“We’re meeting tomorrow morning,” I say. “For the final report.”
“That’s good, right? He’ll leave, and then things will…” She pauses and shakes her head. “He’ll leave.”
Her unspoken words linger in the air, so potent I can almost taste them. Things will go back to normal, and everything will be okay. Except they won’t. They can’t. I’m not certain they can go on being anything that resembles normal, never mind good.
“My mentor is supposed to be at the meeting.”
It takes Adele a heartbeat, maybe two. Her grip tightens on my shoulder, and she turns to peer into my eyes.
“Your mother.”
It’s not a question, but I nod.
“Maybe it’s time,” I venture. “Should I tell the Enclave something?”
But what? After all, even my mother put the word death in quotation marks. I didn’t lie to Henry Darnelle. My mother is gone. I simply don’t know where.
“What did you tell Harry’s son?”
“Just that she wasn’t here. He took that to mean she stepped out and wouldn’t be a helicopter parent during the examination.”
Adele’s sigh is filled with weariness and woe. The weight of it hangs heavy in the air. “Rose put a lot on your shoulders. She never meant to and certainly didn’t want to. It was just how things worked out.”
She falls silent. There’s sorrow etched around her eyes and her mouth. But after a moment, something sparks in her expression. “Let me help.”
I have no idea how she could, but before I can ask, she adds, “I have an idea.”
I wait, but Adele merely eases Prince from my arms and sets him on the ground. “I’ll tell you after our walk.”
She leaves me on the front porch, Prince’s tiny nails clicking on the concrete sidewalk, his tail working furiously.
My mind goes to that first rule on my mother’s last list:
For as long as possible, do not report my “death” to the Enclave. I owe them nothing, and they’ll find out soon enough.
When is soon enough? I stare out into the summer night, watch the flicker of a few fireflies, and ponder whether it’s time I start breaking some rules.
Chapter 15
Henry
King’s End, Minnesota
Sunday, July 9
Sunday evening near the Minnesota River was far more active and enjoyable than Henry had anticipated. Along with the cool breeze from the water, music and laughter wafted through the open windows. The curtains undulated, the fluttering fluid and languorous and positively seductive.
Then again, that might simply have been his state of mind.
He was stretched out on the bed, the flavor of a surprisingly superior scotch from the mini-bar on his tongue. With his hands tucked behind his head, he sank deeper against the mattress, the tension and soreness fading from his limbs. And while he knew he should rectify the one shoe on, one shoe off situation, he couldn’t muster the energy for it.
He wondered, idly, if Pansy Little had mustered the energy to climb the stairs to bed and then shut down that line of thought. Still, the notion she might be curled up in the pantry, all cozy, brought a smile to his lips.
Shut it down, Henry.
He should lumber over to the desk and boot up his laptop, run the analysis, and score the exam. Except. The outcome was obvious. Besides, back before computers and apps and electronics in general, agents calculated scores using nothing but their observations, and paper and pencil, if necessary.
No, everything he needed to know about Apprentice Agent Little he’d witnessed today in the housing development. He’d worry about the score and the report once he’d returned to Seattle.
