Until the Beginning
Page 35
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Miles is silent.
“I dream about my mom a lot,” I say. “I wish I had known her for longer. I wish she could see me now. I have a feeling that everything I do is for her. So that she’ll be proud of me. So that I can live up to the example she set: a leader with powerful gifts. I’ve never even asked myself if that’s what I really wanted. If carrying the burden of my clan’s welfare is the role I want to have.”
“You shouldn’t have to live up to anything,” Miles says. “You shouldn’t have to live your life in response to your mother.” He thinks for a moment. “Although, who am I to talk? Since Mom left, all I think about is how I must be a bad person if she didn’t even love me enough to stay. That’s the role I’ve taken.”
“No, Miles—” I start to say, but he holds up a hand to stop me.
“So I’ve let myself be someone I’m not. But I’m done with that now. I’ve walked through the invisible wall in more ways than one.”
He looks over at me. “You make me want to be a good person, Juneau. I see how you are and it makes me want to be strong.” He sees my expression and stops. “What?”
I wipe a tear away. And then I roll onto my stomach and scoot over until our faces are a whisper’s distance apart. And I kiss him.
The stars come down from the sky, so low that they surround us. They land like sizzling embers on our skin, and stick, glowing, to our bodies as we lose ourselves in each other.
26
MILES
JUNEAU LIES BESIDE ME, EYES CLOSED AND THE ghost of a smile on her lips, as I trace circles on the petal-soft skin of her lower back. A flapping of wings invades our blanket-padded island of tranquility. And although Juneau opens her eyes, she takes her time sitting up.
She doesn’t even bother to cover herself as she reaches out to greet Poe. Juneau, queen of nature, I think, and have to brace myself against the surge of emotion that accompanies that image.
Poe lands smoothly on Juneau’s wrist, like they’ve been practicing it for months. She sets him down on the blanket between us, and opens the pouch on his back. She pulls out the same piece of paper that she sent, and turns it over, holding it up in the moonlight to read what’s written on the back. And then she hands it to me.
Juneau. Do not come. You are the bargaining chip. Without you, Whit can’t have what he needs, and in the end will have to let us go. Besides, we can’t escape. We tried to—once. After that, Avery took Badger, and is keeping him as insurance that no one will try to leave. I reiterate—do not come. They can’t keep us forever. Go as far away as you can, hide yourself from Whit, and wait until they release us.
I wait to see what Juneau will say, but she’s silent. “Is Badger a pet?” I ask finally.
“He’s one of the clan children. Three years old.”
“I thought the kids were named for towns in Alaska,” I say, realizing that I’m going off topic, but too curious to let it slide.
“They are,” she says. “Badger is a town in Alaska. You don’t have to know geography to get into Yale?” She gives me a teasing push with her elbow and then stands and stretches. She is glorious.
I exhale and try to ignore my instincts, which are to pull her back down to the blanket and start over again. I focus on our banter and push more enticing thoughts from my mind. “Alaskan geography doesn’t count,” I say, rising to my feet. “Nothing ever happens there. Obviously, if forty people can hide there for three decades and no one notices.”
Juneau smiles, seemingly grateful for the levity as we gather the plates, blanket, and scattered clothes. I slip on my boxers and jeans before making my way down the path, but Juneau strides ahead, naked and regal. Poe scavenges a rabbit bone and flies ahead of us to the clearing.
We do a water-bottle washing of dishes and put everything away while the fire dies down. “So are you going to listen to your dad?” I ask.
“Of course not,” Juneau replies. She’s put her panties and tank top back on and is sitting in front of the dwindling flames, jotting something in her notebook. She tears off the page and makes a clicking noise to call Poe. He drops the bone he’s pecking at and goes to her, letting her tuck the note into his pouch. Following her whispered directions, he flies off into the night.
“A note to Tallie,” she explains. “Asking her to find a computer and look some things up for us.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Anything she can find about the hunting reserve, especially a map if one exists. Details about Hunt Avery. And the old Hindu story about Amrita—I want to double-check what Whit told me.”
I nod. “When are we leaving?”
Juneau stares at the fire and gets that focused look she does when she Reads. After a second, she says, “Whit’s in a bedroom by himself, reading. He’s obviously not coming back for us tonight.” She looks up at me. “How about first thing in the morning?”
“Let’s sleep, then,” I suggest. I shake out the blanket we used for our picnic, and spread it out inside the tent on top of the other one, making one bed for the two of us instead of the usual one blanket roll each.
Juneau crawls into the tent with her crossbow, and lies down on her side facing it. I zip the door up behind us, and lie down behind her. Curling myself around her, I drape my arm around her shoulder and lace my fingers through hers. “We’ll leave before daybreak,” she says.
“I dream about my mom a lot,” I say. “I wish I had known her for longer. I wish she could see me now. I have a feeling that everything I do is for her. So that she’ll be proud of me. So that I can live up to the example she set: a leader with powerful gifts. I’ve never even asked myself if that’s what I really wanted. If carrying the burden of my clan’s welfare is the role I want to have.”
“You shouldn’t have to live up to anything,” Miles says. “You shouldn’t have to live your life in response to your mother.” He thinks for a moment. “Although, who am I to talk? Since Mom left, all I think about is how I must be a bad person if she didn’t even love me enough to stay. That’s the role I’ve taken.”
“No, Miles—” I start to say, but he holds up a hand to stop me.
“So I’ve let myself be someone I’m not. But I’m done with that now. I’ve walked through the invisible wall in more ways than one.”
He looks over at me. “You make me want to be a good person, Juneau. I see how you are and it makes me want to be strong.” He sees my expression and stops. “What?”
I wipe a tear away. And then I roll onto my stomach and scoot over until our faces are a whisper’s distance apart. And I kiss him.
The stars come down from the sky, so low that they surround us. They land like sizzling embers on our skin, and stick, glowing, to our bodies as we lose ourselves in each other.
26
MILES
JUNEAU LIES BESIDE ME, EYES CLOSED AND THE ghost of a smile on her lips, as I trace circles on the petal-soft skin of her lower back. A flapping of wings invades our blanket-padded island of tranquility. And although Juneau opens her eyes, she takes her time sitting up.
She doesn’t even bother to cover herself as she reaches out to greet Poe. Juneau, queen of nature, I think, and have to brace myself against the surge of emotion that accompanies that image.
Poe lands smoothly on Juneau’s wrist, like they’ve been practicing it for months. She sets him down on the blanket between us, and opens the pouch on his back. She pulls out the same piece of paper that she sent, and turns it over, holding it up in the moonlight to read what’s written on the back. And then she hands it to me.
Juneau. Do not come. You are the bargaining chip. Without you, Whit can’t have what he needs, and in the end will have to let us go. Besides, we can’t escape. We tried to—once. After that, Avery took Badger, and is keeping him as insurance that no one will try to leave. I reiterate—do not come. They can’t keep us forever. Go as far away as you can, hide yourself from Whit, and wait until they release us.
I wait to see what Juneau will say, but she’s silent. “Is Badger a pet?” I ask finally.
“He’s one of the clan children. Three years old.”
“I thought the kids were named for towns in Alaska,” I say, realizing that I’m going off topic, but too curious to let it slide.
“They are,” she says. “Badger is a town in Alaska. You don’t have to know geography to get into Yale?” She gives me a teasing push with her elbow and then stands and stretches. She is glorious.
I exhale and try to ignore my instincts, which are to pull her back down to the blanket and start over again. I focus on our banter and push more enticing thoughts from my mind. “Alaskan geography doesn’t count,” I say, rising to my feet. “Nothing ever happens there. Obviously, if forty people can hide there for three decades and no one notices.”
Juneau smiles, seemingly grateful for the levity as we gather the plates, blanket, and scattered clothes. I slip on my boxers and jeans before making my way down the path, but Juneau strides ahead, naked and regal. Poe scavenges a rabbit bone and flies ahead of us to the clearing.
We do a water-bottle washing of dishes and put everything away while the fire dies down. “So are you going to listen to your dad?” I ask.
“Of course not,” Juneau replies. She’s put her panties and tank top back on and is sitting in front of the dwindling flames, jotting something in her notebook. She tears off the page and makes a clicking noise to call Poe. He drops the bone he’s pecking at and goes to her, letting her tuck the note into his pouch. Following her whispered directions, he flies off into the night.
“A note to Tallie,” she explains. “Asking her to find a computer and look some things up for us.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Anything she can find about the hunting reserve, especially a map if one exists. Details about Hunt Avery. And the old Hindu story about Amrita—I want to double-check what Whit told me.”
I nod. “When are we leaving?”
Juneau stares at the fire and gets that focused look she does when she Reads. After a second, she says, “Whit’s in a bedroom by himself, reading. He’s obviously not coming back for us tonight.” She looks up at me. “How about first thing in the morning?”
“Let’s sleep, then,” I suggest. I shake out the blanket we used for our picnic, and spread it out inside the tent on top of the other one, making one bed for the two of us instead of the usual one blanket roll each.
Juneau crawls into the tent with her crossbow, and lies down on her side facing it. I zip the door up behind us, and lie down behind her. Curling myself around her, I drape my arm around her shoulder and lace my fingers through hers. “We’ll leave before daybreak,” she says.
