I swallowed a bit of bread and said, “How’s he doing?”
“About the same as when you left. Maybe a little worse. He doesn’t eat much.”
“He’s so thin. And pale. I know he doesn’t want to, but maybe he should go back to the hospital.”
“There’s not much they can do for him there, and he’s happier here.”
“I know. I just hate this. Feeling so helpless.”
“Me too.”
Silence filled the room for a few moments. Despite my ravenous hunger before, I’d lost my appetite. But I continued taking small bites to appease my mother, whose concerned face was watching me closely.
“What’s that?” I gestured toward a large plaque that had been set on the kitchen counter.
“Save the Children sent it, to recognize your father for all his humanitarian efforts.”
I had a sudden flashback—I must have been seven or eight. I was trailing behind Dad as we went from door to door on a summer afternoon. He was trying to collect donations to send to needy children.
“Dad, why didn’t we just stay at the booth?” I had whined. He’d dragged me along to another of his fundraising events, and I hadn’t minded in the beginning—when we’d started the day in a nice air-conditioned venue.
“We weren’t getting enough support there,” he said. “People respond more generously when they’re approached, rather than waiting for them to approach you.”
“But Dad,” I carried on. “It’s so ho-ot.”
“It’s a lot hotter in Africa,” he said, “where these supplies are going. Now get up here. You get to knock on this door.”
I had dozens of such memories. Dad was always trying to ignite the philanthropist spirit in me, and it had worked, some. But then high school came along and I had gotten too caught up with other demands.
“Nash says you agreed to interview with him tomorrow,” Mom said, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yes. Did he say what time he is coming?”
“One o’clock,” she answered. “I don’t understand, Alex. Why does he need to interview you? Isn’t that what you’ve been doing these past few days?”
I hesitated. If I was going to disclose the “activities” I’d been involved in, here was the opening. But now that I was home, and saw with fresh eyes how weakened my father was, and how exhausted and stressed my mother was from caring for him, I was sure I shouldn’t burden them with my story. It would only add to their anxiety.
“Not exactly,” I said vaguely. “There were some complications, but it’s all sorted out now. He just wants to be sure he has all the details.”
“But, I—“ she stopped. “Alex, what happened? What aren’t you telling me? We must have called a hundred different numbers, but everyone we talked to just kept getting the bureaucratic runaround.”
“Mom, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’d really rather not talk about it. Please, can we just forget this whole thing happened?”
She was about to argue, I could see. Send me to my room, or ground me for being defiant. Like she would have, before. But with Dad being so near the end, things were different. Priorities were different.
She sighed heavily. “Okay, Alex. As long as you say this is over and done with, fine. I’ll drop it.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
She stood up, kissed my forehead, and removed my plate.
“You look exhausted—you should get some sleep,” she said.
“Yeah, I will. You should, too,”
“I will.”
She gave me a long hug. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Me too.”
I slept late the next morning and had just enough time to get presentable and eat some of my mom’s homemade pancakes (which reminded me of Ronan, which set off a wave of guilt) before Nash arrived.
When I answered the door, he entered with two other men, introduced as Blake and Mark. All three of them were wearing suits, giving the impression of small business meeting. My mother greeted them coolly and directed them to the downstairs rec room when they asked for a more private place to conduct the interview.
I sat down in the recliner next to the foosball table. The two men Nash had brought with him began moving furniture and setting up technical-looking equipment.
“We’ll be recording this, of course,” Nash said.
A spotlight was turned on, shining directly into my face. I blinked the spots out of my vision while they turned it to the side. Then a video camera was placed only a few feet away from my head. I had a hard time not looking sideways at it; I wasn’t used to being filmed.
Nash settled into a tan couch that was now directly facing my chair. One of the men went and stood at the doorway to the room, while the other hovered over the laptop that he’d connected to the camera.
“I told them,” he said, indicating his two silent companions, “that there was no need to need to connect you to the lie detector. Please don’t discredit me.”
I reminded him that I’d already agreed to cooperate.
“Yes, but I’ve heard that before,” he said dryly. “Let me remind you that this interview will only be finished when I am satisfied. Satisfy me, and our time will be short. I am sure you are anxious to spend your time with your family.”
He was right about that. I didn’t see any reason to conceal anything from them. Honestly, they probably knew a lot more about the things that had been going on than I did anyway.
Nash asked me to explain everything that had happened since Ronan had “retrieved” me from the CIA building. He let me tell the story from beginning to end without interruption. I left out the more personal bits, and hoped he wouldn’t catch on. It was only after I finished that he began barking out questions.
“So you believe the threat from the Kema’dor is gone?”
“Ronan said they wouldn’t be able to track me anymore, so I guess so. I certainly hope so.”
“But there are others—ones that weren’t in the warehouse—that are here?”
“Ye-es,” I said slowly. “I think so. Isn’t that what Ronan told you?”
“I want to know what you know.” He paused to scratch his chin, looking thoughtful. “And the Solamure. At least one is still here.” He said it as a statement, but I knew he was looking for affirmation.
“That’s what Ronan said, yes.”
“And the belief is that it has gone to look for others, who, like you, have had watchers installed in their heads.”
“I don’t think Ronan was positive, but that was his guess.”
“How many others? Do you know where they are?”
“A few dozen, but I have no idea where they are. Scattered all over, I think.”
“Can Ronan find them?”
“I… don’t know. He never mentioned it.”
Nash frowned slightly, then folded his hands over his stomach. After a pause he asked, “Where is this cabin you went to?”
I shrugged. “I’ve always been bad with directions, and I was unconscious on my way there, and after leaving it. I really have no idea.”
“And the NeuralCom?” he asked with a glint in his eye. “You say you lost it during your attempt to flee?”
I could only imagine what a prize that would be to him.
“Yes. Like I said, it came off when I was running through the woods.”
Nash studied me, eye-to-eye. A few moments passed before he spoke. “All right, Alex. If everything you say checks out with our voice monitoring equipment, we’ll be on our way.” He turned to the man who was staring intently at the laptop. “Run the program,” Nash ordered.
“Voice monitoring?”
“Software we’ve recently acquired. It scans voices for lie detection. 94% rate of accuracy.”
“I thought you said you trusted me!”
Nash smiled wryly. “I’m in the CIA, Alex. I don’t trust anybody.”
“The scan is complete. There’s a 96 % chance that she is telling the truth,” Mark said.
> I scoffed. “Next time just hook me up to the machine. At least that’s more honest.”
Nash stood up. “There won’t be a next time, I hope.”
He began disassembling the camera equipment. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, Alex, of my conditions. But just in case, let me be perfectly clear. We will be keeping tabs on you. Any attempt to discuss your experiences with anyone not currently under this roof will compromise your freedom. Any attempt to contact Ronan will also compromise your freedom. You are to continue on with your life as if this had never happened. If anyone asks, say you were visiting an out-of-town relative these past few days. Keep it vague. We will be watching.”
We will be watching. Before, I probably would have rolled my eyes at such a hackneyed line, but as it was, it hit a nerve. They were watching. I’d been being watched for years. This was bound to give me some sort of disorder.
The men finished packing up their equipment and headed back upstairs. There, Nash said a rather formal farewell to my mother, who returned one, much less formally. Then they walked out the front door, loaded into the sleek black vehicle they’d arrived in, and disappeared around a corner.
As soon as they were gone, I felt the weight of the stress I’d been carrying lighten somewhat. I was home, with my parents, and there were no alien stalkers after me, and no CIA men coming to abduct me. And what about attractive humans-who-once-lived-with-aliens-and-sacrificed-themselves-so-you-could-be-here?
My gut wrenched as Ronan’s handsome face filled my mind’s eye. He saved my life. A knot of pain—surprisingly strong—suddenly twisted in my heart. Emotion sprung up from my gut to my tear ducts as it really hit me that I’d never see him again. How could I feel so much for someone I’d really only known a few days?
With some great effort, I took a deep breath, and choked back the tears. It wouldn’t do to moon over him right now. My parents needed me.
I found my mom in the kitchen, fiercely beating some raw eggs with a whisk.
“Whoa, Mom. What did those eggs ever do to you?”
Her vigorous stirring halted and she looked up at me intensely.
“Are you okay, Alex?”
I nodded. “Of course. We just talked is all. Where’s Dad?”
She nodded her head in the direction of the bedrooms. “Resting. I think he’s trying to work up some energy to join us for dinner. I know he wants to see you.”
“Okay. Should I take him some water or anything?”
“Probably not right now. We can get him up when dinner’s ready. Want to help?”
“Sure,” I said, anxious to do anything I could to ease the burden she was carrying.
“Why don’t you make a salad while I do the chicken?”
“Sounds good,” I said with forced cheerfulness.
I pulled out some vegetables from the bottom drawer of the refrigerator and set them on the table. After collecting the cutting board, a knife, and a glass bowl, I set to work.
“I was thinking we could go shopping for your graduation dress tomorrow,” my mom said conversationally, trying to keep the peace.
Oh, right. Graduation. I’d completely forgotten all about it. I glanced at the calendar and studied it for several long moments. But for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what day it was. Finally, I had to ask.
“It’s the twenty-fourth.”
“But that means graduation is next week!”
Mom paused in her breading of the chicken and turned to me. Her eyes were shining with tears, but she was smiling.
“I know, honey. I can’t believe it either. I distinctly remember ordering you never to get this old.”
I smiled back. “Would it make you feel better if I went and jumped on the couches and drew on the walls?”
“Maybe so. And be sure to leave some toothpaste smeared on the counter for me to clean up, too.”
“Anything to help,” I said.
“So, shopping tomorrow?”
“Dad’ll be okay here by himself?”
She sighed, strain returning to her expression. “I think so. He sleeps most of the time anyway. And we won’t go for too long.”
“Sounds like a plan, then.”
Chapter 12
“She’s safely home?”
“As promised.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s your turn to uphold your side of the deal. I hope you’re feeling voluble.”
“Not particularly, but let’s get this over with. There are things that need doing.”
Dad did join us for dinner, but it was a quiet affair. He asked me about my day, but didn’t seem coherent enough to carry on more conversation than that. I exchanged worried looks with Mom over the table and racked my brain for something positive to say.
“I noticed the tulips,” I said.
“Oh, yes,” Mom replied. “The girl scouts asked if they could plant some for a service project. They look nice, don’t they?”
“Yes. Very pretty.”
We fell again into silence. Conversation stalemate.
Finally I stood up and placed my silverware into the dishwasher. I went back to the table to gather the plates. I noticed that each person’s plate had barely been touched. It looked as though we were about to begin a meal, not end one.
Suddenly a weight fell over me. If there is anything more bleak than sitting around, waiting for someone in your family to die, I don’t know what it is. My adventure with Ronan had made me forget how dismal things had become. And the worst thing was, there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. How do you look at the bright side of things when there is no bright side?
These dispiriting thoughts followed me around like a little raincloud as I cleaned up the kitchen. I’d insisted that Mom and Dad go watch the evening news, like they used to do, hoping they wouldn’t catch on to my gloomy thoughts.
Upon finishing, I helped Mom wake Dad, who’d fallen asleep on the couch, and together we assisted him to the bedroom. Mom made him swallow some pills and then left to go do some work on her computer. I gave my dad a hug, then turned to leave, but he stopped me.
“Stay a minute,” he said through lips that barely seemed to move.
“Okay.” I sat back down in the chair next to his bed.
“I want to say a few things to you,” he said quietly, slowly.
I nodded.
“Alex, I hate to see you so down. It’s not you.”
I didn’t respond. What could I say that wouldn’t make things worse?
“I don’t want you living in death’s shadow. You’re too young.”
“Okay, Dad,” I said, hoping to make him feel better.
With effort he lifted his head from the pillow and looked at me eye-to-eye.
“I’m serious, Alex. You and your mother need to live for the future, not dwell in the past. You, especially. You have so much life. Don’t let my passing shadow it. I want you to find something you’re passionate for—obsessively passionate—and that will help.”
Drained from the effort of his small speech, his head fell to his pillow and he closed his eyes for a moment. I took his hand.
“I love you, Dad. I will do my best to carry on. Passionately.” In the dark corner of my mind a small voice laughed ha! as I spoke. But you say anything for someone on their deathbed.
“I love you too, Alex. You’ve always been my little angel. Now I guess it’s time for me to be yours.”
He closed his eyes and fell asleep almost instantly.
I left the room, closing the door quietly behind me. I had planned on checking in with my mom, but went straight to my room instead. As soon as the door clicked shut, I let myself fall apart again.
The next few days blurred together in a haze of medical treatments, visiting relatives, and sleepless nights. I had considered going back to school, but my mom decided being home was more important. She called all my teachers, who were very understanding of the situation, and got me excused from all the remaining schoolwork I should hav
e been doing.
Which was fine by me. I didn’t really want to see everybody at school. They would be nice enough to ask about my dad, of course, but then would eagerly move onto their own lives and plans for the future. Graduation was a time for celebrating, not mourning.
But they were more thoughtful than I’d guessed. Some of my classmates passed around a card a bunch of people signed. A few of them brought it over to our house, along with a big bouquet of flowers.
Several people from various institutions—halfway houses, senior care centers, even the animal center he’d once spent two weeks dropper feeding orphan puppies— came by to thank Dad for his service. Many of them brought flowers and the house began to smell heavenly—exactly the opposite of how I felt.
Natalie called me on Mom’s phone, after giving up on trying to reach me on mine. I knew she would’ve wanted to hear all about Ronan—he was exactly the kind of guy she would love to chat for hours about—but I couldn’t bring myself to do more than casually mention there was someone I’d spent some time with recently.
“Well, what’s he like?” she pressed.
“He’s different from any guy –or anyone—I’ve ever known,” I said.
“How so?”
“Well, he… He really seems to get me, if you know what I mean.”
“Have you kissed him?”
I sighed. “No. I think he wanted to, but, I just couldn’t…” Because I’d betrayed him only moments before.
Obviously, I couldn’t go into all that. Even if Nash hadn’t threatened me, I wouldn’t have wanted to. It wasn’t the sort of thing you went into over the phone. Besides, she’d moved onto a detailed story about a guy whom she had been more than willing to kiss. I “yeah”ed and “wow”ed in all the right places, then she finished the conversation by asking if there was anything she could do for me or my parents and wished us well.
In truth, I’d been trying to avoid thoughts of Ronan. The little zap of infatuation I felt each time I thought about him made me feel guilty. I shouldn’t be pining over some guy during a time like this.
Understanding the Stars Page 9