Bryan takes a seat.
And we’re off.
“We’re here with world-renowned explorer Halli Markham and her faithful dog, Red, for an intimate conversation about what life has been like since her beloved grandmother and fellow adventurer Virginia Markham passed on a year ago …”
The questions are pretty standard: how have I been, what have I been doing, how have I spent the past year? I know enough of Halli’s life to answer all of them without hesitation.
Then Bryan delves a little deeper, asking me how I feel about going on without Ginny.
“It’s hard,” I say, “obviously. She was my only parent for sixteen years. I felt like an orphan.”
Halli’s parents aren’t going to like that one bit. Fine with me.
“But you’ve since reconciled with your parents, haven’t you?” Bryan asks. “Technological titans Jameson Bellows and Regina Markham?”
“They’re fine, if that’s what you’re asking,” I say. “I mean … I don’t have any issues with them.”
“Do you love them?”
I give a little laugh. “That’s … kind of personal.”
“This is an intimate evening,” Bryan says with a polite smile. Behind his eyes there’s a certain glint. He’s poking at me, and he knows it.
“I admire them,” I say. “I think they’ve done outstanding work in the scientific and technological field. I have nothing but respect for their work.”
“And for them as people?”
“We all have feelings about our parents, don’t we, Bryan?” That’s as much as he’s going to get out of me.
Not everyone needs to know what you think.
“Let’s move on, Bryan.”
He glances at his notes and asks me another series of harmless questions: what are some of my favorite memories of Ginny, what do I miss most about her, what do I think her legacy is in the adventuring world?
“I think Ginny stood for courage,” I say. “For trusting yourself. For being smart and careful, but also being willing to go out and test yourself in the unknown.”
Bryan nods. “Well said.”
I have to admit I think so, too.
But then he hits me with the zinger.
“So how do you think your grandmother would feel about you completely abandoning your life as an adventurer to become the dutiful daughter of two people she despised?”
I stare at Bryan for a moment. He stares calmly back.
Then I laugh.
Bryan smiles uncertainly.
I fold one leg up under me on the chair and visibly, purposely relax. “Okay, Bryan, you really want to talk?”
His face lights up. He looks eager. Hungry. It must be the kind of moment a reporter waits for, when he finally breaks through the calm, poised exterior of an interview subject, and she breaks down and tells him the truth.
My truth.
“My grandmother was brilliant, okay? Brilliant. And she taught me more about living than any other human ever could. She also taught me about business. And do you know what I know about business?”
Bryan shakes his head.
“I know how to pick a winner. Now, my parents, Regina Markham and Jameson Bellows, are winners. Big, fat—no offense to them—winners. Of course I’m interested in what they do and what they know and how they run their company. Because I’m not stupid. Ginny was smart, they’re smart, and I’m the offspring of all of them. You following me so far?”
“Yes.” Bryan manages only half a smile. I can tell he’s not so sure anymore that he likes where this is going.
“But that’s not the only thing I’m interested in. Yes, I love a big adventure—obviously. That’s how I’ve spent my whole life so far. But is it really that much of a surprise that now that my wonderful grandmother is dead, I might strike out for new lands? Search for new opportunities? Of course not, Bryan. To think that would be ridiculous.”
I glance over at Sarah, who is capital L, capital T, Loving This. Jake … doesn’t seem so sure.
“So, what kinds of opportunities am I looking at now, Bryan?”
“Yes,” he says, as if he’s in any way in charge of this interview anymore, “what?”
“Well, for one thing, I might want to study at Oxford. Study science of some sort.”
“Is that why you’ve been visiting Edgar Venn? Notorious for—”
I cut him off. “I’m interested in a lot of different people’s work there. It might take me months to get through all the discussions I want to have. I’m curious about everything, Bryan, and as I think my track record has shown, I go out and meet the world head on. I don’t just sit around and wonder.”
“I think that’s a fair point,” he says, “but what about—”
“The second big opportunity I’ll be pursuing,” I say, “is to invest in a history studio. One of your competitors, Bryan. A studio whose work I believe in and whose owners have my absolute confidence.”
I hear a muffled cry of glee. I know who made it.
“I’m announcing here that I plan to invest in History 14, the studio owned by Francie Everett and Sam Wheeler, and help them continue their excellent, insightful, ground-breaking programming.
“And that,” I say, standing up, “is your hour. Thank you, Bryan. It’s been a pleasure.” I thrust out my hand and Bryan shakes it. He looks a little stunned. Good. “Come on, Red, let’s go.”
I stride for the door, not pausing for anyone or anything. I have no idea what the fallout from all of this will be, but right now, I’m just enjoying the feeling.
I was brave. I like it. I like it even better than lying.
I’m out in the cold night air before either Sarah or Jake can catch up with me. Jake stands at a distance. “Halli—Miss Markham—can I talk to you?”
“In a minute.” First I need to accept a bone-crushing hug from Sarah.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispers in my ear. “You’re so precious to me I’m going to squeeze your arms right off.”
“What will your parents say?”
“It better bloody well be yes!” she answers.
She hugs me one more time, then I ask her to hold on to Red for a moment while I go talk to Jake.
“Halli … you’ve put me in a really bad position.”
I chuckle. “Okay.”
“This interview won’t air until tomorrow,” he says. “They’ll need to edit and finalize it first.”
“Yes, and?”
Jake sighs. “See, if I worked for you right now, it wouldn’t be a problem. I’d follow whatever your instructions are. But because I still work for your parents …”
I’m not going to finish his sentence for him. He’s going to have to tell me himself.
“I have to call them,” Jake says. “I have to report. And I don’t think they’re going to like it.”
“What won’t they like? I complimented them all over the place in that interview.”
“The investment part,” Jake says. “They won’t agree to that.”
“It’s my money. Remember? You said it yourself this morning: I’m rich.”
“But you’re still under guardianship,” Jake says. “With Monsieur Bern. And he would have to approve anything large.”
Monsieur Bern. That square-faced, small-lipped apparition who hovered above the conference table at Halli’s parents’ board meeting. The man who was going to vote to sell all my shares—Halli’s shares—in the company to her parents.
No.
“I’ll deal with all that,” I say, although right at this moment, I’m not sure how.
What I do know is that I’m not going to lose this feeling of being in charge of what happens to me. I’ve gone too long without it. I want to hang on to it forever, if I can.
“So,” Jake says, “what should I say to your parents?”
“Tell them the truth,” I answer. “Tell them what I said. They’ll know by tomorrow anyway.”
I gather the collar of Daniel’s coat clo
ser around my neck. “Is that all, Jake? Because I’m cold.”
“Yes, Miss Markham,” he answers, sounding tired all of the sudden. “That’s all.”
“Then I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Halli?” he says as I walk away.
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
I smile, and take a moment to reach down and pet my dog. “It’s all just an adventure, Jake. It’s what I do.”
39
“May I please now tell you that I love you and will pledge my life to you from this moment, and would like to bake you into a cream pie so that I can eat you up, or spread you like butter across toast, because I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I can barely form the words and might possibly expire right at this very moment, I am so ecstatically moved. Thank you,” Sarah says breathlessly. “The end.”
And I am laughing so hard at that, it feels like the weight of two universes has finally dropped from my body.
“Oh my gosh, Sarah, I have no idea what’s going to happen from that.”
“I don’t care,” she says. “It was delicious. I only wish Daniel could have been there. His protestations of love might have even exceeded my own.”
I feel like running. So I do. And Red and Sarah run right along. The three of us crowd in through the door of the house, panting and energized.
Francie looks up from what she’s reading in the living room. “Well! That was spirited.”
“Oh, Mum—can I tell her?”
I shrug. “Might as well.”
“Au—” Sarah quickly catches herself and coughs. “Halli just did the most brilliant thing during her interview. Where’s Dad? Dad!” She calls. “Daniel! Come down here!”
Soon Sarah’s audience is assembled.
“So that Bryan bloke asks Miss Markham here something about why she’s abandoned her life of adventure and become the dutiful daughter or some such of two people her grandmother despised.”
“He didn’t,” Francie says. Of course she wouldn’t approve of his lack of manners.
“So Halli gives him all sorts of what for,” Sarah goes on, “but then here was the most glorious part: she announced to all the world that she intends to invest in a history studio. A studio known for its excellence. Our history studio.”
Francie looks at her husband. Then back at her daughter. Then at me.
“Halli, is this true?”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I probably should have discussed it with you first ... but yes, it’s true. I’d love to be an investor if you’ll accept me.”
“Dear Halli,” Francie answers. She rises from the couch and places her cold, soft hands on my cheeks. Then she hugs me the way no one on earth ever has except my mother. And that fact alone is what brings tears to my eyes.
When Francie pulls back, she’s crying, too. She wipes away her tears and asks with a laugh, “Why are you crying, then?”
“I was afraid you’d say no.” It’s not exactly a lie, it’s just not the real reason.
“If she’d said no,” Sam says, “I would have carried her right out of the room.” He gives me a hug, too, much more formal, and then finishes it off with a pat on my back. “Is it rude to ask how much?”
“A lot,” I say. “I’m prepared to invest a lot.”
Francie waves her husband away. “All to be discussed at a later time. Just accept your early birthday present and say thank you.”
“Thank you,” Sam says with a smile. “Thank you, indeed, Halli.”
The only one who hasn’t said a word yet is Daniel. But all it takes is one look in his eyes to know he approves of what I’ve done. No more frowning at me for bringing home wads of money. Somehow investment passes his test for helping out his family.
“Biscuits,” Sarah says. “I happen to have a few.”
“And some tea, I should think,” Francie adds.
“Halli, can I speak with you for a moment?” Daniel asks.
Sarah lures Red into the kitchen while Daniel and I step out to the front of his house.
“How long?” he asks. “How long have been planning this?”
“Not long. Probably half a second before I said it. But I knew once I thought of it that it was right. It’s a hundred percent right. I think Halli would agree, too.”
Daniel does the only romantic thing possible and kisses me here under the light from his parents’ front door. It feels so good to be part of his family right now. That constant ache I felt last time over missing my mother and missing my old life is nearly gone.
“There might be a complication.” I explain about Monsieur Bern. “But I’ll be eighteen in February. Then I’ll never need anyone’s permission.”
“Audie.” Daniel says my name quietly since we’re out here in the open. “I think it’s wonderful what you want to do for my parents—for all of us—but …”
“But?”
“Nothing about this is simple, is it? February is only a few months away, but yours isn’t a normal life right now.”
Some of the joy I’ve just been feeling starts to drain away. “It feels like you’re about to give me some bad news.”
“Not bad,” Daniel says, “just … vital. I need to tell you what Professor Lacksmith and I discussed today. It sheds some light on your whole situation. It wouldn’t be fair to let you make promises that you might not ultimately want to fulfill.”
“Daniel, why wouldn’t I want to do exactly what I said? I really do want to invest in your parents’ studio.”
“I know. But let’s go upstairs. I have a lot I need to tell you.”
40
We settle into our familiar positions, Daniel and Red and I, the three of us crowded onto the top of Daniel’s bed. Sarah is in her bedroom right now searching for footage of Dr. Venn. I’ve taken off Halli’s boots for the last time today, and changed into more comfortable clothes. If Daniel has a lot to tell me, I want to feel as relaxed as possible first, since I have the feeling I won’t be this relaxed once we really get into it.
Daniel has his tablet on his lap. He’s created a holographic chalkboard the way I’ve seen him do before, and it hovers above us in 3-D, ready for him to draw on it.
“I need to talk with you about trees,” he begins.
“Trees? Okay.”
“Specifically about clonal colonies.”
“Oh, yeah. I wondered what that meant.” I remember those words speeding past me when Daniel first described what it is he’s studying.
“Imagine a typical forest.” He draws a horizontal line on his tablet, which shows up on the chalkboard in front of us. Then he sketches in four simple trees above the line, and a bunch of wavy roots leading from the base of each of them down below the horizontal line. “There might be a variety of trees growing there—pine, aspen, oak, others. I already told you about the underground networks—the roots and fungi that transport information and nutrition.”
“Right.”
“Well, there’s another phenomenon at work with clonal colonies.”
“But I still don’t know what clonal—”
“Just watch first.” Daniel sketches in more trees. “Imagine that all of these are one species—aspens, for example.” He then draws in a second horizontal line, this time below all the squiggly lines representing roots. He points at the 3-D image in front of me. “This lower line is the Mother Root. It comes from one single organism—the original aspen, in this case—and over thousands of years, it pushes further and further through the soil and sends up individual shoots that become new trees. But they’re all clones—not merely offspring, but genetically identical to the original tree.”
“Hold on,” I say. “Wait. Halli and I are not clones. We might be entangled in some quantum physics way, but that doesn’t make us clones.”
“No, I agree,” Daniel says. “As does Professor Lacksmith. But the model still applies. In a regular forest, even trees of the same species have to rely on the underground network of roots and fungi
to communicate. It’s because they’re all separate individuals that have grown from their own separate seeds.
“But a clonal colony is different,” Daniel says. “They haven’t grown from seed, they’ve all grown upward from the same Mother Root. And that means they can bypass the standard underground network used within the forest. Instead, all of the trees within the colony have direct access to each other at all times. If a beetle attacks one of them a hundred miles away, every other tree in the colony instantly knows and can defend itself.”
“Okay, I think I understand that,” I say, “but I don’t see how it applies to Halli and me.”
“You explained entangled particles to me once,” Daniel says. “You told me that even when they’re separated across great distances, they can communicate instantly—faster than the speed of light.”
“Yes.”
Daniel points to his hologram. “So can these. I know your theory was that you were able to find Halli the first time because the two of you were vibrating at the same level and found some sort of resonance, but what if that isn’t what it was?”
“Well then, what was it?” I ask.
“What if it was that you were both made at the same level?”
“What do you mean? Like by some … cosmic Mother Root for humans?” It sounds even weirder than most of my theories.
“Over the past two decades, Professor Lacksmith has charted forty-four parallel versions of Dr. Venn. Only one of them so far has been his identical: the other Edgar Venn. All the others vary in age, gender, race, body type, appearance—so why is that?”
I press my palms hard against my temples. There’s so much information in my brain right now, I need some support to keep it all in. “I don’t know,” I answer. “I don’t understand any of this anymore.”
But then suddenly I do.
“Strands.”
Daniel smiles. “Dr. Venn’s term for it, yes. Professor Lacksmith prefers to think of it as grafting.”
“What’s that?”
Daniel erases his current drawing and starts on another. “Let’s say you want to grow a particular kind of citrus tree. Say, a ruby orange tree. You love the fruit, but those trees won’t grow in your climate.”
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