Page 50 of Lone Wolf

“Why?”

Back to speaking through her hands. New job. He reported straight to the big boss.

“The big boss? Who’s the big boss?”

She typed the name on her cell: ALLMAN. The phone cast aside, signing once more: Dad was a big deal. Tears spilling freely now. He was so smart. Doing big things.

“Like what?”

Dad worked on—she spelled out the letters individually—AI. A hesitation. And … Then she tapped out on her phone: ALGORITHMS.

“What specifically was he doing for Allman?”

I don’t know. He didn’t talk about it. Then came a flappy hand and finger motion Evan couldn’t keep up with, followed by a squeezing motion at the mouth.

“I’m sorry. Can you write it?”

CORPORATE CONFIDENTIALITY. She signed three letters—NDA. Then: I don’t know. I’m not into that stuff. I’m a singer and dancer. Like Mom.

The word dancer was beautiful. Her left hand flat, two fingers of her right forked like legs, shaking back and forth above the dance floor of the palm, her head mirroring the movement ever so slightly and with grace. She had tears in her eyes. Mother and father, both gone.

Fiercely: That’s all I know.

“Okay. Can I have your phone number?”

A vigorous nod. She signed it quickly and he keyed it into his RoamZone and dialed. Her phone buzzed twice and she stilled it. Now she had a cover telephone number that would forward through to him. They stared at each other. She looked as helpless as he felt.

Dad was gentle. He was kind.

“I understand.”

They said I can’t go home. It’s not safe. And even if it was, they have to do a … Her breath seized in her chest and then shuddered out. She finished the thought: deep cleaning.

“I’m sorry.”

What am I supposed to do now?

For a moment, Evan couldn’t find words.

Impassioned slaps of skin, vowel noises from the throat. What am I supposed to do? He was my dad.

“Do you have people?”

Right hand, outward-facing fist tracing tiny circles near her jawline, below the nose to indicate the feminine: Aunt.

“Do you like her?”

Her face looked tragic, resigned: Sure.

She scratched at the back of her neck, raising fingernail marks. Evan remembered how his black foster brothers hated when their skin got ashy, the shame they felt attached to it, as if it were their fault any more than the duct tape that had held his sneakers together.

She sat with her shoulders slumped and her bruised eyes. He was the only thing I had left. I don’t even have a voice anymore. He was my North Star. What do I do?

He owed her the truth. There was nothing else to give her. “You have to be your own North Star now.”

She blinked at him. Her mouth was slightly agape, and he could see the faint flutter of her heartbeat at the side of her neck. He wanted to fix everything for her. He wanted to tell her it would all be okay.

Without any perceptible movement of her limbs, she slid down once more and turned away.