First

by Chanda Stafford

  I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. “It’s not that great,” I grumble before going back to my seat. Get away from there. Don’t look any closer. You’ve taken so much from me, are you going to take this, too?

  “Because we have to do everything by hand, we’re so tired by the end of the day we can barely find our own beds, let alone anything dangerous like plot any kind of revolution.” Sarcasm etches a familiar tone in my voice. For a moment, I think he’s going to yell at me, but he doesn’t.

  “You think this is the perfect life?” I shake my head and stand up to face him, gesturing with my hands. Another bad habit. “Every morning, I get up before dawn to feed and care for the Chesanings’ hunting hounds. Then, I take care of the horses and whatever animals are in the medical barn. After that, I watch the younger kids or work out in the fields, tending the crops or making sure the irrigation system works. I’m stuck doing whatever’s needed until I get my permanent work assignment.” What would it have been? Would I have been assigned to the barn permanently? I liked animals well enough, I suppose, though smelling like manure does have its disadvantages. Or maybe they’d make me a teacher, though I think I’d rather muck stalls all day than chase a roomful of kids like Max around. I guess I’ll never know.

  Mr. Flannigan doesn’t say anything to that, just measures me with his eyes, and after a few minutes, he walks back to his chair and sits down. Lines crease between his squinty eyes, and his mouth turns down in a pensive frown. He nods at the other chair. I sigh and reluctantly take it. “It appears we are at different levels of understanding with regard to your life on the farm.” His voice has a low, gravelly tone. “And I can’t do anything about that. There’s so much about the world you don’t understand, that you’ll never be able to understand.” My mouth drops open to probably say something stupid, but he holds his hand up, stopping me. “At any rate, we need to focus on the skills you’re going to need when you arrive in Washington. On the farm, you’re allowed to get away with certain… coarseness, but in D.C., they’ll have your head, or more specifically, Socrates’s, for the same mistakes.”

  “Yeah, you said that already.” I shake my head. I hear something heavy being rolled down the hall and throw my hands up when Gerald lugs in an antique wooden folding table and sets it up between us. “This is ridiculous!” I exclaim. Both men ignore me, and Gerald brings in a large tray with plates, two covered dishes, and silverware wrapped in cloth napkins. I smile wryly. I’ve never used a cloth napkin in my life.

  “Sit down,” Mr. Flannigan commands. Mouth opening and closing like a fish, I shake my head and follow his command. “You may not believe this to be important, Mira, but it is. More than you can ever know.”

  “Fine.” I plop down in my seat.

  He nods once, acknowledging his victory. “Good. Now, if you’ll take a look at the place setting in front of you, you’ll see there are two forks, two spoons, a normal knife, and a smaller one.”

  “I know what a fork looks like.”

  “I never said you didn’t.” A faint smile twitches his mustache.

  “Why are we doing all this? Aren’t there more important things for me to learn?”

  “I’m only here to instruct you on the basics. Socrates himself will teach you the more important facets of your new life.” Why does he grimace when he says that? Is there something he’s not telling me? “I’ve worked with many Firsts, but most of the time my instruction begins and ends at the Smith. Rarely do I ever come to the farms, though I find the experience most… enlightening. Socrates is one of only a handful who believes in giving their Seconds time to wrap up loose ends at home before leaving.”

  “Why would he do that? I know when Adrian left, he went right away.”

  He takes a sip of tea. “Socrates values the power of saying good-bye.”

  “What if I don’t want to go?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?” He gestures out the window. “Granted, your farm is a beautiful place, but it’s certainly nothing compared to what your new life will be like. Not even that boy I’ve been told you spend time with…” He gets a sour look on his face. “After your Release, you won’t even think about coming back. It’ll be as if this part of your life never existed.”

  Does he know anything? Anger makes me blush. Okay, so I don’t really know what Tanner and I are, anymore, but he’s not just a boy like Mr. Flannigan said. “Tanner and I were supposed to be married,” I say, quietly, before looking out the window again.

  When I finally look back at my teacher, there’s such an intense look of pity on his face that I can’t decide whether to get mad again or to cry.

  “I’m sorry.” He takes a deep breath. “But it can’t be helped. Not anymore.”

  By the time we finish our lesson, the early evening summer sun bakes the brown, hard-packed ground. I lift my face, savoring the heat, and close my eyes. Behind the manor, everything is quiet. I scrunch my eyes shut; making starbursts of red, orange, and yellow appear behind my closed lids. I feel a familiar pull from the forest and turn toward its lush, cool canopy. Going home can wait. What does he mean I won’t want to come back? Why wouldn’t I?

  When I enter the apartment, I see my mother sitting at the worn, yellowed table, which only seats four but takes up nearly the entire dining niche.

  I slam the door, and the cup wobbles in her hand, reminding me of my first meeting with Mr. Flannigan. Steadying herself, she takes a sip of coffee. After a long, uncomfortable pause, she smiles at me and asks, “Did you have a good day?”

  Are you kidding me, Mom? That’s what you’re going to ask me? “Umm, yeah. It was… great.”

  “Good.” She looks down at her cup. Her hand clenches a paper napkin, as if strangling it.

  “I talked to Tanner,” I blurt. “He showed me the Marriage Authorization.” She opens her mouth to speak, but my words come out in a rush. “Why didn’t you tell me it came?”

  She stands up, slams her cup into the cleaning slot, and turns to face me, her face red-splotched. “Does it matter? It can’t be changed now. You couldn’t marry Tanner even if you wanted to.”

  “What do you mean? Of course I want to! He’s my… my…” Tears burn my eyes. “He’s…”

  “Your best friend.” She sadly shakes her head. “I know you didn’t really want to marry him. You don’t love the boy, but given time, I’m sure you’d have developed feelings.” But I do, I want to shout, but something stops me. I do have those feelings, right? “However, you were picked by Socrates, so now you don’t have to worry about that.”

  “But Mom—”

  “I’m sorry, Mira.” She walks over and takes me carefully in her arms, as if she’s uncertain how to hold me. Why? She hugs Max all the time. She hugged me after I was chosen. What’s different now? Is it me? Is there something wrong with me?

  I try to pull away from her, but she holds on. “But Mom, I deserved to know. It’s my life. You can’t just keep something like that from someone.”

  She lets go of me, and I stumble back against the thin apartment wall. “I thought knowing would only hurt you, especially since there’s nothing you can do about it.” Her voice cracks on the last part, as if she genuinely cares about what happens to me, even though something still feels off. “Besides, it doesn’t matter,” she says, matter-of-factly. “The sooner you get that through your head, the better. None of this matters anymore. The most important thing in your life, in all of our lives, is that you’re Absolved.”

  “But what if Socrates hadn’t picked me? What, then? Would you still hide it? Rip it up and send me to another farm? I know you don’t like Tanner much, but he’s a good man, Mom. He loves me.”

  She purses her lips. “I wish you’d just let it go, please.” I start to say no, but she talks over me. “If you must know the truth, it’s those men he hangs out with. Disappearing at all
hours of the night. I bet they’re making moonshine in the forest and selling it or something. Sarai even smelled smoke on a couple of them one time, and you know smoking is illegal.”

  “Tanner’s not like that,” I protest. “He’s never done any of those things.”

  She shakes her head. “Maybe you don’t see it, but I do. Breaking the law is nothing but trouble, and he’ll find it fast at the rate he’s going. Everything happens for a reason, and I think this is your chance to get out and away from this life. You deserve better.”

  “But what if I don’t want to leave?” I narrow my eyes at her. What would she say to that? She’s always going on about doing our duty. What would she say if I wanted to quit?

  “Stop acting like a child! It doesn’t matter anyway. You have to go. It’s for the best.” She runs her hand down my cheek and over my hair, as if memorizing the look and feel of me. “You’ll see.”

  “I could come back some day.”

  My mother’s caring expression turns sadder, older. “No, you can’t. Seconds never do.”

  After a silent dinner with my mother and Max, someone knocks on our door. Glancing at me, Mom puts her hands on the table, as if to stand, but I shake my head. “No, I got it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What are you afraid of, Mom? That someone’s going to come in and attack us or something? I can answer the door. I’ve done it, like, a thousand times before.” I roll my eyes as Max snickers.

  Mom sighs and sits back down. “Of course I know you can answer the door, dear. It’s just… well…” The rest of her words drift away as I swing the thin-paneled door open and see Tanner leaning against my door, blocking it. He pulls me into his arms, and his lips crush mine, contradicting his earlier anger. He runs his hands through my short, spiky hair, and I find myself leaning into his kiss. Maybe it’s the passion, maybe the anger that seems to lurk just under the surface, giving my calm, solid—friend? brother?—a sense of danger, but whatever it is, I’m sucked right into it. The musky smell of sweat and horses fills my nose, a heady scent, one that always reminds me distinctly of Tanner. I feel like I’m swimming to the surface, waking up, and I shove against his chest. Tanner doesn’t want to let me go at first, so I push harder. Eventually, he releases me, and I quickly step back.

  “Mira Marie!” Mom exclaims. Tanner ducks his head, and a blush creeps up his neck. I roll my eyes and kick the door shut so we can have some privacy.

  “Tanner, what are you doing?” I search his eyes, but he refuses to meet my gaze.

  “Sorry,” he says, ignoring my question. “That’s not what I planned on doing, but dammit, Mir, I couldn’t resist.” He runs his hand through his hair and cracks a lopsided grin. “Do you want me to apologize?”

  I feel my face flush, remembering how I almost gave in, almost gave back. “No, of course not.” I look away.

  “Look, I have to get home, but will you meet me later?” His fingertips gently graze my chin, and he lifts my head up so he can peer into my eyes.

  “Tonight?” I whisper.

  “Yeah, at the edge of the field by the playground.” He lets my chin go and pulls me loosely into his arms again, the way we used to when we were playing at being in love. What do kids know?

  “Sure.” His breath grazes the top of my head, then his lips meet mine gently, in a kiss. “When?”

  “Midnight.” He caresses my cheek and walks away, vanishing around the corner.

  The Right Decision

  Socrates

  “Socrates, are you awake?” Maggie’s voice winds its way into my painkiller-induced haze. How many had I taken? Two? Three. Ellie would kill me if she knew, but sometimes, the pain is just so bad, I can’t take it anymore. How am I supposed to last six months like this?

  “Maggie?” I scrub the weariness from my eyes and roll forward in my chair. Even though it’s dulled, the pain hovers in the back of my mind, waiting for me to lower my guard. Ben lifts his head from his pillow on the floor but drops it when he realizes it’s only our housekeeper.

  In the doorway to my study, Maggie shifts from side to side, her blue robe tied crookedly and her feet tucked into worn slippers.

  “What is it?”

  “You have a visitor.” She looks nervous, and that never happens. Maggie is as unflappable as the red mountains surrounding my home.

  I glance at the antique grandfather clock on the wall. 10:42 p.m. “At this hour?” She shrugs. “Who is it?”

  Maggie straightens her robe and combs her fingers through her hair. “The President.”

  “Here? What in the world for?” I push myself to my feet, knees creaking, back protesting, and I wince. “I haven’t seen Andrew in ages.”

  “Sir, he’s waiting,” she pleads. I roll my neck to crack it, grab my cane, pull myself to my feet, and limp toward her. Ben pulls himself to his feet, stretches, and joins me.

  “What does he want?”

  Maggie shrugs. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.”

  “Well, where is he, woman?” I look around my study. “Is he coming here?”

  She shakes her head. “No, he’s waiting in the library.” She holds the door open for me and I hobble down the hall.

  The formerly towheaded boy with a gap-toothed smile and a love of soccer who turned into the President of the United States sips a brandy as he gazes out my floor-to-ceiling windows into the clear Santa Fe night sky. When he turns around, I see that the crooked smile is still the same, as are his father’s nose, his wide brown eyes, and thick, calloused hands. Lines bracket his mouth and eyes, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

  “Socrates, my friend. I’m sorry to be calling on you so late. I hope you don’t mind, but I helped myself to a drink.” Tossing back the rest of his drink, he pulls me into a strong embrace.

  I wince at the sudden pain, and Ben growls. The President of the United States releases me and looks down at my dog. “Sorry about that, buddy.” He digs in his pocket, pulls out what looks like an ancient strip of beef jerky, and tosses it to Ben.

  Having found a new best friend, Ben accepts his treat and hops on the couch to chew on it in peace. I shake my head. “Some guard dog you are,” I grumble and head over to the bar. Andrew follows me and sets his glass on the table. I grab the bottle of brandy and pour myself a snifter before tipping the bottle toward his. He nods, and I refill his glass. After resealing the bottle, I settle myself on one of the old brown leather recliners and take a sip.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” I raise my eyebrows at Andrew’s wrinkled gray pinstriped suit, loosened tie, and mussed up hair.

  “You always did get right to the point.” He chuckles and takes another mouthful of brandy, swishing it around his mouth before swallowing. “It’s this damn bill.”

  “The Free America Act?”

  He laughs, a harsh, hollow sound. Ben raises his head from the couch and lets out a low woof. “What else?”

  “I thought you supported it?”

  He stares into his glass, swirling the amber liquid. “I do. But I think you and I are the only ones.” He clenches his fingers around the glass, then forces himself to release it and lays his palm flat on the dark wood bar. The lines around his eyes deepen, and his eyes lose their focus.

  “You know that’s not true.” My lips twist into a faint smile. “At least half the country is on our side.”

  He barks out a laugh. “Yes, but they don’t get to vote.”

  “Is that what this is about? Your reelection?” Disgust fills me. This isn’t the Andrew I know. His father, Anthony, would never have stood for a son who kowtows.

  His eyes shoot up to meet mine, and an alcohol-induced flush colors his neck. “I can’t deny that, though I hope you know I’d do the right thing, regardless of whether or not it cost me the presi
dency.”

  I try to tamp down the censure rising in my voice. “Of course you would. I completely support you. Your father taught you well.”

  He throws back the rest of his drink and nods at the bottle for another. “If only he were here. He’d do a damn better job of this than I am.”

  I put my hand on his and squeeze it. “But he’s not, and I think you’re doing just fine.”

  Andrew shakes his head. “Veronica threatened to leave me.” Ahh, the real reason for his discontent.

  “I’m so sorry.” Sympathy fills my voice. I know that kind of heartbreak all too well.

  “Yeah.” He sighs. “Me, too. And it’s because of this bill, Socrates. That’s why she’s leaving me. She doesn’t think it should pass or that the Texans should be freed.”

  “That wasn’t her platform when you were both elected. I thought you both supported it.”

  “Apparently she changed her mind.”

  “Huh. Well, I guess, as the vice-president, her personal views really don’t come into play unless something tragic happens to her presidential husband.” I down the rest of my drink. “Are you backing out?”

  “No!” He stands up, knocking the stool back. It crashes against the floor with a dull thud. He quickly rights it and sits down again. “It’s something my father always supported. I told him that, if it was the last thing I do as president, I’d get this damn bill passed.” His eyes glow, and he bangs his fist on the bar, rattling our glasses. Even now, through the low lights and brandy-infused heat, he even looks like his father. And here I thought the passion had been tempered in the generation since the former president was assassinated on his way to a speech on human rights. No one had been blamed, but the Lifers had taken credit.