covers the doorstep.

  I squeeze the key in my hand. “Are you sure this is the house?” I ask Cal.

  He stares at the piece of paper he holds with the address. “I’m afraid so. I thought it would be different. Your mother was lovely and alive. I pictured—” Cal takes a deep breath.

  I’ve waited all morning to come here. First, I attended tutoring with Irene. Then I had to wait for Cal to come home from work on his lunch break. I called Seth over and over again, but he didn’t answer. Finally, on the drive here, Seth texted me.

  Seth: Still working a case. Leave without me.

  What a jerk. He’s probably off with Tiffany. Or else he’s trying to make me feel guilty about Keung, which is totally unfair. Never trust a Virus.

  “Well, shall we?” Cal extends his hand to the door. “After you, sweetheart.”

  The small doorstep creeks under my weight. I brush cobwebs off the handle, and the sleeve of my white blouse turns gray.

  I gaze up at Cal. “What if it’s horrible?”

  He smiles encouragingly. “It won’t be.”

  I put the key in the lock.

  And it won’t go in.

  “What!” I start to sweat. “Why won’t it work? I thought—I was sure! How is this possible?” My voice is frantic. It’s all I can do not to chuck the key out into the dirt.

  Cal tries the lock too. “Wow. I was as hopeful as you were, Blanca. I was positive this would work.” Cal takes off his blazer and hands it to me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We didn’t come all this way for you not to find answers.” Cal rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “We’ll have to find another way in, that’s all.” He reaches for his jacket and wraps it around his fist. Then he steps off the doorstep and walks around to the side of the house.

  “Are you going to break in?” My heartbeat races.

  “Just one window.”

  “But what if the neighbors see?”

  “What neighbors? This place is deserted.” Cal sizes up the glass with dark curtains on the inside. “It’s only three feet off the ground. Besides, Nancy tells me you probably own this house. The only holdup is probate court.” Cal pulls back his fist like he’s going to smash it.

  “Wait!” I grab his elbow and stop him in time. “I won’t let you get in trouble over me. What if there’s a security system?”

  “Not a problem,” says a familiar voice. “I already deactivated it.” Seth stands in the side yard, his hands hooked to the pockets of his jeans. “But why don’t you jiggle the window first before you destroy anything?”

  “Oh.” Cal grins at his son. “Good idea. Breaking and entering isn’t my strong suit.”

  “It’s a good thing your son is a Virus then.” Seth winks at me and steps up to the window. “Not this one.” He runs his fingers along the sill. “Too tight.” He walks farther along the perimeter of the house until he finds a kitchen window that appeals to him. “This one’s perfect.”

  A few minutes later, I stand in the yellow kitchen of Ms. Lydia’s house. Dish towels hang neatly next to the faucet. A drying rack holds a bowl, mug, and a solitary spoon. My knees feel weak when I look at it, and I sink into the only kitchen chair.

  “Are you okay?” Cal asks me.

  “Yes,” I answer. “I’m taking it all in.”

  Seth rubs my shoulders. “We don’t have much time, Blanca. We need to search fast.”

  “I thought you cut the security system?”

  “I did, but pretty soon somebody will notice.”

  “Oh.” I spring up and sprint to the next room. It’s a sitting area with a floral couch and a strange looking screen.

  “What is this thing?” Seth knocks his hand on the contraption.

  “It’s a television,” says Cal. “I haven’t seen one of these in years. I wonder if Lydia was able to get it to work.”

  I leave the guys to investigate Ms. Lydia’s tech indiscretion and head into the next room. It’s set up like an exercise studio, with wood floors, a treadmill, and a yoga mat. The walls have framed pictures of the most famous Vestal campaigns of all time. I see Pilar and Alberto, looking young and in love. Then there’s a poster of the original Lilith, my aunt, advertising cleaning products. Her salt-and-p
epper hair is tied back with a white headband. I step up to the wall and put my fingertips on the picture. Lilith’s smile reminds me of my own.

  “Blanca,” Seth calls, “in here.”

  I walk to the sound of his voice and find Seth and Cal in Ms. Lydia’s bedroom. As soon as I enter, I feel her presence. The gracefulness of the lace afghan. The elegance of the dressing table in the corner. Even the fan on the nightstand is reminiscent of her. I never saw Ms. Lydia perspire, no matter how high the temperature soared. There’s also a twin bed, a small dresser, and a rocking chair. Seth and Cal stand in front of the closet.

  “Half of the clothes are white,” says Seth. “The other half is colored.”

  I face the rows of neatly hung garments. Then I take a step closer and bury my nose in the fabric. I hope to smell a familiar fragrance, but all I find is the lingering whiff of detergent.

  “Your mother wore color.” Cal holds out the sleeve of a blue blouse. “That’s an example to think about for the future.”

  “Not now, Dad.” Seth scowls. “Let Blanca have her moment.”

  I look down at the floor of the closet to a row of Ms. Lydia’s shoes. There, in the corner, I spy a strange square book. I reach down to pick it up for closer inspection.

  “It’s a photo album,” explains Cal. “Maybe we’ll find clues in here about Lydia’s private life.”

  I command my heart to stop hoping. The three of us rush back to the living room and sit on the couch.

  I carefully turn the first page and find it yellow and sticky, covered with clouded plastic film. But underneath is a picture of a girl and a baby. The girl has a heart-shaped face.

  “Your mother and Lilith.” Cal smiles at the picture. “I’d recognize her anywhere.”

  I turn the page and find a picture of Ms. Lydia again, this time as a four-year-old standing next to my father. Barbelo Nemo stares out at me with green eyes flecked with gold, exactly like mine. “It was sick,” I say. “They were twenty-three years apart.”

  Cal swallows. “Lydia didn’t have an easy life,” he says. “We need to remember that about her.”