Children of Eden
Page 26

Needless to say, it’s mostly people in the outer circles who hide a child’s death and hope to profit from it. Mom tells me that the family I’ll be going with lives in the next-but-one outermost ring. The slums, even more decrepit than Lark’s old circle.
I feel sick. I’ve become a financial transaction.
“Mom, they don’t know for sure who I am or where I live. Can’t I get the surgery and . . .” I was going to say hide out with a friend, but I can’t tell her about Lark. Mom would be so disappointed in me if she knew what I’ve done. And she’d believe that Lark betrayed me. Betrayed all of us. I wouldn’t be able to stand hearing her say that.
I can fight the truth in my own head, but if it comes from my mom’s mouth it will seem real. I don’t want to believe it. I can’t.
“I can hide out, just ride the autoloop for a few days, find a place in the outer circles to hole up. And then after a few days, a week, if no one has been here to investigate . . .”
Mom shakes her head sorrowfully. “It has to be now, and it has to be for good.” She seems to harden herself, standing and turning her back on me to resume throwing my every possession into the trash. I’m hurt, until I realize that she’s just trying to carry on, to protect me as always. If she gives in to emotion she’ll collapse and she won’t be able to protect me.
Protect me by giving me away to money-hungry strangers.
I grit my teeth. This is my life! Two nights in the city were enough to fill me with a sense of my own purpose and strength. I decide here and now that even though I have no choice but to go along with Mom’s plans, there’s no way in hell I’m going to stick with them for the rest of my life. I’ll get the eye implants so I can fit in with the rest of Eden. I’ll go live with the mercenary family that wants my family’s money more than they want me. But it won’t be for good. There will come a time when I can be with my family again. When I can be with Lark. When I can stand proudly and be myself, and be with whoever I want, even if I am a second child.
I can’t fight this now. But I see a battle coming. Resolutely, I pick up my favorite stuffed animal—a ragged chimpanzee I’ve cuddled with since I was a baby—and shove it into one of the garbage bags.
At that moment, Ash comes in, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Mom, with her back turned to him, flashes me an urgent, adamant look and shakes her head almost imperceptibly. I immediately understand: don’t tell Ash too much. But is that fair to him? To me?
“What’s going on?” he asks. “Why are you throwing away all of Rowan’s stuff?”
Mom composes her face carefully. “I’m not throwing it away, silly,” she lies with an ease that astounds me. “There’s been a change in plans, and the doctor who will perform her surgery is being reassigned tomorrow, so we have to go tonight, right now, to get her implants. We decided it’s best if she moves to her new house right away. Since we’re moving fast, we don’t have time to pack up neatly.” She turns to me. “But you don’t mind, do you Rowan?”
I gulp, but manage to say, “No, of course not. Who cares about a few wrinkles? I’ll iron once I get there.”
She’s really not going to tell him that someone is actively hunting for me? That I’m never supposed to come back? I open my mouth to tell him myself, then snap it shut. I’m a coward. I don’t want to see that look of despair in his eyes. Selfishly, I leave it to Mom to tell him, to bear the brunt of his sorrow. I wonder if he’ll forgive me, once he knows. But I just want this last moment with him that isn’t marred with too much grief. I will hold it for both of us. What he knows is sad enough.
He’s taking it pretty well, though. Mom excuses herself (I hear the hiccup of a sob as she departs), and Ash dumps out a trash bag and starts methodically folding the clothes Mom shoved inside. The repetitive, precise action seems to give him focus, and he talks fairly calmly as he folds. But he doesn’t talk about what’s happening. He tells me about yesterday at school, how he missed a question on his Eco-history test, how the latest fashion calls for tiny iridescent robotic butterflies in the hair, how Lark seemed strangely tired but happy all day . . .
I understand. He desperately wants everything to be normal. He doesn’t want the patterns of the last sixteen years to change.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you!” I blurt out suddenly. The shirt he is folding drops into his lap in a messy heap.
He gives a little laugh. “You? What about me? What am I going to do without my sister watching out for me?”
“How do I watch out for you? I’m never out with you.”
“You might not be with me, Rowan, but you always have my back. Whenever I need advice, reassurance—anything—you’re there for me. Always. I’ve been thinking more and more about your bravery, and you’ve inspired me. You know, I think I’m finally going to ask Lark out.”
I gasp, just a little, then bite my lip.
“What?” he asks, a little sharply. “You don’t think I should? You think she’ll say no?”
“I . . . I don’t know anything about relationships,” I say truthfully. “I think you should do whatever feels right.” It felt right when Lark kissed me. But it was nothing like any kind of romance I ever imagined.
“Well, don’t worry about that,” he says, making an attempt to sound breezy. “You have enough to think about.” I sniff. “Listen, I’m doing my best not to cry, too, so let’s just look forward to the next time we can see each other. It will be soon, right?”
He looks so eagerly hopeful that I feel my throat tighten. But I manage to say, “I’m sure it will be.” Then I fling my arms around his neck. I can feel his tears dampening my shoulder. Mine are falling, too. It’s not fair. He should know.
But Mom, who has apparently been lurking just outside the door, bustles in and says it’s time to go.
Ash takes my hand and we walk out into the main living quarters.
“It’s only for a little while,” Ash whispers, more to reassure himself than me, I think. “We’ll be together again soon.” I choke back a sob and hug him.
“Come on, we should go,” Mom says.
“But you have to say good-bye to Dad,” Ash says, with that same look of vague confusion I always see on his face whenever the issue of Dad’s relationship with me comes up. Mom and I make sure it rarely does. She and I glance at each other now.