by Charlie Hart
“What does she do now? Rumor has it she has some top-secret project. The Wife Lottery 2.0 or something.”
I frown. “Never heard of that.”
“Oh, well, I could be wrong,” he backtracks. “It’s just rumors.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it. She’s up to something. She is insanely secretive.”
Banks nods. “Everyone knows that. The Director hasn’t been seen with his wife in four years. Not since he came into office.”
“Which my mother put him in.”
Banks’ brows raise at me.
“Don’t be fooled by my father’s title,” I say. “My mother is the one who runs the show. Even now.”
“I’m surprised you’d admit that. From what I hear, there are people who would like to take that power away.”
“What people?” And why the hell does Banks know so much? More than the fucking Director of Alaska.
Or am I the only one that’s been kept in the dark.
“People who would like to use her list.”
“What list?”
“You really don’t know, do you?” He shakes his head.
“Know what?”
“Your mother has been compiling a list of names for over two decades of the women who have come here seeking refuge. Blood types, fertility rates, pretty much every fucking thing there is to know about them.”
My stomach twists at the implications. “How do you know all this?”
He shrugs.
I think about the violation that a list like that would impose and the people who would be after such a list if it really existed.
Shit. If he’s right, then Tia would be on that list.
I step on the gas.
Banks curses and grabs the door grip as we speed towards the military compound. I need to talk to my mother now. I don’t care if I have to break through the side of the fucking mountain she’s hiding beneath. I’m tired of being a pawn in my parents’ messed up games. If I can’t take down the king, then I’m going after the queen.
It takes me half the time to get into town than it normally does, and when I jump out of the truck slamming the door behind me, I hear Banks mutter, “Shit, Salinger, you think you might want to cool down a bit before you do whatever you think it is you’re doing.”
“I’m protecting my family,” I say, flashing my ID at a guard who nods us both through. “Which includes you, so it’s time to decide whose side you’re on.”
“You think I’m not on your side?” He hisses as the elevator doors open and we get on.
“Hard to tell with the way you’re constantly snapping at Tia.”
“Bullshit, until last week you were the same way. But now that you got your fucking dick wet, you’ve gone all--”
Forearm against his throat, I slam Banks back against the elevator wall. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He doesn’t resist, just rolls his lip up at me. “She’s got you all wrapped around her pretty little finger, so you don’t see her for who she is.”
“I know exactly who she is.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re so damn scared.”
I drop my arm and take a step back as the elevator pings and the door opens. “You’re right, I am scared. For her. And I’ll do anything, destroy anyone who stands in my way from protecting her.”
I don’t wait for his response. My father’s office is down the hall and when his secretary tries to stop me from going in, I ignore her. But I stop dead in my tracks when I see who my father is talking to.
“Mother?” I don’t think she’s left her fortified compound in years, so what is she doing here now?
My parents both turn, and I feel Banks come into the room behind me.
“What’s going on?” I ask, walking towards them, seeing my mother’s pale face, the way both of them look like the world is about to implode on itself. “Why are you here?”
My father’s gaze darts over my shoulder to Banks.
“He stays,” I say, matching both my parents’ looks of disapproval. “And you both need to start talking.”
My father sits on the edge of his desk and sighs. “Let the grown-ups deal with the issues at hand, Salinger. Go home to your toys.”
No. No more of this.
“I won’t sit by and watch you both destroy this State.” I exhale and prepare for the biggest bullshit lie I’ve ever told and pray to God they both buy it. “I know what you’ve been doing. I’ve seen the list.”
“What?” My mother’s eyes go wide. “How?”
I smirk. “I have my ways too, Mother. And I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines. I want in. All the way. Want access to every single file and database you have. And I want full protection for my wife.”
My father stands. “How dare you--”
“Mosby,” my mother says harshly. “Sit down.”
He obeys, and I hear Banks cough behind me.
“And why would I give you those things?” My mother asks, no anger in her gaze, just curiosity.
“Because I want what you want.”
“And what’s that?”
“A legacy. I know that’s what you were hoping for with Hannah. Why she was so important. But I’m your only hope for that now.”
My mother’s lips twitch. “And you’d be willing to do what was necessary in order to safeguard it?”
“Anything and everything, Mother. Including giving you and your research over to the highest bidder.”
Her nostrils flare and my father looks ready to strike me.
“You little bastard,” he says.
“Enough, Mosby.” My mom turns her wheelchair and moves closer to me. “Your wife’s name is on that list.”
“An easy fix,” I say, knowing she believes my lie. I may still win this game.
Long moments tick by as I hold my mother’s gaze. It’s her sharp laugh that finally breaks the silence. And I think we’re all taken aback.
“You finally got some balls, son,” she says, her mouth twisting in a distorted smile. “I’m proud of you.”
That wasn’t exactly the response I was expecting, and I can see by my father’s expression, he’s just as shocked.
“All right,” she says.
“All right?” my father and I say in unison.
“You have full access to everything, under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That’s she’s pregnant within the year.”
My throat tightens at the demand, and I hear Banks make a sound in his throat behind me. I know the dangers and so does Tia, but with Banks working day and night for a cure, I have hope.
Banks steps forward. “So, her results didn’t suggest that she was infertile?”
My mother laughs again. “You obviously didn’t read her file very closely. The woman was created to have children.”
“Created?” Banks says, voice tight.
“You’re the doctor, right?”
He nods stiffly.
“Then I’m sure you’ve read about the infamous research of Warren Thorne.”
Shit. “Mother, I don’t think--”
“Let her talk,” Banks growls out. “I’ve read about the monstrosities that have taken place in the name of research. Are you saying Tia was one of his test subjects?”
“Not just one of, she is the one. His masterpiece. The reason why he spent his life’s mission looking for a cure.” She smiles at me. “The things we do for our children.”
Chapter 19
Tia
When I was younger, I found an old history book in my father’s library filled with photographs of WWII. It wasn’t the facts of the war that hit me in my gut, though, horrendous as they were - it was the glossy photographs of women waiting for their soldiers to come home. In their polka dot dresses and ruby red lips, hair pinned in place and eyes bright, they would run to the arms of their lovers, kisses caught on camera and later memorized by me.
I’d trace my fingers over their faces, kitten heels rising off the pa
vement as a man lifted his bride, kissing her as if his life depended on it.
My heart beat hard as I pored over the pictures. The intimacy, the devotion, caught me by surprise. I saw something in those photos I had never, ever seen in real life - love.
Love is what made the pages of a history book.
I’d just begun to understand the enormity of the population crisis, and it hit me hard when I finally grasped that the love people found a century ago was long gone. Women and men no longer went to movie theaters in town for a date - cinemas no longer existed. How could they in a world where women were not allowed out alone? Where women were no longer safe.
As I shower and dress, preparing myself for the ship’s arrival, I berate myself once again, for acting so uncharacteristically idiotic when I first arrived in Alaska. Beyond lying on the intake, I ran away from the compound after being warned how unsafe it was.
Now I can look back at those early weeks and remember how scared I was. How trapped I felt. How desperate I had been for a life that was bigger, freer than the one I had in Seattle, the one I’d have with Lawson.
I lost all reason.
Because of him and the life that was forced upon me, I’ve been running ever since. But now, my feet are tired. I’m exhausted by the lies. The secrets are twisting into something I don’t understand.
Yes, I stopped physically running away, but I haven’t stopped running from the truth of who I am. I’m ready to come clean.
I blow dry my hair, twisting it into a low bun at the nape of my neck. I wish I could wear a dress and heels for when I go to greet my soldier - because I will greet him. I am choosing to believe Emerson will get off that ship today. And when he does, I will kiss his lips and lift my feet off the ground and let him spin me in the air.
It’s snowing out… it’s always snowing out, and a parka and boots will have to do. Still, I glide on red lipstick, hardly recognizing myself in such a bold color, but feeling nostalgic for a time in history that is long gone.
But as I walk downstairs, my heart skips a beat and I know that I was wrong about everything.
I find my husbands huddled around the front door. Fallon has just walked in. Thank God, he is here in one piece.
Before coming here, I’d thought the love that made the history books didn’t exist anymore.
But it does.
At the foot of the stairs, there are five good, true men waiting for me, looking at me with eyes full of devotion.
Eyes filled with love.
My eyes glistened at the underserved beauty of it all. Salinger’s mother created the Lottery to give her daughter a chance at a legacy, and that mother’s heart means I have a future right now.
Today.
With these men of Alaska.
I hate that Salinger and his family are at odds; that his sister died. The same way I hate what Fallon has lost. What Giles has buried. What Huxley hides and what Banks denies.
And what Emerson might never have.
But right now, we do have this. One another.
And that’s enough. It’s everything.
“Tia,” Fallon says, reaching for my hand. “Are you all right?” Even as he asks it, I know he sees the weight I carry. The weight we all have on our shoulders.
“We need to go get Em,” I manage, my voice cracking, unable to say anymore.
And I don’t need to. We all understand. We are a family. A broken, messy, beautiful family. A family we chose when we didn’t have to.
A family I will fight for with all that I am.
We get into the van, Fallon drives cautiously, and snow falls as hard as my heart beats heavily in my chest. I sit on a bench seat, Sal and Giles each holding one of my hands. Hux is in the passenger seat and he looks back at me, giving me a tender smile. Banks sits behind me. As always, I can feel his tension radiating off him.
And then we are at the pier. A ship is pulling into port, so close I can taste the salt water on my tongue.
And I scream, “Stop the van. Here.”
“I have to park it, Tia,” Fallon says. But I shake my head, scrambling over Salinger and unlocking the sliding door. I push it open, the frosty air hitting my face, but I don’t care. Big flakes fall from the sky, but nothing is blurring my vision at this moment.
Emerson.
Emerson.
Emerson.
It’s the only thought in my mind’s eye.
Salinger and Huxley jump out of the van, calling after me, but I don’t slow down. I know they are close enough to keep me safe, but right now, I only have eyes for the ship that has come to a stop. The ship carrying the survivors of an unexplained attack.
A bullhorn blasts as the ship comes to a stop and I push past the crowd, needing to stand at the edge of the pier, needing to see my husband.
This isn’t the end of a war. It seems that one has just started. But another one, a more urgent one, has been growing ever since that vaccination was administered all those years ago. A vaccination that took a full generation to understand. It was meant to cure people of the deadly Influenza-X that swept the globe.
It did what it was supposed to do. No one died of that virus.
Instead, it mutated our DNA and women began to die in droves.
Babies were no longer carried to term.
And later, much later, movie theaters closed, and people no longer went on dates. And we didn’t have the luxury of falling in love.
Yet, here I am.
Standing on a pier with bright red lips and despite all odds, I am waiting for the soldier I love to return from war.
We have lost so much, but we haven’t lost everything.
And as men begin to disembark from the boat, my eyes blaze with fervor and my heart pounds with hope and I need to see Em’s face. I need to hold his hand. I’ll never let go again.
Ten, then twenty, men exit the boat and I’m scared. Because I can’t lose Em. Not now. Not like this. And I know there are no guarantees in this world. Millions of babies will never take their first breath, and I know mothers will die in childbirth clinging to dreams that will never, ever come true.
And it’s greedy to want it all. To ask for the love of a husband that is deep and true. Desiring to hear the stark cry of your baby when it enters the world. It seems gluttonous to think I’d hold a child to my breast and cradle it as it suckles.
All of us alive.
These are dreams I pushed away for as long as I can remember because they seemed far-fetched and impossible.
My heart speeds up. My breath catches in my throat. And my knees go weak under me. Because Emerson is walking toward me. Living. Breathing. In the flesh. And his smile is as big as the ocean and his eyes as blue as the sky and his love for me pushing away the crowd, filling up my heart. He wraps his arms around me, his lips finding mine. He is home. My feet lift off the wooden planked pier and I don’t need a photograph to remember this moment. It is mine and it’s his and we are a family.
And right now, I know that nothing is impossible.
Mountains may need to move in order to make those dreams a reality, but oceans parted to bring my husband back where he belonged.
Anything is possible.
And then.
Like a crashing wave, hope is swept away.
My heart grinds to a halt and I forget to breathe. My clear vision blurs for the first time all day.
“Oh God, no,” I whisper, my arms still wrapped around Emerson’s neck.
Lawson is here.
Chapter 20
Salinger
Relief washes over me as I see Tia and Emerson embrace on the edge of the pier. For a moment, time stills, and I share a look with Huxley that says so much.
“Thank God,” Hux breathes out, as we pause twenty yards from the happy couple, giving them a moment. “Losing him would have broken her.”
“You love her?” I ask Huxley.
“I haven’t told her as much, but she’s special. She’s way too good for the likes of us, that’s fo
r fucking sure.”
I smile. Huxley and I go so far back it’s hard to remember where we began, how we ended up here. It’s like I’ve always been sitting at a bar with this jackass, drinking dark beer and making big, indecent plans. “You know my dad rigged the Lottery, I never put my name in.”
“Lucky bastard,” Hux says laughing coarsely, running a hand over his beard. “I put in three hundred grand worth of tickets. I saw her listing and knew I wanted her. Her eyes were different, you know? She wasn’t like any woman I’d ever seen.”
I elbow my buddy. “Where’d you get that kind of cash?”
He shrugs. “Eh, a few good trades.”
“You trade gourmet fucking cheese and fancy wine. Video game consoles and lingerie. I’m not buying it.”
“I did a few things on the side, Sal.” He won’t meet my eyes though, and I know there is more to his story. “Hey, we don’t all come from money, like you.”
“Cheap shot, man.”
“It is what it is,” Hux says. “I don’t mean any harm. It’s just some of us gotta do what we gotta do.”
“We’re family now, though. We can share what we have. Equally.”
“Who are you, Sal?” Huxley laughs with a jab to my ribs. “Next thing you know you’ll be saying Power to the People.”
I know he’s joking, but I don’t laugh.
“Would that be so bad?” I ask.
The conversation today with Mom changed things for me. Maybe I’m not just the Director’s son anymore. Maybe I have a place at that table myself.
My entire life, I’ve resented my family for their politics, the way their agendas always seemed to mean more than I did.
But when I think about Russia trying to rob us of a resource we intended to use for good and use it for something grotesque, I believe I have it in me to do something to help.
It’s my duty. I can be the change.
“I’m your best friend,” Huxley says, squeezing my shoulder. “It’s my job to give you a hard time. And no, it wouldn't be so bad. I think deep down you’re a good guy, even if you want the world to think you’re an ass.”
I smile, the wind picking up and blowing flakes of snow towards us. “You, on the other hand,” I joke, “are the ass everyone assumes you to be.”
