The Fox Inheritance

by Mary E. Pearson

  I have finished the stone wall for the herb garden, fixed Jenna's sagging porch, and dug more trenches. I work from morning until the last light of day is gone. I work alongside Bone and the others getting the field ready to plant. They don't talk. Neither do I. When I run out of trenches to dig, I wish there were more.

  The blisters. The sweat. It is all good. But sometimes it is not enough, and my mind wanders anyway. Miesha might not have been hurt if I hadn't left her alone, but if I hadn't left her, Kayla might be dead. If I had snapped Gatsbro's neck when I had the chance. If I had loved Kara more ...

  There are a million different directions life can take. When my mind tries to wander in one of those directions, I dig twice as fast, pound twice as hard, and haul twice the rocks.

  Even then, when sweat is stinging the scratches on my face and hands, when my back aches from lifting rocks, when every part of me feels so human I want to scream, I see Kara's eyes, whatever was left of her, letting go, whatever was left of her wanting a last bit of control over her destiny, I see her floating away because something inside of her had already died. The nights are different. Even with all the work, I still can't sleep, so after Kayla has gone to bed, Jenna and I walk, and we talk.

  "I loved her, Jenna. But never in the way she needed. Never with everything inside of me. It was never enough to bring her back."

  "She was gone, Locke. I saw that the minute I looked into her eyes, but I didn't want to believe it, either. There was nothing you could have done. I don't know when it happened or how it happened, but she was gone."

  "She told me we were dead. That we were just memories housed in look-alike bodies."

  "That may have been true of her, Locke, but not you."

  "How can you know? Maybe the real Locke is gone too. I've had thoughts as dark as anything we ever saw in her."

  "We all have a dark place in us. It's what we do with it and the choices we make." She reaches over and turns my face to hers. "The mercy you showed Gatsbro. The risk you took for Kayla. Your kindness to Dot. Your eyes. Your face. That's how I know. The real you is still here. My Bio Gel may not be BioPerfect, but it has years of experience at reading a face."

  I need to hold on to that. Maybe we all have a dark place inside of us, a place where dark thoughts and darker dreams live, but it doesn't have to become who we are.

  We walk around the pond, across the bridge, through the forest, down trails that lead nowhere and then back again. We walk in the dark, and we walk by starlight. We talk about our lives, our families, and the unexpected turns they all can take. But mostly we talk about Kara. We talk about all the befores. The stupid things we did. The funny things. The times she made us laugh. Sometimes we stop and hold each other, and we both cry. And then I imagine Kara there with us. Rolling her eyes. Hooking her arms in ours. Holding us too.

  We tell some stories twice, three times, or more, so those memories are fresh. We tell stories so those memories will rise above our last days with her, so that is what we will remember when we think of Kara. Sometimes we sit at the edge of the pond and just listen to the silence. The moon plays tricks on the surface, and I see all of us from a distance. I watch three friends pointing at stars, three friends sitting in the dean's office, three friends dangling feet from a bridge and spouting poetry. We held hands. We crossed a line. We made one another braver. Three friends forever frozen in time.

  Chapter 75

  Today when I limp up the porch steps and collapse in the rocker, Jenna comes out on the porch and frowns.

  "Do I smell that bad?"

  "You can't keep doing this, Locke. Why are you working like a maniac? To prove to the world that you're human?"

  I sit up straighter in the rocker. I hadn't thought of that, but it's probably true. Kara's words still haunt me. I can't just be a memory housed in a look-alike body. Technology gave me my life back, and each aching muscle, cut, and scratch seems like proof that I'm still human. "I suppose that's part of it," I answer.

  She hops up on the railing across from me. "And the other part?"

  The other part is easy for me to figure out. With Gatsbro no longer after me, and with Kara no longer dipping into my thoughts, I've breathed in freedom--the most I've ever felt--but almost in the next breath, as I work alongside Bone, I see how limited my freedom really is. "Anger is the other part, Jenna. I figure it's better to swing a pick into the ground than throw another chair through a wall."

  "Well, thank you for that, I guess." She lifts her shoulders in a shrug, waiting for more of an explanation. "And the anger?"

  "When I think about what Kara and I went through, even Dot, Bone, and the others, I suppose I thought the future would be different. I thought that--"

  "That everyone would be treated fairly?"

  "Something like that."

  "The world's changed, Locke. It's always changing. Lots of things have gotten better, but just when we have one problem solved, a new one is created. Remember, I was illegal for ninety years, and then even after ten percent became legal, I still wasn't accepted. I was shunned and stared at, but change still came. It took years of work and persistence. Change doesn't happen overnight--it's molded by people who don't give up."

  Unless they're cut short while they're trying to make change happen.

  "Did you know Karden Sanders?"

  Her eyes dart up. "What? How do you know about him?"

  "Miesha told me. He was her husband."

  She can't hide the surprise on her face. "Her husband?" She hops off the rail and sits in the rocker next to me, looking down at her lap. "Miesha and Karden?" Her brows are pulled together still in a shocked expression. "Yes, I knew him," she finally says. "He actually stayed here with me for a few weeks--under the greenhouse. He was on the move a lot. A couple of years later, I heard he had married, but I never knew what her name was. I was shocked when I heard of his death. It was tragic how he and his daughter died. I can't imagine what it was like for Miesha." She shakes her head in disbelief. "Karden's wife. I can't believe it. Why didn't you tell me before this?"

  "I didn't know that you knew him, and it's not something she exactly likes to advertise. It's still painful for her even after all these years. She doesn't talk much about herself. Before we started running I didn't even know her last name. Miesha--"

  Derring.

  Miesha Derring.

  Cory eventually married, had a daughter, and his daughter married a fellow named Derring.... I was able to keep track of his descendants up until the Civil Division.

  The name slipped right past me the first time.

  I did some searching, looking for leads to family--anyone I might be connected to ... especially one ancestor.

  Me. She searched for me. And then on the train she asked me about my brother. No, I didn't like him. I didn't want anything to do with him.

  After that she clammed up. But in the garden she tried again. There's something else about myself I need to tell you.

  "Locke?"

  I jump to my feet. "I'm going to shower. Then I'll help you with dinner." Before Jenna can say anything else, I leave, but I don't shower right away. First I go to Miesha's room. Her eyes are closed, and the stuffed elephant I tucked under her arm this morning has fallen to the floor. I pick it up and pull a stool close to her bed. "You dropped this," I say. I lift her hand and place the elephant beneath it.

  She searched for me. She hunted for a connection. Somehow she tracked me down. She didn't give up and risked everything for me. Her hand slides off the elephant. "You're tough as three of these, Miesha." I look at her face, the gentle lines fanning out from her eyes. My very distant, distant, distant niece. She wanted to tell me. I lean over and kiss her forehead. Maybe tomorrow she'll wake up. "Don't give up," I whisper, and I close her door behind me.

  After dinner I help Jenna with the dishes and tell her about Miesha. I know she probably hears as much frustration in my voice as she does happiness. If I had been legal, Miesha could have just walked off with me from G
atsbro's estate. I would have been free to leave. I would have been as full a citizen as anyone else. As it was, she had to sneak and plan and run. I don't want to wait ninety years for change to come. I want it now.

  "Your niece?" Jenna shakes her head, soaking in this new information. "Miesha's full of surprises. Now I know why I liked her the minute I met her. I guess this makes you the oldest uncle in history."

  It looks like I hold a lot of dubious records.

  She washes the last dish and hands it to me. "Father Andre came by today. He was looking for you."

  I swirl the towel in the bottom of the pot. "Me? What does he want--to knock me off?"

  She grins. "Only a favor." She reaches over and flips the light off over the sink. "The Network has something they'd like you to do."

  A favor. I had almost forgotten. I owe a lot of them. I hang the pot on a hook over the stove and lay the towel on the counter. "And what happens to me if I don't do it? Do they break my legs?"

  She sighs, the dim light from the hallway illuminating the side of her face. "A lot has changed, Locke, but not everything. A favor is still a favor. You choose to give it or not. That's how the Network works. No one is going to force you to do anything."

  "But?"

  "But nothing. There's a Non-pact who needs help back in Boston. The Network thinks you have some special abilities that could do the job."

  Boston. I lean back against the kitchen counter. I remember how I felt when I stopped the cheating baker and helped the Non-pact. Power. It's a mighty drug. And so is justice. It can consume you if you aren't careful. It's a dangerous path to navigate.

  "You're considering?"

  I look back at her. I can't imagine not being with Jenna. Walking in the woods. Talking. All those years I never dreamed I would see her again.

  "I can't leave." I step closer. We've danced around this for weeks. I can't dance any longer. I put my hands on her shoulders. "What about you? What I really mean is, what about us? Jenna..." I lower my head, but just before my lips meet hers, she turns away. I grab her chin and turn her face back to me. "Jenna, you know how I feel about you."

  She shakes her head and pulls away. "Locke, it just isn't right."

  "How can it not be right--"

  "Just because someone looks the same on the outside, it doesn't mean the inside hasn't changed. I may look like the Jenna you knew so long ago, but I'm lifetimes from that girl. I'm two hundred and seventy-seven years old now."

  "And what do you think I am?"

  "It's not the same."

  She starts to walk away. I put my hand up against the wall to block her. "Says you. You have no idea what it was like spending two hundred sixty years trapped in a box."

  "You're right. I don't. But I know it wasn't living. It was only existing." Her words grow softer and slower. "Locke, you need to experience the world on your own terms. You deserve the chance to live a life."

  There is distance in her voice, like she is already pushing me away. My chest tightens. "I'm not the sixteen-year-old boy you used to know, Jenna! The past two hundred sixty years have changed me too! This last year has changed me!"

  "Then tell me, Locke! What are you? A boy? A man? Something else?"

  I stare at her. Her chin is lifted, almost mocking, waiting for me to answer. My hand slides away from the wall. "I don't know."

  "And that's what you need to find out," she whispers.

  We stand there, silent seconds ticking past us.

  "I'll still be here in ten or twenty years, if you want to come back," she says. "But I can't take this away from you. You've already lost too much."

  Words stick in my throat. I'm losing everything at once.

  "Father Andre needs to know by the end of the week. Think about it. Let me know." She leaves to go to bed.

  I go to my room, but I lie awake the whole night, staring at the ceiling. It doesn't matter that my room is dark--I see every dimple, every uneven plane, every hairline crack that travels across the plaster and vanishes into nowhere.

  She's willing to let me go. She almost made it sound like a sacrifice. I can't take this away from you. Does she see something in me that I can't see myself? That there are only so many trenches to dig, so many rock walls to build, so many chairs I can throw against walls? She has lived three lifetimes. I haven't lived one.

  You deserve the chance to live a life.

  I can't imagine a life without Jenna, but I can't deny that when she said Boston, something inside me jumped. Home. A place where some remnant of my life might still exist, or if nothing exists, maybe it's a chance to move on. You need to experience the world on your own terms. That's what Kara and Jenna and I had just started to do when we were cut short. I had only a small taste, and Kara and Jenna are what made it happen. They made me braver. How can I do it without them?

  My eyes travel over the hairline cracks again and again, like I'm following the lines of a map. They all lead me back to Boston. Someone needs help. A favor. The choice is mine. But it's more than just a favor. It's a purpose. Not my parents' purpose, or Gatsbro's, or even Kara's. It's a purpose that makes sense to me, and it is my own to choose--or not. It would be safer, maybe even wisest, just to say no, but then I think about Bone, the other Non-pacts, Kara, Bots like Dot who become something more--they're all the same. All nonpersons, like me. Change doesn't happen overnight--it's molded by people who don't give up.

  I roll over on my side and face the dresser. My pack rests on top. Change may not happen overnight, but I can't wait ninety years for it to come to me. I kick back my blankets and wrestle with the sheets that have become tangled around my legs, and just before dawn, I finally fall asleep.

  Chapter 76

  Miesha swipes at my shirt with one hand. Her other hand uses a cane for support. She's been awake for a few days now, but she's still shaky, her right leg numb. "There," she says, and pats my back twice. "Done." She shuffles back to look at me. "Are you sure you want to do this? You're only seventeen, Locke."

  "Seventeen going on two hundred and seventy-seven. I have a lot of catching up to do."

  She limps to the chair and sits down, weak from the effort.

  I grab my coat from the hook on the back of the door. Miesha stares at me as I put it on. "He wasn't much older than you when he joined the Resistance."

  "I'm not part of any Resistance, Miesha. I owe a favor, and I'm going to help one person. That's all."

  She bites her lower lip and nods. "I'm not good at good-byes, Locke."

  "I think we both got shortchanged in that department. Come on, let me help you back to your room. It's the least an uncle can do."

  She smiles and lets me take her arm. When I return to my room, Allys is standing in the hall. She knocks on the open door. "Coming in, city boy."

  "Don't think I could stop you," I say.

  She smiles. "Smart city boy." She crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. "Got your purse all ready?"

  "It's a pack."

  "Right. I have something for you to add." She holds out a round object wrapped in tissue, and I take it from her. "A chocolate peach," she says. "It's an experience. One you wouldn't want to miss. Savor it." She stands and kisses my cheek. "Savor it all. You hear?"

  Chapter 77

  Besides helping the Network, I have unfinished business. In Manchester there are labs to visit. I don't want to meet a copy of myself 260 years from now. I don't want the shell of Kara to have to go on. I need to be certain that there are no more. I have more business in Andover. I never thought much of cemeteries before, but maybe those are the real places of closure, not an office where your past is swept into a trash can. And then in Boston, before I find the person who needs my help, there are cab rides to take where I will share stories about Escape and a Bot named Dot Jefferson, a Bot who had dreams and hopes. I may have started out as part of a dusty forgotten inheritance, but like Dot, I have dreams and hopes too. I want to become more.

  I travel light. My few possessions fit
in the pack on my back, and I have a long way to go.

  It's a journey, Locke. A long one. How was I to know how long it could be?

  Jenna drives me to the station and walks me to the gate. She takes my hand and slips something into my palm. I look down at a piece of frosted green glass. "It's the other eye of Liberty," she says. "Lily said it was out there somewhere, and if we looked hard enough, we would find it. I think she'd want you to have it."

  I close my fingers around the small piece of glass. "Now I just need to find the first one again, don't I?"

  She smiles. Neither one of us can say more. She stands on tiptoe and kisses my cheek. I turn and walk to the platform just as the train arrives. I look back and wave. It's all I can do not to run to her. Her hand rises slowly and then closes into a fist, like she doesn't want to say good-bye either. But I know she's right. There's still so much I need to know, a world I need to live in, a life I still need to live.

  Picture yourself five years from now, son. Where do you want to be? Remember that. Every day. That's how you'll get there.

  Maybe in five years. I pat my pocket where my new ID is tucked away. She smiles and nods.

  Focus on the goal.

  I do. For Dot. For Bone. For Kara. For Miesha. For someone I haven't even met yet. Maybe even for my dad. And for me. A boy. A man. A something. I'm going to find out.

  The wind of the train whips at my coat. I rub the worn piece of green glass between my fingers and tuck it into my pocket and then wave to Jenna one last time, maybe my last time ever. I can almost see Kara standing there beside her, waving back to me too. We held hands. We crossed a line. We made one another braver. They made me braver.

  And I step onto the train.

  Acknowledgments

  A universe of thanks to:

  Jessica Pearson, Karen Beiswenger, Ben Beiswenger, Melissa Wyatt, Marlene Perez, and Jill Rubalcaba, for reading many drafts and for your awesome support and wisdom--you're the best. Additional thanks to Jessica, who read chapter by chapter and mused out loud about a "third book," and though I resisted, she did indeed get the wheels turning.