by Jodi McIsaac
I’m sorry I didn’t give us a proper chance.
Live without regret.
Give Maisie my love.
~ xo Clare
The drive to my parents’ house was silent except for the simple directions I gave them. I wasn’t worried about being caught now. I watched the vacant shops pass by, their windows smashed and their signs torn down. A church was advertising a “vigil for Gaspereau,” but the parking lot was empty. Banners hanging over the highway signs read “Highway Closed. Quarantine in Effect.” Concrete dividers blocked the on-ramps. Barbed-wire fencing surrounded the college dorm building. Men armed with assault rifles stood at the gates.
“I’ve heard it’s a living hell in there,” Rick said as we drove by. “Soldiers are deserting just so they don’t have to stand guard.”
When we pulled up to the house, Dr. Hansen was already sitting on the front step. A sole car was parked on the street. I didn’t doubt that other cars were parked on nearby blocks, but at least he had kept his word. No soldiers. No guns. I got out of the car.
“Who’s that?” Tony asked out the window, watching Dr. Hansen.
“A friend—I hope. Thanks for the lift. And for delivering my letters. I left my phone with Wes; he’s got your numbers.”
“You sure about this?” Rick asked. “We can still make a run for it.”
I shook my head. “Not this time. You still have the flash drive?”
“Yeah.” He patted his front pocket.
“If anything happens to Wes, use it.”
I slammed the door, and he drove off. Dr. Hansen was standing now, his hands in his pockets.
“Where is Wes?” he asked.
“He’s not coming.”
His eyes narrowed. “But why—?”
I held up a hand to stop him. “When I arrived in Clarkeston a few days ago, a man coughed on me at the airport. Right in the face; I could feel the spit land on my cheek. And I shook hands with him. I found out later that he had Gaspereau. His wife caught it from him, so he was clearly contagious. But I didn’t get it.”
“What are you saying?” Dr. Hansen asked slowly.
“You told me Wes is the cure for Gaspereau. And I believe that I am, too. Both of us were directly exposed, and neither of us got sick. Has that happened to anyone else?”
He stared at me. “No. It hasn’t.”
“I know you’re not the enemy, Dr. Hansen. But neither is my brother. He’s made his decision. And I’ve made mine. You can have me.”
Dr. Hansen’s eyebrows knitted together. A deep crevice formed in his forehead. “Do you understand what you’re saying? We’ll have to do some tests, of course. But if it’s true . . . well, you understand the implications, do you not?”
“I do. At least, I think so. I know it’s risky . . . but there’s a chance that . . . that it might not be so bad, right?” My voice broke, and I pressed my fingers to my lips.
“We’ll do our very best, Clare. I can’t guarantee anything, of course, but . . . are you sure? You have a long, productive life ahead of you. I really think Wes might be the better choice.”
“That’s not an option. And I can still have a long, productive life ahead of me.”
Dr. Hansen watched me silently for a moment. “This is why you wanted the memorandum of agreement.”
“Yes. Those are my conditions. Do you have the papers?”
He withdrew a file folder out of his briefcase and handed it to me. I scanned the papers inside. “I want a copy of these sent to my Uncle Rob.”
“I’ll send them from the hospital. You can watch, to make sure it’s done.”
I nodded. “Let’s go, then.”
He led the way to his car. Before I got in, I turned and stared long and hard at the house, fixing it in my memory. It seemed truly empty now, with my parents dead and Wes in hiding. And then Fluff Bucket the cat walked across the lawn and sat on the front step, and for a moment I remembered it as it had once been: my mother cooking in the kitchen, dancing to the Beach Boys on the stereo; my dad reading the newspaper in his easy chair, delivering a running commentary; Wes and I playing G.I. Joe versus Barbie on the living room floor. That’s what I would remember.
I told them to not let anyone see me, but those particular instructions were ignored. Rob was the first to come, right after I’d gotten the results of my tests. Dr. Hansen had immediately done a number of scans as well as a lumbar puncture and brain biopsy. My lower back felt tender. They had shaved half of my head for the biopsy, but they’d used a tiny needle. They only needed enough to confirm that I, too, had what Dr. Hansen had dubbed “warrior cells.”
I did.
He gave me a sheaf of releases to sign, but I just laughed at him and handed them back.
“If these meant anything, we wouldn’t have had to hide from you,” I said.
“All the same, since you are volunteering, it will be good to have proof. You’re going to be a hero, you know.”
I shook my head. I didn’t care about being a hero.
When Rob burst into the room, shouting at the guards that they’d have to shoot him to stop him, it was almost like seeing my parents again. He looked like he hadn’t shaved since the last time I’d seen him. He grabbed me in a bear hug that made me cry out from the soreness in my back. Then he gripped my shoulders. “What the hell are you doing, Clare?”
I shrugged out of his grip and sat up on the bed. “Did you get my letter?”
“Yes, I got your damn letter. Is it true?”
“Of course it’s true.”
“So Wes, he’s—”
“Best not to talk about it here,” I said, unsure of who might be listening. “Everything is in the letter. You’ll take care of him, won’t you?”
“Of course I will. I have a friend there. He’ll go pick up Wes.”
“Who? How will Wes—”
“I talked to Wes. He called me.”
“He did? How is he? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. He’s at your friend’s house, he said.”
“Did you tell him—”
“About what you’re doing? No.”
“And you’ll help him . . . process it? When the time comes?”
He nodded, then looked at me for a long moment. “I’d like to talk you out of it, but I have a feeling it would be futile. Dammit, Clare. You’ve got to be the bravest person I’ve ever met.”
I lowered my eyes. “It’s not bravery when there’s no other choice.”
“You had a choice. You could have kept running. You could have let them take Wes. Your parents would be incredibly proud.”
I smiled sadly, but said nothing.
“They always were, you know,” he said.
I snorted.
He sat down beside me on the bed, and I leaned into him. “Oh, come on, Clare. You were always too hard on them. They didn’t know anything about drugs and mental issues—none of us did back then. They did the best they could with Wes—better than anyone could have expected, actually. I know you felt like they didn’t love you; like they always put Wes’s needs first.”
I sniffed. “How do you know that?”
“Because they knew it. And they were torn up inside, not knowing how to juggle their troubled child and their extremely gifted one. So they took a chance that you would be okay, that you’d figure it out yourself. You didn’t need them as much as he did. Try to see it that way. They didn’t abandon you; they trusted you. They knew how strong you were.”
I pressed my face into his shoulder to soak up the tears. “I miss them. I thought we’d have our whole lives to sort out our shit. I never thought—”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” he said. “They knew you loved them. They also knew you needed your independence. And there’s nothing wrong with that. They never blamed you. You should have heard them talk about you to anyone who would listen. They loved you something fierce, Clare. You were a free bird—but you were their free bird.”
There was a commotion in the hal
lway, and Rob went to the door. “Looks like I’m not the only one who was hell-bent on seeing you.”
“Who?” I asked, but my question was soon answered. Rob opened the door and said, “Stand aside, boys. You’re not going to keep a doctor from seeing his patient, are you?”
Kenneth entered the room, dressed in full isolation gear. As soon as the door closed behind him, he stripped off his head covering and mask and peeled off the tape that bound his suit to his gloves. Rob slipped out of the room.
Kenneth’s eyes were red and swollen. “Clare . . .” he began, his voice shaking. “I can’t . . . I had no idea . . . I just . . .” Then he sank into a chair, his face in his hands.
I got off the bed and wrapped my arms around him. “Shhh. It’s okay. This isn’t your fault. I made this choice. I want to do this. For Maisie. For all the other people who are infected. And for Wes—so he doesn’t have to.”
He straightened up and pulled me to his chest. “I wish it was me,” he whispered. “I wish I could do this, instead of you.”
I smoothed the hair off his forehead and kissed it. “I know you do. But it seems that Wes and I are the only ones around who have this particular . . . mutation. You know, I’ve always wanted to have a superpower. I just didn’t think it would be something like this.”
“I asked to be part of the medical team that performs your procedure,” he said. “I was declined. They said I was too close to the subject.”
I held his face in my hands and kissed his lips, long and softly. “You are. And I’m glad.” I smiled at him. “Hey. No one’s dying here. Maybe I’ll just get some interesting new personality traits.”
He seemed unable to speak for a moment. Then he leaned closer to me and whispered in my ear, “A journalist from the Post contacted me. They’ve been in touch with Latasha. She’s going to blow this whole thing wide open.”
“What?” I said. My heart soared. She was alive.
“She says the world needs to know the truth about Gaspereau. I agree. It was only a matter of time until they found out anyway. It’s going to be a crazy shit-storm. I won’t be surprised if it goes all the way to the White House.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry. Latasha, you, and Wes—you’re all going to be protected. When this goes public, there’s no way the government will be able to go after your brother.”
“Good,” I said tearily. I kissed him again, harder this time. “You should go,” I said finally, looking at the floor. “You don’t want me to change my mind.”
He didn’t have a retort for this. He kissed the top of my head and said, “Don’t be afraid.” Then he left, and I sat alone, waiting.
It didn’t take long. Dr. Hansen came into the room only moments after Kenneth left.
“When do we start?” I said.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The first thing I noticed was the lamp beside me. It was the same lamp I’d had as a child. Had someone brought it to the hospital? I turned my head, expecting it to be sore. I was in my old bedroom, in my parents’ house. Why wasn’t I in a hospital room? I touched my head, expecting to feel bandages, but instead my fingers wove through a full head of hair. A wig? I tugged on it and winced.
“Hello?” I called. “Dr. Hansen?”
The door opened, and Wes came in. “Wes!” I cried, sitting up. It didn’t hurt like I’d thought it would. “You’re okay!”
“Hey, sis,” he said. He was carrying a mug of coffee, which he set down on the nightstand. I jumped out of bed and hugged him close. “How did you get here? Is it safe?”
“Yeah, it’s safe,” he said. He wore a strange, closed expression I couldn’t decipher.
“Why am I here? How come I’m not at the hospital? Did it work?” The last thing I remembered was being wheeled into the operating room as the anesthesia took hold.
“It worked,” he said, putting an arm around me. “Gaspereau is gone. You did it.”
I collapsed back onto the bed, tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes. It was over. It was actually over.
“So soon?” I asked. “They’ve given the treatment to everyone?”
Wes nodded. “Yeah. They worked fast. You’ve been out for a while.”
“Oh. Are you angry?” I asked, sitting up again and grabbing his hand. “I wanted to tell you, but I—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “I’m not mad. They moved you here to recover. Uncle Rob and I are going to stay here with you until you’re ready to go back to Seattle.”
Seattle. Latasha.
“Has anyone heard from Latasha?” I asked. “Where’s my phone?”
“She’s fine,” he said quickly. “She’s a hero, actually. Took down the whole fucking government single-handed.”
I laughed. That sounded like her. Then I hesitated. “Wait—how long was I out?”
“Oh . . . a while,” he said. “I was exaggerating—they’re just starting the grand jury thing.”
I was surprised Wes even knew what a grand jury was, but I didn’t press him. I’d get all the details from Latasha later.
“And Maisie? She’s okay?”
“Maisie’s great. She lost another tooth. She and Kenneth visit lots. I think he’s coming by later today.”
My heart swelled in anticipation. But I felt I was missing something, some vital piece of information.
“Wes . . . am I okay? I mean, I feel fine, but I know there were severe risks—”
“You’re great,” he said quickly. “Like I said, the doctors think you’re going to be fine.”
That confused me. “Like you said . . . when?”
Wes turned red and jumped up off the bed. “Uh . . . I left my coffee downstairs. I’m going to go get it.”
“Okay.” I brushed off the feeling. Obviously there was a lot to get caught up on.
Before he reached the door, I said, “Wes?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for taking care of me.”
He grinned. “It’s what I’m meant to do.”
I sank back down into my pillows, savoring the smell of the coffee beside me. Latasha was safe. Wes was safe. Gaspereau had been cured. And I still had my memories.
I grinned up at the ceiling, almost delirious with joy. I had hoped against hope that things would turn out this way. My whole life was opening up before me, a vast expanse of sunlight and love and possibility. I remembered Kenneth’s last kiss—and laughed aloud with delight, realizing it wouldn’t be the last. There could be many, many more. Perhaps—I marveled at how little this thought frightened me anymore—perhaps I would call Clarkeston home once again.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to my parents, for encouraging me on this path ever since I wrote my first words, and for inspiring me in so many ways.
Dr. Kim Foster, Dr. Melina Roberts, and Dr. Greg Montgomery helped with the medical research, for which this liberal arts grad is extremely grateful (all errors, of course, are mine). I’d also like to thank the neurosurgeon who wanted to remain anonymous in case she got the details wrong (you didn’t).
My first readers gave invaluable feedback. Thank you to Mike Martens, Nell de Jager, Erika Holt, Craig DiLouie, David J. Fortier, Adam Cole, Susan Forest, Janice Hillmer, and Jason Goode.
Paul Lucas, Kjersti Egerdahl, Angela Polidoro, Jacque Ben-Zekry, and the team at Thomas & Mercer have my gratitude for their professionalism and enthusiasm surrounding this book.
As always, I’m so very grateful to my husband and children for their unflagging support.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2015 F8 Photography
Jodi McIsaac grew up in New Brunswick, Canada. After stints as a short-track speed skater, a speechwriter, and a fund-raising and marketing executive in the nonprofit sector, she started a boutique copywriting agency and began writing novels in the wee hours of the morning. She loves running, Brazilian jujits
u, and whiskey, and is an avowed geek girl. She currently lives with her husband and two feisty daughters in Calgary.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyrights
Dedication
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
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
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
