by Ellery Kane
My mother chuckled to herself. “We were just talking about you, Quin.”
My body tensed. I gave my mother a look of horror.
“All good I hope,” Quin said, his eyes twinkling.
“I’ll let Lex fill you in,” she offered slyly, already gathering her things and walking toward the door.
Quin sat up, alert. He turned toward me, his eyes curious and warm. It was impossible not to think about kissing him.
“I was just asking my mom if she thought that people could change,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t press me for more.
Quin gave a small nod. “And what do you think? Can people?” His voice sounded casual, but his expression wasn’t. We both knew we were talking about him.
“I hope so.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
OLD BONES
“LEX, WHERE ARE YOU, HONEY?” I heard my mother calling me from the kitchen.
“Here, Mom,” I answered, walking toward the sound of her voice. The house was empty. Everyone else was in our backyard, soaking up the second warm day of summer. For the last few days, the fog had obscured the sun, but now it was high and bright in the sky, just a few wispy clouds trailing around it. I could see Quin and Edison through the window, throwing a football to each other. I smiled to myself. Amazingly, they were actually having a good time together.
“I need to talk to you.” My mother’s voice sounded unusually serious. “Let’s go to the lab.”
Sensing that my mother was tense, I instantly felt nervous.
When we walked inside, I noticed two large boxes sitting on the counter. Both of them familiarly labeled in black marker: Dishes. One had been opened. The other sat staring at me, not revealing itself. I knew then that we were about to unearth more old bones from my mother’s past.
“Sit down, Lex,” she instructed.
I sat on a stool at the counter, fidgeting nervously.
“Before I say anymore, I want you to know that I love you.” My mother sounded as if she might cry. “I know I haven’t always handled things the right way. I haven’t always been the best mom, but—”
“You’ve been a great mom. Just tell me … whatever it is.”
“You’re going to be angry with me,” she warned.
It was then I knew. Something in that box had to do with my father. I took a deep breath.
“When I first met your father, I wasn’t like I am now. It may be hard for you to believe, but I was … fragile … one crack away from breaking entirely. I had struggled for a long time with depression and panic attacks. Your father was very patient. There were some days when I screamed at him so much, I lost my voice. Other days, I couldn’t even leave the house. I was another person, Lex. I don’t know who that person was anymore.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. A few months ago, I wouldn’t have believed her, but after seeing her so broken when I had returned, I knew she was telling the truth.
“For some reason, after we had you, everything shifted. I stopped yelling so much. My anxiety got better. I felt truly happy, something I had given up on ever feeling again. I was so excited that I threw myself head first into work and didn’t look back. I didn’t leave any room in my life for your father.”
I nodded. My mother began opening the second box, tearing away the tape from its edges. Caught by the light, miniscule particles of dust fell to the ground like tiny stars.
“What’s in the box, Mom?” I was so afraid to know the answer, but the question was unavoidable.
“I couldn’t lose you, Lex. I was so selfish. I thought if you knew your father wanted to see you, you would leave me—and then I would go back to that other person, the one I was before you. By the time I realized what I had done, it was too late to take it back. I thought you would hate me. When you asked me if he ever thought of us, it broke my heart.”
“What do you mean wanted to see me?” I tried to take the edge out of my voice, but it cut through anyway. I had been choking back anger at my mother for so long that it seeped through inadvertently.
From the box, my mother removed a handful of letters, followed by another and another. They were all opened, addressed to me. In the left-hand corner, a name: William Knightley. My father.
My mother put the thick stacks of letters into a bag—eight years’ worth of letters. “These are yours,” she said, handing it to me. I wasn’t sure what infuriated me more—realizing that my mother had hidden the letters from me for so long or thinking of her opening and reading each one, knowing that it would never reach me.
A hot coal of rage seared inside my stomach, pushing its way into my throat. Before I knew it, I was shouting and crying at the same time, my voice shattering the air like a rock through a window. The words were coming too fast to think, too fast to stop. “How could you do this to me? How could you possibly think this was okay? I’ve spent years, practically my whole life thinking I did something wrong, that Dad abandoned me. You let me think that. And you read my letters! I never knew you could be so selfish.”
I stood up and flung the bag onto the ground. The letters scattered at my feet. The impact startled me, but it felt strangely satisfying to throw something. My mother watched me helplessly.
“Why now, Mom? Why are you showing me these now?” My voice shook as I tried to stamp out my fury before I completely lost control.
“Because I realized that by keeping them from you, I wasn’t loving you. I was hurting you. Quin helped me realize that. He cares about you, Lex, enough to risk losing you. That’s the rarest kind of bravery. You’re right—I’ve been selfish and I don’t know why. But I hope that someday you can forgive me.”
My anger slowed to a simmer, tears running hot down my cheeks. “I think you should leave,” I said, avoiding her eyes.
“This is the last letter.” My mother placed a single envelope on the table. Unlike many of the others, it wasn’t yellowed with age. “It’s from your eighteenth birthday, right before they suspended what remained of the postal service.”
She paused, her face pained with guilt. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
Still crying, I removed the letter from its envelope.
Dearest Lex,
I can hardly believe it, but today you are eighteen! I know it’s cliché, but it seems only yesterday that I held you in my arms. I can’t imagine you at eighteen, but I know for sure that you are beautiful, smart as a whip, and kind and generous. You always were those things. Now, a confession: When I first started writing you, all those years ago, I thought you were angry with me for leaving. Your mother told me that you didn’t want to talk to me, so after a while, I stopped calling. I thought it was probably easier for you without me there to muddle up your life. Then so much time had passed, I didn’t even know how to be in your life anymore. Now I know that I was a fool. I failed you completely. I should’ve tried harder, done more, been better. I don’t want to believe that it’s too late, but it might be. I won’t be able to write anymore, Lex. The mail service will stop here next week, not that it matters anyway—I don’t think you’ve been receiving my letters. That, more than anything else, devastates me. If I’m wrong, and I hope I am, you can always, always call me.
Love,
Dad
P.S. There’s something for you inside. I hope you’ll wear it close to your heart, where I wish I could be.
At the bottom of the letter were my father’s address in Boston and his telephone number. I fingered the locket around my neck, tears welling in my eyes. My father must have known that my mother would give it to me. It occurred to me that my mother probably missed my father just as much as I did, but was too stubborn to admit it.
Next to the box marked Dishes, I noticed my mother had conveniently placed our portable telephone, which we hardly ever used anymore. Through my tears, I managed a half-smile. Somehow, some way, I knew I would forgive her. The alternative was simply inconceivable.
I stoked the smoldering remnants of the fire in my stomach, allowing my
outrage to give me momentum. Without thinking, I dialed the number at the bottom of the page. It rang and rang and rang—each ring like an electric finger reaching through the void, striking my heart.
Then, a voice. “Hello?”
Even though eight years had passed, virtually an eternity, I recognized it instantly.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
SNAGS
THE NEXT MORNING, I FOUND my mother in the kitchen, looking at a map of Alcatraz. Quin had marked certain areas of the Guardian Force headquarters in red ink. My mother had been studying that same map for at least a week—usually with intensity—her eyes squinting in concentration.
Now her stare was vacant, her thoughts elsewhere. When I sat down at the table, she looked at me child-like, her eyes pleading for forgiveness. Seeing that look stirred a cauldron inside me. In it was anger, of course, but there was so much more—guilt, betrayal, and that unspeakable connection that always pulled me back to her.
Of course, there was no hiding the telephone call. As usual, I spilled my secret.
“How is your father?” she asked. It was her only question.
I didn’t know how to answer. We had talked for over two hours. How do you sum that into a word? “He’s good, I guess. He wants to see me.” I added, “He asked about you.”
It wasn’t entirely accurate, but seeing my mother’s face brighten made my stretch of the truth worth it. My father had confirmed the reports from SFTV. Boston had been under martial law for at least a year. Small, clandestine factions of the Resistance were active, but the military quickly squashed any public demonstrations. My father recounted his surprise in seeing my mother’s face on a Resistance flyer. I imagined it must have been a welcome shock. When I told him she had changed a lot, he simply said—“Oh”—curious, but not brave enough to ask. I hinted that we were working on something important, but I resisted the urge to tell my father everything. My mother was right … we didn’t know who was listening.
I pretended to eat my breakfast, as I watched my mother with melancholy. Her expressions, her mannerisms, as familiar to me as my own. And yet, with all that she kept hidden, she was always reminding me that she was a stranger. In her hand, she turned her cell phone over and over nervously.
Soon Quin, Elana, and Edison were awake and joined us at the table. No surprise, my eyes gravitated to Quin. His face was unshaven, shadowed with stubble, his hair mussed. Even so, I felt a brutal tug of longing. I noticed that he was carrying an unmarked file folder. I looked at it curiously. Our eyes met for a moment, and he gave me an easy smile. A surge of warmth traveled through my body.
Clearing her throat nervously, my mother set the phone down on the table with intention.
“I heard from Carrie,” she announced.
My mouth hung open.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked. My voice came out sharper than I intended, accusatory. Everyone’s eyes turned to me.
My mother tried to appear unaffected, but the hurt in her eyes was palpable. “I wanted to make sure we were okay,” she said, turning to me. “I thought that was more important.”
My shoulders slumped in embarrassment, my eyes downcast. I felt so childish.
Breaking the awkward silence, much to my relief, Elana asked, “What did Carrie say?”
“She sent me an encrypted email,” my mother explained. “A few snags in the plan, unfortunately. There was a break-in yesterday at the Resistance lab. The whole place was ransacked. Luckily, the Resilire data was in a vault and was untouched, but most of the lab was destroyed, including one of the compounds needed to complete the formula.”
“A break-in?” Quin asked skeptically. “That seems unlikely with all the security.”
My mother nodded. “I agree. The Council suspects that Augustus was involved. Apparently, since our last communication, Dr. Bell uncovered several emails between him and Jamison Ryker. It seems all the while he was blackmailing them, Augustus also was trying to broker a deal with the Guardians for the flash drive. Ryker was furious that he hadn’t received it from Augustus as promised and told him that he was as good as dead.”
“No wonder he ran away,” I said. “The only worse enemy than Augustus is Ryker.”
“So this compound … do you have it here?” Quin wondered.
My mother nodded. “I told Carrie that Lex would bring it to her. I can’t risk the three of you being seen. If you were caught, the whole plan would be in jeopardy.”
“But she can’t go alone,” Elana added.
“I’ll be okay, Elana,” I assured her.
My mother’s face was pensive, deliberating. “No, Elana is right. Someone should go with you.”
Edison began, “I’ll g—”
Quin’s forceful bellow easily overshadowed Edison’s voice. “No, I’ll go.”
“Don’t mind me,” Edison sneered. “I forgot—I’m not allowed near your ex-girlfriend.” He emphasized the ex, twisting the knife and waiting for Quin’s reaction.
Quin paused and took several audible breaths before speaking contritely. “Sorry, Eddie. It was rude of me to interrupt you. If it’s okay with you, Lex, I would like to go.”
I looked at Quin, and we both laughed nervously. “It’s okay with me,” I replied.
“Then, it’s settled,” my mother said. “Let me get the compound. Max will be on this side of the Golden Gate Bridge to meet you.”
A few minutes later, Quin pulled up in the jeep we had stolen on the way home. My mother decided it was safer than using her car.
Before I got in the passenger seat, I felt my mother’s hand on my shoulder.
“Lex, are we okay?” she asked with undeniable puppy-dog eyes. “It’s miserable when you’re mad at me.”
“We’re fine, Mom,” I said flatly. Seeing her disappointment, I reluctantly added, “You know I always forgive you eventually.”
My mother grinned sheepishly.
As we pulled back from the driveway, I sighed, exasperated. “Ugh. She can be so annoying sometimes.”
Quin chuckled. “Like mother, like daughter,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes, preparing a clever comeback, but Quin’s pensive expression gave me pause.
His voice serious, he said, “You’re really lucky, you know? Your mom … it’s so obvious that she loves you.”
I nodded. “I know. It’s just that sometimes she has a funny way of showing it. She hides things—really important things. She’s not as perfect as you think.” I wanted so badly to tell Quin about my father, but I felt myself holding back. I feared being broken again.
As we approached the bridge, Quin was silent. Maybe he was holding back too.
Just before the Golden Gate, he parked the car at the lookout spot where we planned to meet Max and then turned to me.
“I don’t think she’s perfect,” he admitted. “I heard about your letters.”
“You did?”
“One day, when we were in her lab, your mom asked if you ever talked to me about your dad. Then she told me about the letters. She was really afraid to tell you, but I told her that you would understand.”
I shook my head in disbelief. My mother had confided in Quin. I wondered if I would ever fully understand her. In some ways, it made sense though. Despite my best attempts, as with my mother, I knew I would spend forever trying to crack Quin’s code.
“I talked to him yesterday,” I offered. “It was … strange … but good.”
“I’m really glad, Lex,” Quin said wistfully. “I know how much that means to you. I want you to be happy. I mean, that’s what your mom wants too.”
I was suddenly aware of my body leaning in toward Quin. Did I mean to do that?
As he spoke, Quin was inching closer to me as well—so close that I could see a nick on his chin where he probably cut himself shaving. The ends of my hair were brushing against his shoulder, our lips a fingertip’s length apart. His eyes were yearning, drawing me in.
I felt paralyzed by indecision. Kiss hi
m, half of me implored. Do not kiss him, the other half insisted. Kiss him. Do not kiss him. Kiss him.
Sighing, Quin sat back against the seat. Just like that, the moment was gone.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. For a second, I thought …”
There was a knock on the window—it was Max—and we both jumped.
“Hey, you two. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Max raised his eyebrows. “Good thing I’m not a Guardian anymore,” he said sarcastically.
“Yeah, good thing for them,” Quin shot back at him in a transparent attempt to deflect attention.
Quin opened the door and embraced Max.
“We’ve missed you,” I told him.
“Speak for yourself,” Quin teased, mussing Max’s hair.
“What’s it been like at Resistance headquarters?” I wondered, as I handed Max the bottle containing the compound.
“Lonely,” Max replied, only half-joking. “A lot of people have given up. I guess Dr. Bell isn’t quite as charismatic as Augustus …”
“Or diabolical,” I added, smiling.
Max and Quin chuckled.
“And the break-in?” I wondered curiously.
“Definitely an inside job,” Max confirmed Quin’s hunch. “Dr. Bell suspects that Cason may be working with Augustus. Even though we’ve been watching him closely, we can’t prove it.”
“Figures,” I said, recalling Cason’s fierce loyalty to his unscrupulous leader.
“How about with you?” Max asked, his eyes darting between us.
From behind Quin, I gave a tiny shake of my head, hoping Max would ask nothing more.
“Pretty boring,” Quin said, his voice monotone.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Max responded dryly. “You were so bored waiting for me, you didn’t even see me coming.” He winked at me.
Quin offered no response. Instead, he turned to me. “We better go. There’s probably another helicopter patrol coming soon.” On cue, in the distance, we heard the muted, methodical chopping of blades cutting through the air.