by LS Hawker
Dedication
To the Marks family: Michael, Kyle, and Megan,
but most of all to Kim.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
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
Acknowledgments
An Excerpt from The Drowning Game Chapter One
About the Author
Also by LS Hawker
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter One
September 7
Jade Veverka unwrapped the frozen Bomb Pop she’d bought from the gas station on the corner of Main and 3rd and took a bite. She sat gazing at the pile of magazines on the barbershop coffee table while a rhythmic alarm-clock buzz went off in her head. Not an urgent warning, just buzz buzz buzz.
Her friend and coworker, Elias Palomo, sat in the barber chair, getting his customary fade crew cut, the same one he’d presumably sported since his plebe days at the Naval Academy. So the background to her mental alarm clock was an actual buzzing from the electric razor punctuated now by a sharp yip of pain from Elias.
“Sorry about that,” the barber said.
Elias rubbed his ear, and Jade attempted to keep her face neutral, looking at his scowl in the mirror.
Buzz buzz buzz.
She leaned forward and fanned the magazines—Popular Mechanics, Sports Illustrated, ESPN—all this month’s issues. Jade took another bite of Bomb Pop and grinned.
“What are you smiling at?” Elias grumbled, rubbing his nicked ear.
“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Jade said, “but you are not the center of my universe. I do occasionally react to things outside of you. I know it comes as a shock.”
“Shut up,” he said, his dark eyes flashing.
Jade stared now in fascination as the razor tracked upward on Elias’s skull, his glossy black hair—or what was left of it—uneven, his scalp an angry pink. This guy was the worst hairdresser Jade had ever seen. And the least talkative. In her experience, growing up in rural Ephesus, Kansas, barbers had always fit the stereotype—gregarious and gossipy.
Elias was the shop’s lone customer, and only a few folks walked by outside the window, through which Jade could see the hardware store and the occasional slow, passing car.
Buzz buzz buzz.
It struck Jade now that this was less a barbershop than what amounted to a barbershop museum, complete with an actor playing the part of the barber. She wanted to point this out to Elias, but it would mean nothing to him. He’d grown up in Reno, Nevada, a vast metropolis compared to Jade’s 1200-population hometown an hour southeast of this one, which was called Miranda, Kansas.
Not only was this man not a barber, he wasn’t a Kansan either, Jade would have bet money.
“Hey,” she said to him. “What’s your name?”
The man went on butchering as if she hadn’t spoken. Elias’s eyes met Jade’s in the mirror, and his dark thick brows met on either side of a vertical crease, his WTF? wrinkle. He leaned his head away from the razor, finally making the barber pay attention.
“The lady asked you a question,” Elias said.
Jade had to hold in a guffaw. This never failed to tickle her, him referring to her as a lady. No one other than him had ever done that before. Plus she loved the authoritative rumble of his voice, a trait he’d probably developed at Annapolis.
The barber froze, his eyes locked with Elias’s. Weird.
“Need a prompt?” Elias said. “Your name.”
The man cleared his throat.
“Is it classified?”
Jade did guffaw this time, and she watched the barber’s jaw muscles compress as she clapped a hand over her mouth.
“My name’s Richard.”
“Hello, Richard, I’m Elias. This is Jade. We work out at SiPraTech.”
Jade could see from Richard’s face he knew very well where they worked. He nodded and got back to destroying the remains of Elias’s hair.
“Whereabouts you from, Richard?” Jade said.
He pulled the razor away from Elias’s head and blinked at her.
What in the world was this guy’s problem?
Buzz buzz buzz.
Elias emitted a loud sigh, clearly exasperated by the guy’s reticence, and waved a hand as if to say, “Carry on, barber-not-barber.”
Jade laughed again.
“Here,” Richard mumbled. “I’m from here.”
Like hell. What was he, in the witness protection program or something?
And then it hit her. The magazines, every last one of them, was a current issue. In a barbershop. The place where back issues of magazines go to die.
She’d worked for SiPraTech just over three months now, and Miranda, the closest town, had always given her an itch. Something about it was slightly off, but she couldn’t say what. She’d brought it up to her team members—Elias, Berko Deloatch, and Olivia Harman, and each of them had looked at her as if she was schitzy. They all came from big cities, so Miranda struck them as weird in general.
Buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz.
As if drawn by static electricity, her eyes tracked to the window where a man in mirrored shades peered into the barbershop. The man had a dark mustache and wore a blue baseball cap pulled low over the sunglasses.
What was he staring at? She glanced behind her, but there was nothing to see but a white wall. When she turned back, the man mouthed something at her, his exaggerated soundless enunciation wringing a sharp intake of breath from her.
“What?” Elias said in response to her gasp.
Was it her imagination, or did this man she’d never seen before say her name?
Jade Veverka.
She looked at Elias, and said, “There’s a man out there—”
Elias swiveled the barber chair toward the window, causing another near miss with the razor.
But when she looked back at the window, the man was gone.
“Where?” Elias said.
Jade hesitated, because Richard had turned off the razor and stared hard at her.
“Um,” she said.
Richard’s scrutiny unnerved her.
“What was he doing?” Elias said.
“Nothing,” Jade said. “I . . . I guess I thought I recognized him, but I was mistaken. Sorry.”
Richard gazed for a moment longer, then went back to work.
Elias rolled his eyes. “I’ve never known anyone with a more pronounced startle response. I wonder what you’d do if something truly startle-worthy happened?”
Jade’s phone vibrated suddenly, making her jump.
Elias laughed, watching her in the mirror. “Case in point,” he said.
Jade pulled
the phone from her pocket and her mother’s image appeared on the screen. All thoughts of the strange man evaporated and were replaced by the usual anxiety that accompanied calls from Mom. Jade’s compulsion to answer and her fervent desire not to made her heart race, the question that circled her mind anytime Pauline Veverka called barging to the forefront.
Would today be the day? The day she would no longer be able to understand her mother’s speech?
Jade thought about stepping outside, but it was too hot even in the shade, and she absurdly feared the man was out there waiting for her. Ridiculous. Jade had never been the kind of girl men waited for, with her frizzy burnt-orange hair that would never grow past her shoulders, her too-close-together brown eyes.
She clicked the answer button and said, “Hey, Ma.”
“Hi, honey. How’s it going?” Pauline Veverka’s voice was slow and thick, but still understandable.
Relief untangled the knots in Jade’s gut and head. She remembered her Bomb Pop and caught the dribbles of red, white, and blue sugar water that threatened to jump ship.
“I think we’re getting close,” she said.
“Really?”
Before her ALS diagnosis, Pauline could have fit four or five words into the time it now took her to say the one. And it wouldn’t be long before she couldn’t say any at all. But today was not that day.
“Yeah,” Jade said. “We’re running tests right now. Once Berko wrote the linguistics program—that was quite the time suck, let me tell you—we were able to start with some small tests, and seriously, Mom. Chills. What this program can—” Jade turned her head and lowered her voice, although she was sure the barber wouldn’t know what she was talking about or even care. “It’s beyond what we originally thought. You should see the brain simulation Olivia ran, the parallels were incredible. The program might as well be an actual brain.”
“Tell her hi,” Elias said.
Jade ignored him. “I don’t know how long they’ll let us keep testing—”
“Jade. Tell her hi for me.”
Elias had never met Pauline.
“Before they pull the funding plug—”
Jade’s words withered in her mouth. Since the diagnosis, she’d found certain expressions offensive, expressions she used to toss off carelessly. Pull the plug. Beautiful.
Elias raised his voice, as if she hadn’t heard him instead of ignored him. “Jade.”
She covered the phone and said, “Will you shut up? I’m talking on the phone, right? You’re like somebody’s grandma.”
Elias gave her an elfish smile that never failed to crack Jade up. She relented in the interest of expediency. “Mom. Elias says hi.”
“Tell him hi for me too.”
“Mom says hi,” Jade said, and Elias nodded, satisfied.
“Anyway. Enough about me. What’s going on there? How’s Clem?”
“She’s okay,” Pauline said. “She had a pretty epic tantrum at the center yesterday because I couldn’t bend over and pick up a dime.”
Cuz I coon ben ovr n pig ub a dime.
This new super-slo-mo-slur voice haunted Jade’s dreams. No, that wasn’t quite right. Mom’s old voice haunted them. In the dreams, Pauline would say, “I was shining you on! Pretty funny, huh?”
And in the dreams, Jade was always furious at her mother for doing this to her.
Pauline’s illness had sent Jade’s sister reeling backward in development. And Jade didn’t know what Clem would do once their mom finally . . .
Jade always cut herself off before she could complete thoughts like these. They were the minor chord that constantly thrummed in the basement of her consciousness, like a bleating smoke detector with a failing battery you could never seem to find.
Forcing herself back to the present, she said, “Has Dad started planting the wheat yet?”
“Not ’til the fifteenth,” Pauline said. “That’s what the Almanac said. Maybe you can come home and see all of us this weekend.”
“Yeah,” Jade said. “Maybe so.”
Pauline hesitated, and Jade intuited her mother had something important to tell her.
“So the reason I called,” Pauline said, “was to let you know we’ve decided to go ahead with the feeding tube.”
Jade seized up, as if her throat and heart and lungs had been stoppered. And then she launched herself from the chair and out the door. She glanced up and down the street, her mind casting about for a diversion, a distraction, anything to halt the assimilation of this new information. The door to the Laundromat across the street swung open and a woman backed out with a heaping basket full of clean clothes, and Jade inhaled the warm, nostalgic scent of dry-cleaning chemicals.
So. Mom was one step closer to giving up. By putting in the feeding tube, Pauline was acknowledging that her tongue and throat muscles could no longer allow her to swallow medication. It was one more step toward being unable to eat food at all. One more step toward . . .
Two women in their twenties left the market, arms full of bagged groceries. Jade glanced the other direction and watched a man gas up his car.
She had known the time would come. But she’d made herself believe it was a long way off.
A huge, drowsy weeping willow swayed next to the gas station and, in her mind’s eye, Jade saw herself as a kid playing on willow branches. Her mom would swing with her, then fall onto her butt with a thud and laugh so hard she couldn’t breathe. The same raucous, startling laugh Jade had. Her bright, shining mother.
Jade would not cry. She had to be strong for her mom. For Dad and Clementine too.
A hand touched her arm and she whirled around to see Elias standing there, his forehead furrowed. “Everything okay?” he mouthed.
Jade nodded and turned away from him, the concern on his face—damn him!—adding to her despair, somehow giving her tear ducts permission to start up production. Added to this was a completely inappropriate shame response, as if crying reflected badly on her somehow.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Pauline said.
I no wad yer thinging.
“And I just want you to know—”
“Can you reverse the flow?” Jade said.
“What?” Pauline said.
“I mean, let’s say you eat too many Twinkies,” Jade said, trying to keep the hitch out of her voice. “Can you just vacuum that crap out?”
Her mother’s laugh, playing at half-speed, resonated in Jade’s ear, bringing more unwelcome tears to her eyes.
“I’ll ask Dr. Trask,” Pauline said.
Lass dogger trass.
“I love you, Mom,” Jade said.
“Look at your arm.”
This is what she said nowadays when Jade said I love you.
Right after Pauline was diagnosed with ALS, Jade had asked her to write “I love you” on a piece of paper. She did, and Jade had it tattooed on her left forearm. This was a huge about-face on her part. She had vowed never to get a tattoo, even though Pauline had three of them. This was the exception. In times of stress, Jade would rub her arm, as if the tattoo were a talisman, as if it could summon the mother of her youth, bring her back, give the comfort she was no longer able to give.
And now, less than a year later, her mother could no longer hold a pen.
Jade said goodbye and clicked off the call then inhaled and turned toward Elias.
“You okay?” he said.
“Yeah,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I need toothpaste.” She walked toward the grocery store.
“That is tragic,” Elias said, following her. But he didn’t say anything more, because over the past twelve weeks he’d learned exactly how far he could push her—and he always ran right up to the wall, but never scaled it. Until now, because then he said, “So how’s your mom doing?”
Too many thoughts in her brain grappled for her attention—who was that guy outside the barbershop window? How did he know her name? How long did Mom have? What were they going to do with Clementine? What was it with this
town?—that if she opened her mouth, they would twist and snarl together and she’d never be able to make sense of any of them.
“Okay,” Jade said.
“She’s worse, isn’t she?” Elias said.
“Of course she’s worse,” Jade snapped. “ALS is a progressive, degenerative disease.”
Elias didn’t react, which made her immediately remorseful. If he’d acted hurt or huffy, she could have maintained her righteously angry posture. This was the thanks he got for being concerned, for being a friend.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and sniffled.
Elias clicked his tongue and said, “Ay, que lastima.” He gathered her to himself and she let him. “Pobre tomate,” he said, which made her give a weepy laugh, and she playfully shoved him away. He’d called her “poor tomato,” a reference to a children’s cartoon series from the nineties called VeggieTales.
Jade wiped her eyes again and stepped inside the cool, bright grocery store. A few shoppers wheeled their buggies through the aisles. A clerk stocked shelves near the cash registers up front. Jade was struck by how fit and buff the woman was. In her late twenties or early thirties, Jade guessed, her muscles flexing noticeably beneath her skin.
The woman was stacking the shelf with disposable diapers, right next to the Depends adult undergarments. Elias headed toward the rack of magazines by the cash register, pulled out a bon appétit, and flipped it open. Jade walked past the clerk toward the toiletries aisle, and followed it to the far end, where the dental care items were.
She bent over, hands on her knees, and struggled to get her breathing under control, thankfully out of sight of Elias and the other shoppers.
And then she felt a hand on her back, and peered behind her, expecting to see Elias standing there. It wasn’t him.
It was the man from outside the barbershop.
She snapped upright.
Quietly, he said, “I need you to come with me.”
Jade stood blinking at him, and immediately thought he was a store detective, under the mistaken impression she was shoplifting.
“I’m just getting some toothpaste,” she said.
“Out the back door,” he murmured, his hand still on her back, pushing her forward. She dug in her heels.
