Chương 12
Sloane's face went rigid.
“You think motives have to be pure to produce good outcomes?”
“No.”
“Then don't act like yours are.”
Evelyn went still.
Sloane leaned closer.
“You want her.”
“She's my daughter.”
“She is not the four-year-old you lost.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
Evelyn looked at Lena sleeping.
Sloane continued.
“You want justice. You want me punished. You want Marcus destroyed. You want twelve years returned to you. And somewhere inside all that, you want this girl to make your grief mean something different.”
Evelyn hated her for being right.
Sloane's voice softened.
“Your motives aren't pure either.”
“No.”
Sloane seemed surprised.
Evelyn looked at her.
“But I'm not going to build another lie around her just because part of the lie would be useful.”
Sloane sat back.
“If this becomes public, she may hate you.”
“I know.”
“She may choose me.”
Evelyn's throat tightened.
“I know.”
“Can you live with that?”
Evelyn looked at the sleeping girl.
“No.”
Sloane waited.
“I'll have to anyway.”
That ended the negotiation.
At 5:12, Lena woke and asked why Sloane was crying.
Sloane wiped her face quickly.
“I'm tired.”
“You lie badly now.”
“I used to be better.”
“That's not comforting.”
Lena sat up.
She looked at Evelyn.
“What did she want?”
Sloane answered.
“To make a private arrangement.”
“What kind?”
“One that would keep this out of public proceedings.”
Lena's eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“To protect you.”
“And you.”
“Yes.”
The answer stopped her.
Lena rubbed sleep from her eyes.
“Did she say no?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Evelyn spoke carefully.
“Because it's your history. I don't think I get to trade it for anything.”
Lena looked down at her hands.
“What if I want it private?”
“Then I will help you keep as much private as we legally can.”
“And if I don't want to go home with you?”
The question had been coming all night.
Evelyn still was not ready.
She sat beside the table.
“You don't have to decide that today.”
“That's not an answer.”
“No. I won't force you.”
Sloane looked at her.
Lena searched Evelyn's face.
“You could try.”
“Yes.”
“You're my biological mother.”
“Yes.”
“Doesn't that give you rights?”
“Probably some.”
“Probably?”
“I haven't been the parent of a teenager before.”
Despite herself, Lena smiled.
Evelyn continued.
“I don't want the first thing I do as your mother to be telling you that your choices don't matter.”
Lena's smile disappeared.
“Don't call yourself that yet.”
The words hurt.
Evelyn nodded.
“Okay.”
The sky began lightening after seven, though the storm remained heavy enough that morning looked like dirty blue dusk.
Operations cleared the lower hallway for breakfast.
People who had no idea what had happened passed the laboratory door carrying oatmeal and coffee.
Rumors had started anyway.
A station of thirty-eight people did not produce much privacy.
Two technicians fell silent when Marcus walked past.
A mechanic stared openly at Sloane.
Someone had apparently heard enough of the emergency calls to know there was a child-identity issue involving an old clinical trial.
Public understanding arrived in fragments.
Mostly wrong ones.
One rumor claimed Lena had been cloned.
Noah heard it in the kitchen and came back furious.
“Apparently we're living in a bad streaming show.”
Lena laughed so hard she coughed.
Evelyn laughed too.
Sloane did not.
By eight, a message reached the station from Alaska authorities.
Weather permitting, a response aircraft would depart within two hours carrying law enforcement personnel and a child-welfare specialist. An independent medical team would follow.
No promises beyond that.
Lena read the message twice.
“What's going to happen to me?”
No one answered immediately.
Finally Noah said, “A lot of people are probably going to ask you the same questions.”
“Fantastic.”
Sloane stood near the window.
“They may separate us.”
Lena looked at her.
“Yes.”
Sloane swallowed.
“I want you to know—”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“No speech.”
Sloane's mouth closed.
“You always do speeches when you're scared.”
Evelyn looked at Sloane.
So did Marcus.
Lena pulled her knees up onto the chair.
“You start explaining everything until nobody else can talk.”
Sloane looked almost offended.
Then embarrassed.
“That's fair.”
“You said my parents died in a small-plane crash.”
“Yes.”
“Why that?”
Sloane looked down.
“Because it was simple.”
“Did you pick somewhere?”
“What?”
“For the crash.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Montana.”
“Why Montana?”
Sloane gave a helpless little laugh.
“I don't know.”
Lena stared at her.
“You invented dead parents in Montana because you didn't know what else to say.”
“Yes.”
“That's so stupid.”
“Yes.”
“Were there graves?”
“No.”
“You told me we couldn't visit because the cemetery had closed.”
Sloane covered her face.
Evelyn felt anger rise again, but Lena began laughing.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes the body chose badly.
She laughed until tears appeared.
Then she cried.
Not dramatically.
She turned away and pressed both hands against her face.
Sloane took one step toward her.
Stopped.
Evelyn stayed where she was.
Lena cried for less than a minute.
Then she wiped her eyes angrily.
“I hate everybody.”
Noah stared at the floor.
Marcus said, “Reasonable.”
Lena laughed again through the last of the tears.
“You especially.”
“Also reasonable.”
At 9:14, the independent DNA laboratory received the newly collected samples through a secured evidence handoff to the station's medical courier system, but the samples could not physically leave until the aircraft arrived.
Nothing about the truth became faster simply because everyone wanted it.
At 10:02, the storm weakened enough for the horizon to appear.
A gray line.
Then a darker strip of land.
Evelyn stood at the window beside Lena.
Neither spoke.
After several minutes Lena asked, “Where do you live?”
“Seattle.”
“Apartment?”
“Condo.”
“Big?”
“No.”
“Do you have pets?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I travel too much.”
“For work?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of work?”
“I break security systems.”
Lena looked over.
“Seriously?”
“Professionally.”
“That's kind of cool.”
“It is mostly spreadsheets.”
“Oh.”
They watched snow move across the floodlights.
May you like
“Do you still have my stuff?”
The question was so quiet Evelyn almost pretended not to hear.
