Calculated

by Nova McBee

  My dad has not stopped hugging and kissing me, as if to make up for all the years he couldn’t.

  Mara hugs me too, so tightly I think she might have broken a rib. “I thought I’d lost you forever,” she says. She tells me she loves me about a hundred times. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “I forgive you, Mara. I never stopped loving you.”

  “Can you ever trust me again?”

  I grip her tightly as another sobbing fit threatens to start. I know rebuilding a relationship with my family won’t happen overnight, but it will happen, and for my part, I won’t hold anything back. “I’ll start today.”

  Another hour passes and no one says it, but we’re all thinking the same thing. We wish Mom were here. To have her arms entangled in ours. To hear her laugh and see her smile. I miss her so badly. It burns in places only time can heal. I know I’ll always miss her, but I have my family back. I know she’d be happy we are all together again. She’d want me to treasure this time.

  Lily touches my face and plays with my hair telling me how beautiful I am. It’s good to have little sister adoration again. She fills me in about the high school and her new boyfriend, Mason. Then she pulls something out of her purse. It’s a piece of old lined paper.

  “Your speech,” she says. “I’ve carried it with me everywhere.”

  I blink, unbelievingly. “Really?” I remember giving it to her that night at graduation. I take it from her hands, unfold it, and read the lines I wrote over two years ago.

  SPEECH for graduation:

  (Tell a joke first) I guess we’ve all been “counting” the days to graduation, huh? (laugh)

  My name is Josephine Rivers and I’m up here because I count (laugh) …In the grander scheme of life, you count too. We all count.

  (Serious pause)

  A respected friend asked me once what I wanted to be remembered as when I died. A prodigy? A mathematician? I didn’t know. So I thought about it. I remembered the old story of Alfred Nobel, known for the Nobel Peace Prize. He wasn’t always known for that. It was a choice.

  Before he became an ambassador for peace, he was the genius chemist who invented weapons, like dynamite, that eventually brought horror and pain into the world. As the story goes, his hometown accidentally printed his pre-written obituary, and he woke one morning to read about his own death in the newspaper. It went something like this, “Alfred Nobel, the merchant of death, has died.” Alfred, who was clearly still alive, sat shocked in his chair, asking himself an important question. Did he want to leave a legacy of death and destruction?

  Thankfully, he had a second chance to change the course of his life. To change his destiny, and the world, to be known for peace instead.

  We all have this chance.

  I don’t believe in accidents. In my world of numbers there is no such thing as coincidence. We are all here at this time and this place for a purpose. Each day really does count. I have my gift and you have yours, and we, like Alfred Nobel, can choose how we use it. If I can use math, great, but whatever I do, I’m going to make every day count.

  Let’s count on each other to do the same.

  Thank you.

  I fold it into my pocket, smiling to myself. Somewhere, inside of me, my heart had been speaking all along.

  46

  Present: Phoenix

  SHANGHAI TOWER, SHANGHAI, CHINA

  The Rivers family—it feels so good to say that—is starving. We are done crying for the moment and we want to eat.

  I make arrangements to meet Chan and Kai and Dr. Ling for dinner. They have become my other family here. I want my real family to know them.

  As I hail a taxi outside, my dad smiles as he watches me speaking Chinese to the driver. He always wanted me to learn Chinese. I usher them into the car.

  Before he gets in, he looks up at the Oriental Pearl Tower. “Jo, my daughter the prodigy, ends up in China, working for the richest man in Asia and dating his son!” He lets out a big sigh and continues. “You’ll never have another worry again.”

  Oh yeah. I forgot to mention the part about the J.J. Bond in which I have surrendered my share and losing my gift. We are in the car now, all squeezed together. Not the best time to make this rather large confession. I decide to enjoy dinner and tell him when we get back to my villa in the French Quarter.

  The evening is joyous. My sisters love Kai right away and by dessert he is teaching them kung fu holds. My dad and Chan talk business, scheming ideas for new companies together. Chan offers his family’s countryside house for them to stay. Dr. Ling’s kindness radiates, making them feel important, loved, and at home.

  Someone else is here. Maybe in our conversation, or in Kai’s face or Ling’s soft voice, or just in my heart, but Red is with us, too. And he’s rejoicing.

  The night ends and we arrive home. With a cup of warm tea in our hands, I muster up the courage to talk to my dad.

  “Um, Dad? There’s a chance all of the money we’re recycling into the economy will be drained.”

  “Yes, you mentioned something. And so?”

  “So,” I start, nervous. “After this recession is over, there’s no telling if I’ll even have a penny to my name.”

  “You’ve never had to worry about making money, Josephine,” he says with a wink.

  My father—more than Chan, more than anyone—knows what I’m able to do with money. Was able to do. But I can’t do that anymore. I don’t want him thinking I can. I want our new life to be built on something entirely new. I want Mara to know she has a normal sister now. That means I have no way of securing my family’s future anymore. If I don’t come clean now, it may be harder later. Will he be disappointed? Here is the real test. Where I learn how much they love me for who I am and not what I can do.

  “I’m not a prodigy anymore,” I blurt out.

  Dad’s and Mara’s expressions go blank. “What do you mean?” Dad asks urgently.

  “The numbers are gone. I can’t calculate equations like before. I need a calculator, like a regular person,” I say, looking at Mara. “Sorry, Dad, I wish I could work for your company again. Make your money back. Secure our future, but I can’t. Not with math, anyway. But I promise to take care of you. After this year passes, we’ll make an honest living. We will gain back everything we lost.”

  My dad just sits back and laughs.

  “Dad, I’m serious,” I say, wondering why he is laughing so hard. Maybe he’s in shock? “I’ll find a job. I’m still young. I’ve got to be good at something else.”

  He laughs harder. Maybe he thinks I can’t do anything else? “Dad, why are you laughing? You always said I was worth more than a hundred and fifty million, right?”

  “Jo, you are good at a lot of other things. And I can’t wait to see you do them.”

  “So you’re not upset that I can’t make all that you lost back?”

  “I have everything back. I have you back.”

  He’s not making sense. Perhaps I’m a bit slower now that I don’t have equations streaming through my mind in nanoseconds.

  He tilts my chin up to meet his eyes. “Josephine, every dollar that you made for iVision went into an account that only you can open. Your salary—or share if you will—never went into my pocket.” This is the first I’ve heard of this. I search his face for more answers.

  My father takes my hand. “The first time I watched you calculate investments that made millions, I made an important decision,” he says. “I never wanted to look at you, my daughter, as a source of money and exploit your gift. I kept what we needed for the business and our family, but I put everything else into a private account under your name. I thought about telling you. But I never thought you were ready until...” He pauses, a sad expression on his face. That’s what he was trying to tell me that day on the beach. “When I was investigated, they shut down iVision but they couldn’t touch your money.”

  “Didn’t you claim the money when you thought I was dead?” I ask. He shakes his head.

/>   “I never believed you were dead.” He reaches for me. I bury my face into his chest. That same scent I knew long ago, that same embrace when I used to climb on his knee. “It’s all yours. I never cared about the money, Jo. I cared about you. I spent everything I had trying to find you. I hoped against all odds you were still out there. And you were. I love you, Jo. You are all I ever wanted.”

  His words hit me like tidal wave, crashing over and over and over me. I never cared about the money. I only cared about you. I love you. My head feels heavy and light at the same time. I’m running on the waves and tide. I’m dancing on the moon. I’m flying between the stars.

  Everything I did for him. Everything he did for me. It was all out of love.

  Red was right. Love can’t be counted or calculated. The more you give, the more it comes back to you. It increases where things like money can’t and will remain even when the world doesn’t. It has to be trusted, given freely, risked. I understand now. It’s in love that we find our infinity.

  Everything I thought I lost has been gained once again. Doubled even. I have two families now, two countries I call home.

  My dad pulls me closer. I feel him tighten his grip. We stay like this for…actually I’m not sure. A really long time.

  47

  Present: Josephine

  ALKI BEACH, SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

  Misty salt air fills my lungs. Seagulls cry. Ferry whistles blow. I bend down to run my fingers through my ocean’s cold grains. I’m home.

  Kai and I meander along the beach, dodging the waves. My family waits for us up ahead at a small coffee shop for breakfast. Things couldn’t be better. So why am I thinking of Celia?

  Maybe because her trial is today in Beijing.

  Since we arrived a few weeks ago, I’ve taken Kai to see my old house, my school, even the harbor where I was abducted. It’s been painful and joyful, but most of all, healing.

  Celia’s threats still haunt me, but the ghosts of my past are fading. Maybe I’ll never entirely be free of her, but I won’t fear her anymore. I’ll choose not to. Red taught me to focus on the light. There’s still good to be done, he’d say. You’re not dead yet. And he’d be right, as usual. I just don’t know what or where or how to do it yet.

  Kai leads me to a part of the beach where there are fewer rocks and gently pulls me to the ground. I scoot closer to him because he makes me feel safe, and today thoughts of Celia are particularly strong and there’s a surging feeling in my gut. I’ve learned not to ignore that. I’m building up to tell him when I stop.

  A boat sails around the bend. Suddenly I’m breathless and dizzy. I tap my knee, heart beating frantically.

  “Kai,” I whisper, hearing the tremble in my voice. “Madame will to try to escape after the trial. I know how she’ll do it. We need to call Detective Hansen right now.”

  “How do you know?” he asks.

  I don’t move. I certainly don’t blink. Silently, I lift my finger and point straight ahead.

  The sailboat. It’s not just a white vessel cruising the Puget Sound anymore. It is a blueprint of numbers and dimensions and angles and distance. Like riding a bike, my brain instinctively jumps into action—recording, connecting, predicting, theorizing. The vessel has a different name and it’s a newer model, but I’ll never forget its twin. The dimensions match that of Madame’s schooner, Secrets, the boat that stole me away.

  At the Expo, Celia told me twice she had “secrets”. She’d wanted me to understand what she was planning. Now I do. In one complex string of equations all the possibilities and variables are knit together. I even see Detective Hansen’s telephone number, which I’m going to call.

  I can prevent this. This time, I am one step ahead.

  “Jo?” Kai touches me on the shoulder.

  When I blink the numbers vanish like a gust of wind. The white vessel sails out of view and the distance so clearly marked between us is merely waves now. I wait a moment, but the numbers don’t return. I take out my cell phone and dial Detective Hansen.

  As the phone rings, I ponder the brief reappearance of my gift. It could be a coincidence, but then again, I don’t really believe in those.

  Epilogue

  Two months later…

  PRODIGY STEALTH SOLUTIONS, SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

  It’s Monday—the most exciting day of the week now that my father has turned crazy protective on me. I’m on the University of Washington campus where I teach gifted high schoolers quantitative analysis—the only job that doesn’t seem life threatening to my dad. I have just finished when my phone lights up with a number I recognize—not because of my gift. For this number I used my ordinary human brain to memorize it by simply rehearsing it over and over. It’s Prodigy Stealth Solutions.

  PSS started calling me months ago. And despite my father’s strong objection to having anything to do with them, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about their offers.

  “Jo?” It was her again, Ms. Taylor, the short, plump, and extremely stubborn founder of PSS.

  “You shouldn’t be calling me anymore,” I say with a tone that doesn’t even convince myself. It was I who gave her my personal, unlisted number that only a few people have. “My father would kill me if he knew I was talking to you. You know I can’t take the jobs you are offering me.” A lump sticks in my throat like I’ve just swallowed a bowl full of sand.

  Unlike the public, PSS knows my gift is unstable. It flickers in and out ever since China. But even without its unique twist, I’m still considered a math genius who now has business experience. The minute the news was released that I was alive, job offers started rolling in like restless ocean waves.

  Most jobs don’t interest me, but when PSS calls, it’s like the chemical reaction when two substances bond. I believe I could do the job, believe I could help. But my father is intent on me rebuilding my life—a normal life. He’s intent on keeping me safe. Forever. But normal is not what I want. Purpose is what I crave—safe or not.

  “I’m not calling about a job,” Ms. Taylor continues in her firm but gentle voice. “The kids in our tech department discovered something.”

  I’m silent but a spark of hope shoots through my chest as if I know what she’ll say next.

  “Can you walk over here?” she asks.

  Ms. Taylor knows it’s Monday, just like she knows I’ll stop by. The PSS office is conveniently located in the Guggenheim Hall, the same hall where I teach math. Unbeknownst to my dad, I’ve gotten into the habit of visiting after I finish teaching since a few of my prodigy friends work there.

  Even before I answer, my feet head that direction. “I’ll be right over.”

  I glance down at my wrist. A watch—something I never needed before—replaces my old hairband. Before I walk, I set the timer and map out the way to the PSS office in my mind—down three flights of stairs, at the end of the hall on the right. Each day, I try to simulate what my brain once did naturally.

  I reach the last staircase when my phone rings again—not a number I recognize. I register the country code, +216, is for Tunis, Tunisia, but immediately afterwards it blinks, and the country code changes to +44—London, England. I don’t know if I should pick it up when it morphs once again to New York. What the heck?

  “Hello?” I say, with a boldness I forgot I had.

  A robotically altered voice crackles through a line full of static. “Josephine Rivers?” a young male voice asks. The accent is unmistakably British with a hint of something else. Arab? Iranian? Swedish?

  “Who is this? How did you get this number?” My body tenses, on guard.

  “I got it the same way you would have before you lost your gift, Double-Eight.”

  My breath catches. It can’t be possible. Is this stranger claiming to have the same gift as I did? Madame is the only other person on the planet who made that claim.

  “You miss it, don’t you? The way it defines the universe into beautiful, intricate paths.” His voice is low. I can’t decide if he is taun
ting me or not.

  I should hang up, give the number to Detective Hansen to trace. But I don’t because his statement pricks a sensitive place in me, and now I’m angry. He’s dangling a carrot on a string before a starving horse. My mouth longs to take a bite.

  “Whoever you are, I think you know the answer to that,” I snap. Truth is, I’ve somewhat adjusted to living without my gift, but that doesn’t mean I like it.

  “Keep walking, Josephine. They’re waiting for you. You still have 129 feet, which will roughly take you 1 minute and 32 seconds to arrive according to my calculations. Believe me, you’ll want to hear what they have to say…”

  “What do you want?”

  “To warn you about your boyfriend. I’ll be in touch.” The line goes dead.

  The room spins slightly, mimicking my thoughts. What does he know about Kai? How does he know about Double-Eight? I need to call Kai, Agent Bai, and Detective Hansen—certainly not my father. I’m about to dial Kai when the stranger’s words return. You’ll want to hear what they have to say. Ms. Taylor. She’s waiting.

  I run the remaining 129 feet arriving in the exact amount of time the boy predicted. I’m slightly shaking when I open the door to PSS.

  Ms. Taylor’s tiny 5’2” frame rushes from the back office. Her dark curly hair gives her another few inches. Behind her wide rim glasses, her eyes beam with excitement until she sees my pale face.

  “Jo? Are you ok?” she asks. I redirect my focus to the wrinkles around her eyes. Surely, they represent years of scientific breakthrough. It’s comforting.

  I contemplate telling her but decide against it. “I’m fine,” I say. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”

  “We think we’ve found it.” Her smile feels wider than my ocean.

  “Found what?” I say.

  She leans in close, taking off her glasses. “A way to get your numbers back.”