Revived

by Cat Patrick

  “Why do you think he placed her with us?” I ask.

  Mason sighs. I know he feels bad for not sensing that something was very wrong with Cassie.

  “I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure,” Mason says. “But my guess is that it was because of you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. I think God was a little obsessed with you,” Mason says. It sends chills through me. “Back when the bus crashed, he wanted to find you another place to live. He didn’t want an agent taking on a child. But I fought for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Did I ever tell you about my wife?” Mason asks.

  “No, but I know,” I say quietly. I’m not proud of it, but I’ve snooped in Mason’s personnel file. I did it regularly until I found out that he had a wife who died in a skiing accident. After that, I was riddled with guilt and never opened his file again.

  “Good,” Mason surprises me by saying. “I’m not always the best at talking about personal stuff, but I’m glad you know.” He pauses. “You would have liked her. She was really funny. And she was a hell of a cook.”

  I smile. “I’m sure she was great.”

  “She always encouraged me,” Mason says. “She supported me through med school. Then, when the program first tried to recruit me, I thought I was too inexperienced to take part. I declined at first and she was upset; she said that I was blind to my own potential.”

  Mason looks distracted for a second, then comes back to earth.

  “But she died, as you know. We were on vacation in Colorado. She lost control on her skis and hit a tree. It was immediate.” Mason’s eyes cloud over. “But what’s not in the file is that she was pregnant at the time. It was so early that even she didn’t know.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I nearly whisper.

  “Thank you,” Mason says. “It was awful. But her death brought me to the program. I decided to pursue what she’d wanted me to. And then when you showed up, a child without a home, I saw it as my opportunity. It was as if I could feel Zoe pushing me forward, telling me to do it.”

  “I’m glad you did,” I say.

  “Me, too. I just hope that I didn’t negatively impact you in some way, like God did to Cassie,” Mason says, worried. “I’ve tried my best, but you’ve hardly grown up in a typical household.”

  “But no matter where it’s been, it’s been a loving one,” I say. “That’s all that matters. And you’re nothing like God. You’re a real father. I’ll always be thankful for your decision.”

  Mason holds my stare for a moment and smiles warmly.

  “It was the best decision of my life.”

  When I turn off the light on the day, my conversation with Mason fresh in my mind, a sick thought plagues me: If God was willing to go to such great lengths as purposely killing twenty-two people to start and protect his pet project, what else might he have done?

  If, for example, he wanted Mason in the program but Mason wasn’t interested, would God give him—or his wife—a little push?

  Could he—would he—kill Mason’s wife to lure him in?

  And what about me and my accident-prone tendencies? Has it really been all about me? Sure, I’m forgetful, and yes, I do silly things. Everyone does. But I was under the thumb of a maniac and his ambitious daughter.

  The thought that runs through my head much too late at night is this:

  If he killed me once…

  Did he do it again?

  forty-five

  In Audrey’s skinny jeans and a deep purple top, I walk through the doors of Alameda South High School feeling giddy and jittery at the same time. Everyone eyeballs the new girl but, thanks to the tour after registration, I don’t have to embarrass myself by asking anyone for directions.

  A shorter girl with long blond hair and green eyes not quite as lovely as Mason’s smiles at me from her locker, which is next to mine. A pit forms in my stomach as I think of meeting Audrey for the first time. But instead of turning away, I force myself to smile back before going to work on my combination.

  “First day?” the girl says, striking up conversation. I look at her.

  “Yep,” I say. “We just moved here.”

  “I’m Elsie Phillips,” she says, smiling again. “I moved here from Portland in August.”

  “Nice to meet a fellow transplant,” I say. “I moved from Omaha. I miss it, but what can you do?”

  “I hear you,” Elsie says, tossing her bag in her locker. “I pine for Portland.”

  I laugh a little and so does she, but then there’s an awkward pause in the conversation when it seems like neither of us knows what to say. Again, I think of Audrey. We never struggled. Then again, Megan and I didn’t say five words to each other the first time we met.

  “Well, I guess I’ll head to class,” Elsie says. “You know where you’re going?”

  I screw up my face in concentration and look around a bit. Then I point to the left. “I think I’m headed that way.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s an easy layout. The kids are pretty cool. You’ll do great.”

  “Thanks,” I say. We turn away from each other, and then I hear her voice call me back.

  “Hey, what did you say your name was?” she asks. My stomach rolls. The FDA made me change it, and not just the last name this time, in case they kill the program and this is my permanent home. They claimed Daisy was too distinctive.

  This is the first time I’m saying my new name aloud.

  “Oh, sorry,” I say casually. “I don’t think I did. My name is Sophie. Sophie Weller.”

  Mason had suggested Sophie because it was his mother’s first name. And I didn’t know until last week, but Weller is his real surname.

  “Nice to meet you, Sophie.”

  Elsie turns and leaves, and I can’t help but notice as I walk to first period that I don’t mind being Sophie Weller. It doesn’t feel like an act. I straighten up and walk a little taller in my brand-new patent flats, hoping that someday soon, the pull of Omaha won’t feel so unbearably strong, and that I’ll feel like Sophie Weller all the way.

  Epilogue

  It’s late May; my sophomore year is nearly over. In a few short weeks, Matt will arrive in nearby San Francisco for his summer-long music camp. We’ll see each other at night and on the weekends, and I’m so excited I can barely contain myself. The thought of feeling his lips on mine again gives me chills; the thought of twirling my fingers through his curls is almost enough to make me skip finals and hop a plane to Nebraska.

  Surprisingly easily, Matt and I have managed to stay together with seventeen hundred miles between us. We talk on the phone, text, and email every day; on weekends, when we have more time, we Skype. He told his parents that he was devastated when my dad was abruptly transferred to Alameda; they let him visit over spring break for five whole days. Though distance is often the kiss of death for relationships, somehow with Matt and me, it works. Maybe because both of us know what real loss feels like, physical separation isn’t catastrophic.

  Even so, Matt’s only applying to colleges in northern California.

  In and outside of school, I hang out with Elsie, Ella, and Sarah. Ella and Sarah are always trying to get me to ditch Matt and date a guy in our time zone, but Elsie gets it. Even though they broke up when she left, Elsie’s still heartbroken over her last boyfriend in Portland. Elsie, Ella, Sarah, and I went to junior prom with Sarah’s boyfriend and three of his friends. It was a casual, fun night, but I know that next year, distance be damned, I’m going to my own junior prom on Matt’s arm.

  The Revive program’s still on hold, but Mason thinks it will resume in the fall; apparently the director wants to keep it going. I’m a little surprised to be dreading Mason’s return to “agent.” I’ve loved having him close all these months. And it’s been just us; when the program starts again, Mason will undoubtedly get a new partner, too.

  I’m trying not to think about that part yet.

  For now, I’m settled into life in Alameda like I
was in Omaha… almost. School and friends and love life on track, there remains a black spot in my heart where a piece of me has gone missing, left in a bedroom with a chalkboard wall; in a sunshiny yellow car; in a locker at Victory; in a beautiful, sparkling laugh.

  There’s never a day I don’t think of Audrey.

  There’s never a day I don’t miss her.

  But missing her isn’t the same thing as being stuck, like I was in the beginning. I know I’ll never be completely whole without her. But I’ve found a way to be happy as this new version of myself, the version with a missing piece but also a better understanding of the value of friendship.

  Of the value of life.

  Audrey taught me that.

  So instead of crying when I think of her, I talk to her. I make her playlists. I cover my wall with chalkboard paint and write a list of the things that were great about her. I “like” Jake Gyllenhaal on Facebook.

  But I embrace my new friends and my new life, too.

  Because what I know from the precious time we spent together and from the words in the worn letter I keep close at all times is this: Audrey never wanted to be anyone’s heartbreak.

  So I’ll always remember….

  But also, I’ll move on.

  Acknowledgments

  I’m much better when I’m busy.

  That’s why, in the midst of editing my first novel, Forgotten, I started a second. I wrote half, then started a third. Unsure which to finish, I sought advice from my publishing Sherpa, Dan Lazar at Writers House. He told me to go with my gut. I did, and if you enjoyed Revived, you have Dan to thank almost as much as I do (which is a lot… the guy is the best agent ever). While I’m at it, I’ll also thank the rest of my Writers House network: Stephen Barr, Cecilia de la Campa, Angharad Kowal, Chelsey Heller, and foreign rights agents around the world.

  Revived took about a year to write and rewrite and rewrite again. During that time, I leaned on numerous other people to help me get through what I’ve come to know as Second Book Syndrome. These people helped bring Revived to life:

  My amazingly wonderful editor at Little, Brown, Elizabeth Bewley. Thank you for your time, patience, and support. Without you, Daisy might be lost in New York and Cassie might still be an Indian man. Also without you, I might never have seen the funniest Internet video ever.

  Ali Dougal at Egmont UK, Karri Hedge at Hardie Grant Egmont, and the other editors worldwide who’ve so enthusiastically helped deliver Revived to readers: Thank you.

  Nancy Conescu, who bet on Revived even before a word was written.

  Publicists Jessica Bromberg at Little, Brown; Vicki Berwick at Egmont; and Jen Kean at Hardie Grant Egmont, who just, quite frankly, rock.

  Hubby. Thank you for Saturdays with the girls, and for opening the good bottle of wine for every win. For doing less of your hobby so I could do more of mine. For (holy wow by the time this comes out) ten years.

  My monkeys. L, thank you for offering to help me draw—instead of write—the line I’m stuck on. C, thank you for suggesting that my next novel should be about “(Uncle) Ryan, a lion, and Barbie.” You two are my everything. Just… everything. I love you.

  Mom and Dad, thank you for loving me even through my teen years. Thank you for your unwavering support.

  My sister, brothers, sister-in-law, brother-in-law, and nephews. Grandpa and my Cheyenne brood, Teams L.A. and CT. I love you all.

  Those who previewed Revived and helped me shape Daisy’s world. Amy, my dear friend, thank you for being there for me always, and for reading despite Baby E’s best efforts. Kristin, my speed-reading Cacee, what would I do without you? Judith, you have both photography and toddler-whispering superpowers. David, I remembered: no bees or pink blouses. Brad and Kim, thank you for being my Omaha experts.

  Christopher, my sunshine. Thank you for being the “he” in my he said/she said—not just in the book, but in real life, too. And Arne, just because.

  Janine, the smartest person I know. Thanks for explaining what a PCR machine does, and for not laughing out loud when I told you the “science” behind Revive.

  Author buddies Jay Asher and Daisy Whitney, thank you for giving up some of your valuable time to offer me advice. My ridiculously supportive network of friends all over the map: Thank you for enjoying the ride with me so far.

  And finally:

  Sarah, a family friend who inspired the very saddest parts of Audrey’s story. I hadn’t seen you in many years, and yet, I will always remember your spirit… and your smile.

  Contents

  Welcome

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Cat Patrick

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  www.hachettebookgroup.com

  First e-book edition: May 2012

  Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  ISBN 978-0-316-20203-9