by Casey Hays
“Justin—”
“He hates me, Liza,” I cut her off, squeezing the bottle until it bends with the pressure. “We both know it, so save it. And don’t start about this being a good idea. I’m only doing this because Penelope asked me to, not because I agree.”
Her jaw clenches, but she doesn’t say anything more. She looks away and takes another bite.
I’ve played a hundred scenarios through my brain trying to decide how to best approach my dad. Not a single one seems plausible. I don’t even know if he’ll see me, and the more I think about it, the more this idea grows sour in my stomach. His sister, his niece, his own son—we’ve excluded him from witnessing the culmination of his final experiment. And I can’t lie; some of what we’ve seen is amazing. The children are amazing.
He’s going to insist on seeing them. I know it.
My thoughts make me antsy. I don’t want to think about my dad anymore until I have to. I shove the rest of my sandwich into my mouth and hop to my feet.
“We should get going.”
With a sigh, Liza hauls herself up, tucks her water bottle into a side pocket on her pack, and slides her sword into place.
“Just for the record,” she begins. “You’re not a very enjoyable traveling partner. I would have had better company alone.”
“You don’t get to complain,” I retort. “You got your way.”
Ignoring me, she hitches her pack into place and takes off. I watch her disappear in a cloud of dust before I sigh and slide into my own backpack. Liza just doesn’t get it. She doesn’t see my side of things. She doesn’t have to live on the edge of her seat. She gets to escape it into Eden. She can’t really understand the pressure I’m under—on all sides.
I let my thoughts float toward Diana for a minute. I’ve memorized her smile, and it captures my heart even in my mind and holds it steady. She’s amazing in so many ways; I’ve known it for the longest time, and yet, I’ve done nothing about it.
I cast my eyes across the field. Liza is long gone. I won’t catch her if she doesn’t slow down. In between that thought and another backwards glance, I determine something here and now: I’m going to tell Diana how I feel when I get back.
The sudden decision stuns me. But in my next breath, I turn it into a promise.
I fasten my pack and launch forward.
***
Jeb is happily surprised to see me when we reach the edge of the woods. He tugs me into one of his famous body-crushing hugs and shakes me a couple of times.
“Justin Phillips, I never thought to lay eyes on you again, son.” He holds me at arm’s length and peers down at me from his seven foot two height. “How’re things on the farm?”
“Well, they could be better.”
He releases me and strokes his fingers the length of his long beard a couple of times. “Is that so? Anything I could help with?”
I offer a smile in an attempt to minimize the situation and warily study the group of hunters staring at me from where they loiter under the trees. “You can get me into Eden as soon as possible.”
Jeb’s smile appears through his beard. “You bet.” He turns to his team. “Let’s head out, people.”
The hunters busy themselves with loading up and preparing for the trek home. Liza pairs up with a friend, and Jeb sets his steps with me. We take off after the group.
“You want to tell me why you’re here?” Jeb asks as soon as we’re out of earshot. I sigh, keeping my eyes on the ground as we run.
“Something is happening. The kids are… changing.”
“I see.” He curls his fingers around the string of his bow laying diagonally across his chest. “What does Penelope think?”
“She thinks I need to talk to my dad… without revealing where the children are.” I glance at him. “It isn’t going to be easy to get his help if I don’t give him something in return. And I have nothing to give.”
Jeb nods, runs his fingers through his beard again in thought. “Liza says Ian’s gone.”
“Yeah.” I take a deep breath. “Been a little over a year now.”
“And how are you holding up?”
“I’m hanging in there.”
“Well…” He throws a big hand onto my shoulder and squeezes. “Let’s get you to your dad and see what happens.”
***
At first glance, Eden looks exactly the same. Same walls, same gate, same guards. In reality, our run-in with the Vortex changed it all. Once the Serum stores were destroyed, we didn’t have to be as guarded about our abilities. Not that we don’t still use discretion. But the Code? It became obsolete in many ways. Still, some of its rules are enforced. Like “Don’t cross the river”—mostly because there’s nothing over there, but also because it’s still believed to be dangerous on the other side—maybe even toxic. That idea ingrained in Eden and the surrounding villages for nearly a century has been the greatest advantage for keeping our farm hidden.
Another rule still in place: no leaving the city without permission, without a valid reason, and without an assigned expedition team—for our own safety. In reality, it’s just a way for the Board to keep some semblance of control over the citizens. Which is why I need Jeb.
I pull my hoodie up over my head and smuggle my way in with Jeb’s team. The head guard, Ernie, has his back to me as I slip through the second inner gate and into the streets of Eden with the others. At checkpoint two, Jeb confirms that his entire team is present, and we’re swept in quickly.
“Thank you, Jeb.” I toss him a salute. “I’ll be leaving with you as well, if that’s okay.”
“I’ll see you then.” He winks reassuringly. “Good luck with Doc.”
Liza catches me before I take off. “I’ll gather Penelope’s list of supplies and have them to you before you leave. Your coming saves me a trip.”
“Sounds good.” I keep my answer short and curt.
“Are you going to see your mom first?”
I nod, and turn away.
“Hey.” She grabs my elbow. “Jesse will be home tonight. Come see him before you leave the city.”
I glance at her briefly, reading her. She doesn’t like us being on the outs. Honestly, neither do I.
“Okay.” I smile. Her shoulders sink with relief.
We part ways, and I make my way through the crowded streets under the dome, which reflects fabricated sunshine and a few lazy clouds. It’s noon, and people leave their places of business to break for lunch. I’m hungry, but I don’t stop along the way. I’m more anxious to see my mom than I am to eat.
I turn onto my street, and there it is: my childhood home with the yellow siding and white shutters. Nothing has ever changed about it. Not a single detail since I was a kid. It sends a comforting sensation through me. And a tiny tear, which I push away quickly. What am I doing? I’m a grown man.
The door is unlocked. I shove through and drop my pack on the entry floor.
“Mom?”
A rustling, the screech of a chair against tile, and she’s there—shock on her face and eyes filling up with smiling tears.
“Justin,” she whispers taking the last few steps right into my arms. I take her into my embrace, squeezing her close as she holds her breath to stifle a sob.
“Hi, Mom.”
She pulls back, clinging to my elbows. “Let me take a look at you.”
I smile, a tear dripping over my own cheek. I don’t bother with wiping it away. I just let it happen. Her hair is cut shorter than I remember, but she looks so pretty. I pull her in for one more hug. I didn’t realize how much I missed her until this moment.
“Come on, then.” Tucked against my waist, she leads me to the kitchen. “I just made lunch.”
I drop into a chair at the table while Mom ladles me up a bowl of stew and sets it in front me. I reach for a corn muffin and break it open.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” Mom sits, her smile wide across her face.
“Yeah.” I stir my stew, lift a spoonful to m
y mouth. “I really can’t either.”
“You look wonderful.” She folds her fingers together, straight-backed, scrutinizing me as only mothers can. “How have things been on the farm? How’s Penelope?”
“Good. She’s good. Most everything is good.”
She frowns. “Except that you risked coming here.”
I connect with her. “Yeah.”
She takes up her spoon, then lowers it again. “Is something wrong?”
I lick my lips nervously. No point in stalling. “Very,” I answer.
“Tell me.”
I do, and afterwards, she sits still, her hands clasped over her untouched bowl of stew.
“It’s what we feared,” she says.
“Only worse.” I release an untamed sigh and lean back. “Nicholas has no restraint and doesn’t seem to want it. He’s always been our challenge, but before, his meltdowns were impulsive, not premediated. This last attack? He planned it and showed no remorse afterwards.” I rub my palm over my jawline as the nerves tick. “Stephen’s last scan revealed some interesting things, but Penelope doesn’t really understand what they mean.”
Mom purses her lips, worry clouding her expression. “So you’re here to see your father, aren’t you?”
“Unless you have another brilliant solution,” I toss her a smile. “I was kind of hoping you might.” When her answer is silence, I keep on. “Where is he?”
She stands and carries her bowl to the sink, her back to me. “I heard he rented a place on Guard Row, but Jane tells me he sleeps in his office at the clinic most nights. I haven’t seen him in months, but that’s where you should look first.”
“Okay.”
She faces me, crosses her arms, her back pressed against the edge of the sink. I peer at her.
“Can I stay here a few days?”
She shakes her head with a smile. “You don’t even have to ask.”
“Thanks.”
A silent pause. She sits, takes my hand. “How are you doing, Justin?”
I take a deep breath and focus on her. “It’s been hard, Mom. I’m not gonna lie. Working with the children is exhausting, especially without Ian.”
His name is a hard jab on my tongue, and Mom lifts a brow at this.
“When will he be back?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Soon, I hope.”
“But you have Penelope and Aaron.”
“I do. Sophia is great, too. And Diana.”
Mom doesn’t miss the way Diana’s name falls from my tongue. Or the smile I try to hide when I say it.
“Diana?” Her eyes glint. “Is there something you should tell me?”
I chuckle, running my hand over my face again. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
Mom, of course, has never met Diana, but I’ve mentioned her once or twice in our letters. Just factual comments, nothing that would give her any reason to believe Diana meant anything more to me than a friend.
Mom props her chin against her hand and waits for me to continue.
“She… is amazing.” My smile takes over my face. “And she’s beautiful. Sometimes, I can’t stop looking into her eyes. It’s like I’m frozen in crystal ice.” I lower my head, stare into my stew. “She’s a survivor. Tough but compassionate. And she has this gift for working with children.”
The words spill out with a flood of emotion, and I crease my brows, thinking I should stop talking. But I can’t. I need to talk about her. I want Mom to know how perfect she is. Maybe I need her to tell me it’s okay to feel like the blood pumping through my veins only pumps because Diana is the source of my heartbeat. That sounds so ridiculously romantic, and I’m not supposed to be ridiculous. I’m sensible. I don’t know how I ever got to this place with my feelings, but I’m here.
“She sounds wonderful.” Mom squeezes my hand. “But you’d never settle for less.”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “And she genuinely loves those kids, Mom. She sees the best in them, even at their worst. She makes me see hope.”
I pierce her with my eyes then, and I see a hint of knowing there. The part of her that has always been aware of me. The part that knows me better than I know myself, because she’s known me longer. This gives me a sudden peace. She loves me more than anyone on this earth ever has, and as that realization stings me, I understand that I can make a confession to her, and she’ll cherish it. I breathe deep.
“I love her.”
My heart catches at the revelation, but there. I said it. And I mean it.
Mom reaches up and places her palms flat against my cheeks, a full smile breaking across her face.
“Then tell her.”
“I plan to.” I lean into her hand with a shrug, a little shocked at my sudden boldness. “I just haven’t been able to figure out how.”
“Well, how does she feel about you?” Mom drops her hands with a tilt of her head. I shrug again.
“It’s hard to say. I think… maybe she likes me, at least.” I half laugh and fall back against the chair, my hand on my forehead. “She’s hinted, but I’m not completely sure.”
“Yes. You never were very good at reading when a girl was flirting with you. I saw you break a heart or two without even realizing it.”
I laugh. “I’m that dense, huh?”
“You can be,” she grins, and then a silence consumes us and the air turns serious. “You plan to stay at that farm for the long haul?”
I look at her. Just a few short days ago, I wasn’t so sure. I guess I knew in my core I wouldn’t be leaving, not until the children were grown. But the thought of being there—toiling every day until I’m a middle-aged man, giving up the prime years of my life— that dug at me. And for a second, as my anger at Ian and his happy ending fueled it, I wanted to flee.
But when I really begin to assess my future, the only thing I see in it is Diana. And so…
“I plan to stay,” I finally answer.
“Then just open your mouth and tell her.” Mom squeezes my forearm where it rests along the table’s edge. “Make a life with her, and be happy together wherever you are.”
Tears sting my eyes. It’s so very clear now, and every part of me wishes I’d said something before I left.
“Thank you, Mom. I needed to hear that.”
“What are moms for?”
She gives me a little shove on the shoulder. We sit in silence a minute.
“You be careful with your dad,” She finally says. I glance up at her. “He’s still very angry.”
“I will,” I nod.
“I’ll pray for you.”
Her words penetrate my core. Mom has been a believer for a while now. She has prayed for me in every letter she’s ever sent; I understand what that means. I’m about to face a mountain that could come crumbling down on me, but my mom is going to pray, and there’s power in a mother’s prayer; it speaks volumes.
This fills me with a courage I haven’t felt in a long time.
Chapter 12
The clinic lobby is empty, and the young, pretty receptionist has no idea who I am.
“May I help you?” She smiles at me through a clear panel of glass. She’s an Outsider. Not everyone has taken a liking to mingling with Outsiders. It’s nice to see, at least, that my dad doesn’t hold to that prejudice.
“Hi. Yeah, I’m here to see Dr. Phillips.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. It’s… a social call. Sort of.”
“Oh.” Her answer is a surprised quip. “He doesn’t normally take those.”
“He’ll probably want to take this one.” A moment of hesitation. That’s presumptuous on my part. “I’m his son.”
She tilts her head in confusion, but she presses a button on an intercom. “Doctor? Your… son… is here to see you?”
Her voice raises on a question. There’s a sharp click as she releases the button. She smiles up at me with glaringly white teeth. “I didn’t know he had a son.”
I simply nod once, overcompensati
ng my confidence to fight my nerves. “I’ll wait over here.”
I slump into a plastic chair and situate the small satchel I carry onto my knee, my stomach in knots. I take a minute to scan the lobby. The same white-washed walls, same rows of hard seats, glaringly clean tile flooring under dull lighting. I spent the better part of my boyhood years here helping Dad out. Learning the ropes. Lots of memories of this place rest in my mind, buried deep. I wrestle to keep them there. Dormant. I don’t feel like being sad today.
Fifteen minutes pass. I tap my foot. The intercom buzzes again.
“Sir?” The receptionist comes to her feet, looking at me over the glassed partition. “Dr. Phillips says you can go on back. He says you know the way.”
“Thanks.” Clutching the satchel, I make my way across the room to the narrow hallway that will take me to Dad’s office. I’ve walked this hall hundreds of times in my life. Even raced past all these doors at full speed a time or two. Today, it feels like the walk of death. My tennis shoes pad softly against the tile; my heartbeat thumps in my ears. I’m terrified.
I pause outside my dad’s door and take a deep breath to regain my courage, straining to feel Mom’s prayer. The satchel I carry contains everything I need to discuss the children’s conditions, and it feels heavy with the burden. Penelope was very thorough, even printing the images of Stephen’s scans for me to show him. I’m prepared. Still, that old fear climbs up my spine to sit on my shoulder.
A quick swallow, and I ease open the door.
Dad stands at the window behind his desk, his back to me. His silver hair has grown long, kind of shaggy, but he stands tall, almost regal with his hands on his hips. I step into the room, my nerves on fire. His statuesque form does nothing to settle them.
“So the prodigal son has returned.” He swivels his head to the side, and I catch a glimpse of his full beard—black as his hair once was. “Isn’t that the appropriate phrase?”
I tighten my lips. He references a parable from the Scriptures. Of course, in that case, the returning son was welcomed with open arms. I doubt this will be my scenario.
Dad turns, planting his dark eyes on me for the first time in three years. I meet his glare head on, finally facing the biggest of all my demons. I work up my courage.
