by Casey Hays
The questions swirling in my brain cause my heart to race with anxious beating. I am suddenly overwhelmed, and I can think of only one more thing to say.
“When do you think Ian will return?”
My voice squeaks dangerously, but I have to ask. I feel safety in the question. To utter his name floods me with a sudden calm.
Justin licks his lips and concentrates on his fingernail again.
“I can’t answer that question. There are too many variables. His original plan was to take Tabitha and come right back. He could be here any moment.” He shakes his head. “But if he has to stay in Eden longer, we may reach Jordan before we hear from him. And then, he may not risk coming at all.”
A chill suddenly attacks, mingling with his words, and I pull my knees up to my chin and wrap my arms around my legs.
“But what do you think he will do?”
Justin smiles. “I think he will do whatever he needs to do to get back to you.”
I allow a faint breath to escape from my lungs. His answer fills me with overwhelming relief, and yet it saddens me as well because I don’t know what the future holds. And I’m not sure what Ian may need to do so that we can be together.
My sadness climbs onto my shoulders to leer at me, and I slump at the weight of it. I wish I hadn’t asked about him.
Justin watches me with his dark eyes, and I squirm beneath their intensity. I feel something in them, and it, too, makes my heart beat rapidly. Because it is full of emotion, sweet and deep . . . and directed straight at me.
“Ian is crazy about you,” Justin whispers. “You know that, right?”
I raise a brow, surprised that he broaches this issue.
“Yes.” I tug on my braid, suddenly nervous. “And I love him. I—I never thought I would have a chance to love anyone.”
“Really?” His voice floods with a strong sense of incredulity. “So . . . none of the girls in your village ever fell in love with their . . . mates?”
“Oh.” I’m taken aback by his question. “I certainly can’t speak for all of them. Mia definitely did not.”
At the thought of her, the sadness infiltrates the wall I’ve desperately attempted to build around my heart over the last few days. I wipe at a lone tear that suddenly decides to show itself at the idea of never seeing her again. I shake away her image and refocus on Justin.
“I suppose it’s plausible that some of the women may have experienced an affection toward a mate.” My answer is as honest as it can be. “There was Meg.”
“And who’s Meg?”
“She was my friend. Her mate was not from . . . the stock.” I make certain he understands my meaning. “And the rumor was she loved him.”
“Well, you love Ian. So there you go. It’s possible.”
I shake my head. “Ian and I, we never . . . mated. It isn’t the same at all.”
“But that was Mona’s intention. What’s the difference?”
I smile, meeting his sincerity with softness. “If you were one of the stock, you would understand the difference.”
He lowers his eyes, and I wonder if he thinks of my tirade when he first asked me about the Pit.
“At any rate, Meg was executed for her trouble.”
Justin’s eyes widen in the dim light.
“How did she die?”
I close my eyes, not wanting to relive the memory, but it’s there all the same, tugging at my sorrow. Harsh and cold and full of violence. “She was nearly beaten to death. And then they . . . hanged her.”
Justin doesn’t move, frozen by the shock of my words.
“I didn’t see it. We weren’t required to attend. But I should have.”
“They killed her for loving someone?”
I nod. “But more importantly, they killed her for helping him escape with their child.”
“Wow.” He sits back, clearly stunned by the level of harshness about my village that has never fully touched his understanding. “So helping Ian escape—that was a big deal.”
“Very,” I agree.
We sit in silence, the beam of the flashlight casting our duel shadows on the tent walls like large, looming monsters bending over us. The rain pelts the tent in a syncopated pattern.
“Do you think—” Justin begins, and then hesitates. “I mean, do you ever wonder if maybe—”
I peer at him. Whatever he wants to say lingers at the back of his throat, caught and unwilling at first to come forth. He fidgets uncomfortably, eases up to rest his elbows on his knees until the half of his face farthest from the flashlight disappears into the shadows.
“Maybe the reason you love Ian is—and no disrespect to him, but—he was the first guy you ever met.”
He’s a statue after this, and a sense of regret for allowing these thoughts to spill into the tent with us alights on his face. But I soak up his words, let them run over me in all their truthfulness as the rain outside deepens and runs in multiple rippling rivers down the sides of the tent. Ian was the first grown boy I’d ever encountered. The first male to talk to me, to touch me, to kiss me. And so. . .
“I don’t know much,” I answer tentatively. “But I don’t think you can tell your heart what to do. It either loves someone . . . or it doesn’t.”
The smile that invades his lips is somehow sad. He straightens. “You’re right,” he mumbles. “It definitely doesn’t wait for permission.”
His words sit heavy upon me, searching for a place to fit where I will accept them. It’s a difficult concept to digest—this strange thing called love. And yet, I knew I loved Ian long before I ever said it aloud. It reached out for me with warm hands and injected its sweet poison into my heart. There was no turning back. It didn’t ask my opinion. No. It simply took up residence.
“I’ll admit, Ian is rash,” I continue. “He’s stubborn, hot-tempered, and full of qualities that aren’t always attractive. But he’s also spontaneous.” I smile as his face invades my memory, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “I never know what to expect with him, and I don’t want to. He brings to my life a different kind of adventure.”
Justin lowers his eyes. I pause and think of the book of poems tucked inside my pouch. I’ve read the first one several times now, and it speaks to me more and more with each reading. It doesn’t matter how or where I first encountered Ian. I would have loved him regardless.
“It’s more than this, Justin. Ian knows me. He’s seen where I came from; he’s been a part of it. He knows what I was meant to be, and it doesn’t matter to him. And even if I’m not happy about it, I know he’s kept things away from me because he cares for me. He cares about what I want for myself.” I pause. “And I believe in him even if I believe in nothing else. He’s risked his life for me, and I believe he would die for me. And I would do the same for him.”
I see something in Justin’s eyes I’ve never seen before. A kind of pain that sends a jolt of compassion reeling through my heart, and I see it. He longs for this—for someone willing to risk everything for him. After a moment, his eyes clear, and he nods.
“I am glad for you, Kate. Ian is the best friend a guy could ask for, and you are lucky to have him.” He pauses before he adds, “And he’s lucky to have you.”
I smile, lowering my eyes. We sit in silence listening to the drumming of the storm. It grows heavier until the beating raindrops are loud enough to drown out our very thoughts before it ebbs into a quieter din. Only then do I speak again.
“Thank you. For helping us. And for your friendship.”
“Sure.” He smiles.
A gust of wind shakes the tent, threatening to collapse it. The force of it throws me against Justin. He catches me by the elbows, his fingers warm through my jacket. My palms flat against his chest are all that prevent me from being completely compressed into him.
“Whoa,” he says, his breath on my cheek. “That came out of nowhere.”
Catching his eyes, I push away from him. The awkwardness steals in as I consider all that has p
assed between us tonight. It suddenly feels very wrong to be here.
“It’s late.” I clear my throat. “I suppose I’d better go to my tent.”
“You’ll be soaked going out there right now,” he says. “Just so you know.”
I pause, the zipper between my finger and thumb, and listen to the torrent rising up again.
His dark eyes burn into me, and I am suddenly and starkly aware of him. Aware of his feelings that stand out like a badge across his chest. And I am aware that in Ian’s absence, I’ve allowed Justin to come too close. Closer than I ever intended.
“I know,” I say.
I quickly slide the flap open without another word and jet out into the downpour.
Chapter 27
I wake to silence. The rains have ended for now, and the morning sun casts the outline of a nearby tree onto the side of our tent. Its shadowy branches sway in the breeze, and they resemble gnarled fingers stiff with age.
Anna Maria’s fingers.
I trace the branches with my eyes. I haven’t thought of Anna Maria in days. In the Village, I rarely thought of her at all. She was merely one of them: a Council member, kinder than most, but a Council member all the same. I had no need of her. Not until that fateful day when she was the only one who defended me. Her quick thinking saved my life. She granted me the time I needed to formulate a plan, and she is the reason I am here now.
And so, I stare at the gnarled fingers of the trees, and I think of her. I wonder if she will truly send for me one day as she expressed. I wonder, too, how she will ever find me.
But I don’t wonder about whether I will return. I won’t. I am too young to lead. This was confirmed the minute Tara announced my name written on the tiny scroll inside the box. The women need someone with life experience; someone they choose. Someone who can make the changes necessary to improve life in the Village. I had the vision, but I was not equipped for such a task. Not at sixteen.
I hope someone else was.
Diana stirs beside me. She lies on her back. I see now that she is awake and has been for some time. She stares at the top of the tent in such a way that I’m tempted to look up myself at what she sees. She’s pushed the sleeping bag completely away from her body, and her hands are folded together over the small bulge of her stomach.
“Hi,” I whisper.
She turns her head.
“Hi.”
“Have you been awake long?”
She stares upward again. “Long enough.”
Silence. I rub my eyes with my fists.
“I suppose we should get up.” I start to rise. “We’ll have another long—“
“I heard you talking with Justin last night.”
I halt halfway up on an elbow. Diana is a calm sea, eyes planted on the ceiling. The air all around us is quiet, undisturbed, and I’m unsure what to make of her comment. My mind races, and I swallow as I attempt to keep my voice a steady match to her body language.
“Did you?”
“These walls are thin. And when the rain slows, voices carry.” She turns to me. “You should be more careful with your secrets.”
I close my eyes.
“Diana—“
“I know we aren’t going to Eden,” she interrupts, and there it is. My betrayal, written all over her face, and the guilt slices through me. Her voice is cold, slicing my heart. “There is no point in your hiding it from me any longer. I don’t know why you chose to keep it from me. I’m sure you had your reasons.”
Her jaw tenses, and her eyes suddenly flood with tears, causing the crystal, blue hue to magnify. I reach for her hand, but she pulls away.
“Have you known all this time?” Her voice cracks. “Have you known since we left the Village?”
“No,” I answer, my own voice heavy with despair.
“And did you know when Ian took my baby? Did you know then that we were not following them to Eden after all?”
“No!” I clamber to my knees before her. “I promise you, Diana. I had no idea. Not then.”
“And why?” She beseeches me. “Why are we not going to Eden?”
I take in a breath, bite my lip to hold back my tears. My mind is clouded, and I struggle with how to piecemeal my thoughts back together. To formulate an answer when I don’t understand everything myself. An answer that will not push her to the edge of panic. She lugs herself up to a sitting position, her expression intense, and she waits for my reply. All I can do in response is cover my face with my hands.
A zipping of the tent flap behind me distracts both of us. Justin’s head pops in through the opening.
“These walls are thin.” He smiles cleverly at Diana. “Come out, and I’ll tell you what you want to know. This isn’t Kate’s fault. Don’t be angry with her.”
Diana glares at him.
“I don’t like you making decisions without including me,” she snaps. Her lip trembles fiercely, and she takes a deep, shaky breath to compose herself.
“I know,” he says with a nod. “Kate didn’t like that either. Trust me.”
She glances at me, and I do my best to hand her my most apologetic expression. But it does no good. Her countenance remains hardened. She is angry with me, as I knew she would be. And she has every reason on her side. I knew this even as I kept the secret.
Behind Justin, there is a sudden commotion. Jesse’s voice breaks the morning air with an enthusiastic greeting. Max’s deeper tone joins in. Justin disappears, the flap falling closed.
A beat, and he’s there again.
“It’s Ian,” he says.
The announcement carries a strange mix of sobriety and elation that keeps me frozen a moment. And then, I shove through the opening, tripping over the threshold of the tent in my haste. Justin slides out of my way, and I scramble to my feet. And there he is.
He sees me, and we pause together in the moment. My heart races as it does every time he’s near. And despite all he kept from me—despite what I have learned in his absence—it is right here in this moment, staring into his eyes, that all my doubts fade, and I conclude to forgive him of everything.
He shrugs out of his pack and with his bow and quiver still intact, he comes to me and gathers me into his arms. And before I have a solitary chance to sense his closeness or savor the light puffs of his breath on my skin, his lips press into mine.
Ian has never kissed me this fervently in the presence of others, and my eyes go wide. My cheeks flush, and I feel the heat rising. But then, the fullness of his mouth, hot and sweet and so very familiar, ignites my senses, and the others simply blur out of my vision and disappear. Ian and I are alone in the world. My lids droop; I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer into me. His arms, so strong and so safe, tighten until my feet leave the ground.
“You’re okay?” he whispers against my temple. “You’re not sick?”
I lean back to peer up at him from where I dangle in his arms. “No. Not anymore.”
His brows crinkle. “You were?”
“Yes. I had the flu . . . or something.”
Confusion crosses his face before it quickly fades, and he kisses me again.
“The flu,” he whispers in sheer relief. “Just the flu?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Why?”
He drops me to my feet and faces the boys, his hand still clutching my waist. “Something’s gone down in Eden.”
“What are you talking about?” Justin’s concern floods the question.
Ian shakes his head. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
Diana waits expectantly by the flap of our tent, and the eagerness consuming her presses me to tug on Ian’s hand.
“Could you begin with Tabitha?” I ask. “How is she?”
The minute he looks at me, I know something is terribly wrong. The air in the atmosphere drops a dangerous degree. And when his eyes flick toward Diana, she knows. Her daughter is dead. She makes no sound, but her face contorts into a full mask of pain. Ian goes to her.
�
�Doc tried, but—I’m sorry, Diana.”
His apology, even filled with certain anguish, seems empty as it slams me hard in the middle of my chest. I can’t breathe. I clutch my throat as a wail emits from Diana’s lungs, sending a stark pain through me—sharp and deadly.
“No, no, no. No!”
And then, she’s beating Ian—beating her fists against his chest with all her strength. Her sobs roll over her—huge, gasping bellows.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this . . .” She moans with thick, wet tears. And she slams into his chest again.
Ian stands like a solid wall, the blows barely penetrating, until finally, he takes her wrists and holds her struggling hands tightly. Together, they sink to the ground, and she falls against him, weeping. Tears well up in his eyes as he wraps her in his arms. I cover my face with my hands and go to my knees.
Death is everywhere; we can’t escape him. We can run away from the Village—run to the ends of the earth and jump off—and it will be he who waits with open arms to catch us every time. I am weary, so weary of watching him take us one by one. It is our true destiny, and there is no end in sight.
It is overwhelmingly painful to think of Tabitha’s end before she had a chance to begin. I grieve for her, and yet I know my tears will never equal the amount Diana will shed for her daughter, her reason for living, the reason she left the Village. I cannot fathom that kind of grief.
When Justin takes hold of my shoulders, I throw myself into his arms without thinking. And they envelop me, providing a momentary haven in the sadness.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, and I bury myself against him and squeeze my eyes shut.
If only I could squeeze them tightly enough to squelch reality out of existence. Then, I would hear Tabitha’s sweet, baby voice ring out in the coolness, and Diana would have no more need of crying. It is my wish; my silent and impossible wish.
“I want you to know that she fought, Diana.” Ian’s words pierce us all. “She tried so hard to hang on.”
Diana’s sobs are muffled, and where before her fists had pummeled his chest, she now clings to Ian, clenching fistfuls of his shirt—and drowning in her own tears. Max holds still, eyes lowered, the continual flicking of his pocket knife silenced. Jesse removes his cap and squeezes it between his fists. We ride out the storm, and even after Diana’s weeping eases into quiet sniffles, nobody dares to speak for the longest time. Ian rocks his body back and forth, his arms encircling Diana. A tear dribbles down his cheek, and he doesn’t brush it away. It slides down and drips from his jawline. I trace the one that follows it.