Before Devon could respond, the woman sashayed down the hall. Devon had no idea what C.C. could possibly mean. Not taking calls? Had her parents placed Maya under their own version of house arrest? It seemed that way. Since she’d left school, Devon had tried to find her online, but her Instagram and Twitter accounts had become inactive.
But one thing was certain: Maya had not fallen off the face of the earth entirely. She’d be nearly six months pregnant at this point. Devon had a hard time imagining Maya’s small frame with a baby belly. Had Maya purposefully withdrawn from public, or had her parents forced seclusion upon her?
As the first-period bell rang, Devon allowed herself the thought at the root of it all, the one that was nagging at her deep down. If she could find out what was going on with Maya, then she could share that information with Eric. And maybe then Eric would be more inclined to answer her questions.
SECOND PERIOD WAS EVEN worse than chemistry; it was her next session with Dr. Hsu.
Devon found a seat on a bench next to the science building. She tried to wrap her head around the idea that in three minutes, she would be expected to pour out her deepest, darkest secrets to a woman who wanted to prove Devon was crazy.
Last session Devon had enjoyed letting Dr. Hsu believe that Devon’s stories were simply paranoia getting out of control. A part of her was curious just how far she could milk that angle. After all, everyone had thought she was crazy for believing that Hutch hadn’t killed himself.
If the school administration were sidelining her as unreliable and delusional, then they wouldn’t plan on reinstating the peer counselor program anytime soon. Which was fine. Devon didn’t need that distraction right now. Last semester Keaton had lost three students—four if you included Hutch. Between Isla’s parents sending her to rehab, Matt’s choosing to leave school for an indefinite “surfing hiatus” (his words), and Maya’s pregnancy, Devon’s record of helping students cope wasn’t exactly stellar.
Another thought crept into her mind. The powers-that-be at Keaton weren’t trying to pin any of that on her, were they?
She had always assumed that implicating a student in negligent peer counseling—the pilot program, no less—would also make the school look bad. But maybe she had Keaton’s puppet masters wrong. Maybe the school was looking for a way to take her down with the other students. One less troublemaker?
No, there was no way they would do that.
Besides, it wasn’t just pure morbid curiosity that made Devon want to play into their fears and be the head case Dr. Hsu was hoping she would be. She wanted to buy some time for herself, to keep them interested in and aware of her fears. If someone had tried to murder her on New Year’s Eve, that kind of publicity wouldn’t look good for Keaton, either. They would keep her safe, if only to salvage their reputation in the wake of the Hutchins scandal. Especially if the Hutchins family was her benefactor …
I’m not a pawn, she thought.
But in thinking that, didn’t she simply prove Dr. Hsu’s theory that she was paranoid?
Session #2: Devon Mackintosh
Monday, January 14
“SO.” DR. HSU FLASHED her professional detached smile and tucked her lap blanket under her knees. “Have you been keeping up with your schoolwork this semester? Second-semester juniors can often get overwhelmed by their commitments this time of year.”
“I think it’s been okay. Just trying to handle what comes.” Devon made a point of studying her fingernails.
“Have you been giving any thought to college? A college trip during spring break? That’s generally considered one of the most advantageous times to go.”
Devon shrugged. “Presley and I were thinking of going to the East Coast. Which schools out there do you think would suit me best?”
Dr. Hsu laughed. “I’m sure the college advisory office is probably a better place to discuss this. What about the other things? Have you given any more thought to what we discussed last session?”
“Well, I haven’t found my attacker yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“We both know that’s not what I was asking.” Dr. Hsu kept her eyes focused on Devon’s own. “We’re here to discuss the connections you’ve been drawing between traumatic incidents in your life. Nobody is underestimating your trauma.”
Now it was Devon’s turn to laugh. “Jeez, that’s nice,” she said sarcastically. “Anyway, isn’t that what those bumper stickers say? We’re all connected?”
“Devon, I’m serious,” Dr. Hsu said gently. “Between the trauma of what happened on the yacht and what happened to Jason Hutchins … that’s a lot to handle for anyone. Do you still see those events as being connected?”
So she really does want me to believe that I’m paranoid, Devon thought, surprised at her own anger. And she clearly doesn’t have much interest in actually doing the work of counseling me, because I left the door wide open for that kind of reassurance. If I were sitting in that chair, I wouldn’t have said, “Devon, I’m serious”; I would have said, “Devon, I’m here to help you.” But fine. Let the fun begin …
“Yes, I do. I totally think they’re connected. And you know what else? There’s a guy that works in the kitchen. Ricky, I think his name is. He’s been weird. Smiling at me like he knows my secret. I think he knows who’s behind what happened to me on New Year’s Eve.”
Dr. Hsu broke eye contact to write something in her notebook.
And just to push the envelope, Devon added, “I think the entire kitchen staff knows what happened.”
Nothing. No response. “How have you been sleeping?” Dr. Hsu asked, as if the question was somehow related to the nonsense Devon had just spewed. Maybe a Stanford PhD wasn’t worth all that much, after all. Or maybe hers was phony.
“Terribly,” Devon answered. “I just don’t feel safe anymore.” Would telling her that I’m hearing voices be too much?
Dr. Hsu put down her notebook and reached for the drawer in the small end table next to her chair. She pulled out a palm-sized pad.
Prescriptions.
Bingo, Devon thought, clenching her jaw. Now the real motives are coming out. The Keaton School wanted to medicate her. Of course. This was not paranoia. This was reality. No doubt they wanted to lull her into some zombie-like state so she’d shut her mouth and stop poking around places where she wasn’t welcome—be it Cleo’s yacht or the school’s alumni scholarship fund.
Dr. Hsu scribbled something on the pad and tore it off the top.
“This is a prescription for Vericyl,” she said, the detached smile back in place. “You’ll need to give this to Nurse Reilly to have it filled. It’s a newer drug, but it’s been proven to be very effective for post-traumatic stress in teenagers.”
Devon took the paper and studied Dr. Hsu’s precise cursive script.
“I can understand if you’re conflicted about this diagnosis,” Dr. Hsu said. “But Devon, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve suffered, and you have to come to terms with that. Add to the mix that this is an anxious time in your life in general.”
“I’m …” Devon took a deep breath. “I just want to get back to my old self.” For the first time today, she had told Dr. Hsu the truth.
Dr. Hsu nodded. “I’m so happy you said that. I think we should start with this dose and keep close contact. For our next session, I’d like to see you come up with a college-trip plan, one we can discuss. Is that something you think you can do?”
“Yes, Dr. Hsu. Definitely. Next week then. Thanks.”
Devon got up slowly, just to make sure she wasn’t misreading the situation. Was Dr. Hsu on her side, after all? When she also stood up, Devon knew she was allowed to leave, too. Wow, that was easy, she thought. Maybe too easy.
“One more thing. Are there any side effects to the medication?” she asked.
“Nothing to be frightened of,” Dr. Hsu said. “Nurse Reilly will discuss all of that with you. And of course you’ll need to discuss this prescription with your mother before you fill it. I’d e
ncourage her to call me. I won’t discuss any specifics of what goes on here with her; that’s between us and us alone. But she needs to be on the same page in terms of medication.”
Nothing to be frightened of, Devon repeated silently. Nope, just that Dr. Hsu believed that Devon was paranoid and delusional. But that was what Devon wanted, right? She wanted Keaton to be aware of her, watching out for her physical safety, while she continued the search for her attacker. In another way, it made her more paranoid than ever that she was playing into Keaton’s hands in their desire to forget about the Hutch ugliness, to wipe it clean, and to move forward.
“Don’t worry,” Devon finally said. “My mom will get it. She’s a nurse.”
RAVEN WAS SITTING ON the bench outside Dr. Hsu’s office, her cheeks blotchy and swollen. She hugged her knees against her chest, rocking back and forth, her dreadlocks in disarray. She looked up when Devon opened the door.
“Raven …?” Devon started.
“Reed’s dead.”
Raven jumped up and buried her head against Devon’s outstretched arm. Her body shook with sobs. Devon stood still, unable to move, unable to do anything but hold Raven and let her cry. She’d known this was coming, but she couldn’t accept that it would be so soon.
Across the mountainside, she could see Reed’s grapevines and the rooftop of his house. He’s really gone. It didn’t seem to jibe with the beautiful vista. Even so close to death, he’d been so alive.
Behind them, the door opened, and Dr. Hsu appeared, a bag slung over her shoulder. She looked over at Devon and noticed the crying girl on her arm. She stiffened, and her brow furrowed, but then she gave Devon the slightest smile before lowering her eyes and walking in the other direction. Of course: she wanted to be compassionate, but she wasn’t allowed to acknowledge their relationship outside of their session. Devon could relate. She almost felt sorry for the woman. At least she had some more evidence that Dr. Hsu was, indeed, a human being. Five minutes ago, she hadn’t been so sure.
Raven wiped her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. “I can’t be here right now,” she breathed. “I’m sorry, I just …”
“Don’t apologize. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.” Devon had US history next period, but Mr. Blakely would understand if she was a few minutes late.
Raven’s red Volvo was parked in the corner of the lot. There was a bright pink splotch on the hood of the car. As they drew closer, Devon realized it was a cluster of pink flowers: two roses and a few wildflowers. They looked like someone had torn them from one of the gardens near the teachers’ homes on the edge of the hill.
A piece of paper was wrapped around the ragged stems.
Devon looked at Raven, but she only shook her head. With shaky fingers, Devon unwrapped the paper. Written in pencil were the words, I’m sorry for your loss. The letters were narrow and crooked, as if whoever had left it had written the note quickly. Devon looked up at Raven, whose tears had momentarily stopped.
“Who else knows about Reed?” Devon asked.
Raven shook her head again. “Bodhi just texted me during the last class. I didn’t see it until I got out.” She sniffed the flowers. Her eyes started watering again as Devon handed her the note. “I have to go. Bodhi’ll need me.” She frowned at the crumpled piece of paper. “You think this is bad?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you have an admirer?” Devon offered.
“With a scary knack for gathering information?”
Devon bit her lip. Paranoia or not, it’s what she had been thinking, too.
CHAPTER 9
March 30, 1942
I’ve been so busy! No time to write. There is so much going on. I got married! Dr. Keaton married us on the hillside on March 1st, my birthday. Athena’s parents weren’t able to travel from Washington, but they sent a lovely box with rose petals for us to scatter along our small wedding aisle. We exchanged rings at sunset. It will forever be the happiest day of my life. I want this project to be a success just to keep that smile on Athena’s face as long as possible.
Athena and Hana have been working together, building a vegetable garden, getting a kitchen cabin up and running. Athena even planted a few grapevines. Her father used to make homemade wine, apparently. As always, Athena continues to surprise me with her talents. And now that we’re more confident that I won’t have to ship out for the war, we’re going to try to have children.
We feel guilty being so happy up here. This hillside has allowed us to live different lives than the people in the cities. Just last week we heard from General Grayson about the mandatory Japanese evacuations. Notices posted all over San Francisco, Berkeley, and Oakland telling Japanese families to pack up their houses, belongings, leave pets behind, and take only what they could carry.
Athena says that Hana doesn’t discuss it with her, but we can only imagine what that must feel like. Isn’t this exactly what we are fighting against in Europe? I know Dr. Keaton is trying to keep Hana away from the bad news. He also seems to keep her away from our work in the lab. I understand. It’s for her own protection. I hope the Army doesn’t change its mind about giving Hana security clearance.
Work continues here with Dr. Keaton, the fast-neutron research that we began at the Berkeley labs with Oppie. And just yesterday we had a new arrival to our small hillside community, Edward Dover. He used to be a research-and-development biologist at Merck pharmaceuticals.
Edward’s a funny guy. He’s short and round and never stops moving or talking. I didn’t know that much about the pharmaceutical companies until now. Edward is full of ideas. He explained how we could sell a patent to Merck and live off the royalties for the rest of our lives. He is certain that what we’re doing up here on the hill will bring about a handful of new patents when the war is over.
“It’s closer than you think,” he keeps saying. It’s like there’s a small motor inside of him that won’t quit. Edward says that the Army brought him into our project to help coordinate Dr. Keaton’s progress with other teams around the country.
For some reason—and I write this only because Athena has noticed it, too—it doesn’t seem like Edward has Dr. Keaton’s full trust yet. Probably thinks he’s reporting back to the Army. Maybe he is, but if I can work with him to set up a patent like he says, it would mean everything for my family’s future. I have to think that way now.
THE SERVICE WAS SMALLER than Devon would have expected. Reed had apparently written out detailed instructions for his funeral, not that she was surprised. He even hired a local party planner just to make sure Raven and Bodhi didn’t get stuck with the brunt of the work. Of course Bill and Mitzi showed up, Mitzi shaking her head in a constant state of disagreeing with Reed’s decisions. Bill, in a black suit that Devon recognized from Hutch’s funeral, smiled in silence. Here at least, he seemed to be playing the role of dutiful son.
Devon stood in the corner of Reed’s living room, taking in the scene while sipping a glass of sparkling water. The bartender silently poured drinks for the somber guests. He was about Eli’s age (no dimples) and Devon wondered if he worked for the same catering company that Cleo’s father had used on New Year’s Eve.
Bill began to work the room, shaking hands with a bunch of men in black suits Devon had never seen before. No doubt they were here for Bill, not Reed. Cleo, also at home in another all-black ensemble, crossed the room toward Devon with drinks in hand, raising an eyebrow along the way.
“Got the bartender to slip a little vodka in here. Take a sip.” Cleo held her glass out to Devon.
“I’m cool,” Devon replied, still canvassing the crowd.
Cleo followed Devon’s gaze around the room. “The suits? Probably the Terra Tech board of directors. They’ve all come just to kiss Bill’s ass, is my guess.”
“Why wasn’t Reed a part of TerraTech?” Devon asked. “He was a scientist, too.”
“Who knows?” Cleo took a big swig of her drink. “All Bodhi could ever figure out was that Reed didn’t agree with the work Bill
was doing. Don’t know why though. TerraTech is, like, some major Fortune 500 company. Not Reed’s style. But clearly that family knows how to make money.”
Devon caught a glimpse of Bodhi and Raven slipping into the living room through a side door. Both had their dreads pulled back in neat ponytails. Raven wore an elegant black dress; Bodhi’s dark suit was indistinguishable from the cluster around Bill. It looked brand new, neatly pressed, a perfect fit. Devon thought of their faded black outfits at Hutch’s funeral only months ago. Then they were friendly misfits, whereas now they gracefully blended in among the high-class crowd. Devon stared down at her feet, suddenly feeling claustrophobic.
She hadn’t had a chance to talk with Bodhi since their kiss. He’d flashed her a brief, sad smile over Reed’s coffin during the service. Did that count as flirting? No. Of course not. What was she thinking? In fact, Devon realized, flirting and coffin were words that shouldn’t be used in the same sentence ever again.
Cleo handed her drink to Raven. Bodhi sidled up to Devon but avoided her eyes. “Don’t worry. It’s vodka,” Cleo said.
Raven took the glass and drained it. After a small shake of her head and a vodka-soaked exhale, she spoke. Her eyes started watering. “We just met with Reed’s lawyer about his will.” She shook her head again and looked to Bodhi.
“He left us everything,” Bodhi stated.
Devon blinked several times. Even Cleo was speechless.
“Everything?” Devon finally repeated.
She scanned the massive living room. This whole house, the guest house, the vineyard …
“Everything,” Raven said, as if she could see Devon’s mental checklist. “Except the land. He donated that to Keaton, for the school legacy or something.”
“He put his patents in a trust in our names. The future of his work is in our hands.” Bodhi spoke as if he was reciting what the lawyer had just said to him. His tone was empty, as if none of it were real.
“Elliot.”
The voice was a growl. Bill Hutchins broke from his huddle and made his way across the living room in three long strides. Devon took a step back. Raven’s shoulders hunched up, and she leaned against Bodhi, who stretched an arm in front of her. “You put him up to this, didn’t you?” Bill spat. “What did you do, give him drugs?”
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