Chapter Seventeen - Harper
I trace my finger down the body of the vehicle. It’s not a car I’ve ever seen. It’s not open-topped, like the Jeeps everyone drives near my old beach.
My fingers catch on a logo on the side of the dusty black body. I bend down and squint my eyes in the dark. Hummer.
I’ve heard of those.
I would probably not be able to drive this thing since I have never actually driven anything bigger than a golf cart on land, but I know how to work a trunk at least. I walk around back and open the cargo area. It’s smaller than it looks from the outside, but then I notice it’s been modified with some kind of storage system. Two long shallow tubs are hidden underneath the false floor of the back. I pull one out and it’s filled with gear. First-aid kit. Basic hygiene things. Other things I can’t identify, but it looks like a bug-out kit to me. Nick had one. Hell—I laugh as I shift my pack against my side—I have one. Only this one in the back of the Hummer looks… legitimate. Mine’s filled with cut-off shorts and tank tops. An extra pair of flip flops and some hair ties.
I push the bin back in and pull out the second one.
Inside are two guns, like two dozen boxes of ammo, and extra magazines. James said the guns are loaded with a round in the chamber. I know what that means. Dangerous. We had guns on the ship. Lots of guns. But I have never so much as touched one. I am a hand-to-hand kind of fighter. Yeah, they could pick me off with a bullet. But I’ve always figured that anyone who kills the Admiral’s daughter is gonna end up dead sooner rather than later. So I’ve never worried too much about being so inept with weapons.
But now? I’m not so sure that my familial relationship is a benefit.
Still, how hard could it be? As long as I don’t accidentally shoot myself.
I take one and stuff it in the waistband of my shorts like I’ve seen the guards wear them on the ship. I don’t want to shoot this gun. I don’t even want to hold this gun. But it’s stupid not to have it on me when it’s available. James said he’ll be here soon and even though my hands are shaking from fighting the panic, the thought of him being so close is calming all by itself.
I push the bin back in but it stops before it reaches the end. Something’s in the way. I pull the gun bin all the way back out and set it on top of the cargo area.
A notebook is flattened up against the back. I peer into the darkness as I make sense of what I’m seeing.
Hello Kitty.
My heart begins to beat faster.
A pink Hello Kitty notebook. Worn and bent. Like it’s been through hell. Like it’s seen things.
My hands are shaking as I pull it out and take it over to the side door where I came in. The sunlight reaches it and the familiar cartoon hits me so hard, I almost fall over.
This is my notebook.
I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart, open the dirty cover, and try to come to terms with what I’m seeing.
A drawing. In pink crayon. I turn the book sideways so I can see it clearly and my heart thumps out of rhythm.
A harp.
I turn the page and there is sloppy printed handwriting in pencil that’s too faded to read in the dim light. I take a moment to allow the significance to sink in.
He… James… is someone I know.
I push the bin back in the cargo area, close the back door, and exit the garage, walking quickly over to the back porch of the prefabricated house. I step lightly up the stairs, shove the house key into the lock and open the door.
The air-conditioning is on full blast and the cold air assaults me and takes my breath away for a moment. There’s a cell phone on the counter and it’s flashing an icon on the screen.
Was someone just here?
I close the door behind me. How hard can it be to shoot a loaded gun? Just pull a trigger, right? The gun and the notebook trade places in an instant. “I’ll shoot you, whoever you are!” I yell. I hold the gun with the barrel pointing up. I might not’ve ever shot a gun before, but I’ve seen how it’s done. I know how our guards carried them. I’m in the kitchen. It’s newly remodeled and open to the dining and living room, which only has a few pieces of furniture, so I know that no one is in this room with me.
I stalk along the wall towards the bedrooms, checking each one, and each closet. I check the bathrooms, the pantry, the front porch, and a small coat closet.
No one. I’m totally alone.
I go back to the phone on the counter with a little relief, and then press the home button to wake it up. Someone was in here.
The flashing icon is there and it says New Message.
I press the tab and a text message pops up. We’ll talk soon. Don’t forget why this is happening. There’s a little icon at the end of the text that looks like it might be a mushroom. And that’s it.
I grab the phone and hold it to my chest. Is this Nick? Was he here? Someone had to drop this phone off. Oh, I’m so happy! I run to the front door and throw it open. I want to scream his name. I know he’s not gonna come back to me now, not if he left me this message, but I want to scream out how much I love and miss him so he’ll know.
But I catch myself and stay silent. I need to hold it together. It’s so close—the worst year of my life is almost over. I just need to hold it together a little longer. So I lift my hand and pretend he’s walking down the driveway and I wave to my imaginary brother.
And then I go back inside, close the door, lock it, and slump down to the cool tile floor and let the tears out.
After almost a year of missing him, he was here.
I read the message over and over and over again. I read it thirty times at least. God, I’m grinning from top to bottom, that’s how happy this message makes me. And even though I want to save it so I can read it again, I erase the message and start checking the phone. There are no calls or contacts. But there’s one picture in the photo album. And that makes my heart beat fast again, but not out of happiness.
At first glance it just looks like a picture of Nick and I, playing on a beach. I know the beach, not the exact name, but I know where it was. The Caribbean. Which means it was our birthday. Because we spent every birthday in the Caribbean until we were sixteen.
But in this picture we are young. Six. I know this because there’s balloons tied to the thatched-roof cabana in the background and they all have sixes on them.
Sixes.
Which is funny, almost. I mean it could be. If that wasn’t a teenage James sitting in the sand with me, holding a Hello Kitty notebook in his hand as I bury his feet in the sand.
I get up and dart to the kitchen where I left the notebook. I can’t take my eyes off it for a few moments because the memories come flooding in.
How in the world did I not recognize him?
“Do you like your present?”
He’s holding the pink notebook so the sand doesn’t get all over it.
I just smile and nod as I continue my task of burying him in the sand.
“What’s your name?” the man asks.
I look up at him and grin. “You have to guess. That’s the rules.”
“Jane,” he says.
I just laugh.
“Pete.”
This time I giggle uncontrollably. “Pete! That’s not a name for a girl!”
“Just tell me, no one will know.”
I shake my head at him. I know which rules can be broken and which ones can’t, and giving out my name is a no-no.
“The Admiral said we can be friends.”
My dad did say that. I heard him. But that’s not enough to break the rules. No names. That is the number one rule. Only codes. But codes are even more secret than names. I will get a whipping if I give out my code to anyone. But if no one knows my name or my code, then why bother having them?
“This is my party,” I tell the man to change the subject. He’s staring at me and his eyes are so green, I stare back. We are both being rude, but I can’t help it. It’s like a pretty fish when I’m snorkeling. The pretty ones can sting you, that’s what Nick says. I’m not supposed to touch anything pretty under the water. But that lionfish was so beautiful, I couldn’t help myself.
“I’ve been stung before,” I tell the man, as I continue with my task of covering him with sand.
He frowns at me. “By what?”
“Jellyfish mostly. On my feet. I step on them sometimes. But”—I hold up the tip of my finger and he squints at it—“the lionfish get me here.” I grin at him but he’s not smiling. “I touch them.” This man’s eyes are pretty like the lionfish.
“Why in the world would you touch—”
“I’m six today,” I tell him so he won’t think too much about the lionfish. I like to touch them. I want to feel them. And the stings don’t always hurt. I’ve been stung four times, but I’ve touched a lot of lionfish. I don’t always get stung. I know which parts to avoid now.
“I know,” he says back in that deep rumbling voice. His body relaxes. “I’m Six today too.”
I tilt my head and stare at his green eyes as I continue to pile sand on his feet. Most grownups don’t want to play with me, and I’ve never had a hunter even look at me before. But he’s not a hunter yet. Today is a special day for him too.
I stand up and run over to grab a stick near my towel and then dart down to the wet sand. The tide is going down and this is the best time to draw. When the tide is coming in, it erases your pictures. But when it’s going out, they stay until the sun bakes them and the wind makes the picture shift back into nothing but ripples.
I fall to my knees as I get to the water’s edge and then look over my shoulder. He’s watching me carefully. “I’m going to draw you a picture!” I yell back at him.
He nods and smiles as my father walks up and sits down next to him. I know they are talking about me, but I don’t care. I’m drawing a picture. I draw notes first. I read piano so I can make all kinds of notes. I copy the song I was writing last week. It’s a simple one, but it’s a sweet melody that I’ve been humming for weeks before I decided to write it down in notes.
I draw the piano next. And me, playing it. I draw a guitar and a violin. And my dad comes over to see what I’m doing and not breaking any rules before he leaves.
I look over my shoulder as my dad walks away with the green-eyed hunter. My dad puts a hand on his shoulder and they talk about serious things. I can tell by the look on their faces.
And then they both look at me and the hunter shakes his head.
My father puts up a hand and smiles, pointing over at me, then he claps him on the back and turns away.
For a minute I think that the hunter will leave with him, but he turns towards me and starts walking.
My stick begins drawing out the final instrument as he stands over me. “That’s a nice picture.”
I look up and he’s shielding his eyes from the sun as he studies me. “It’s for you. A present.”
“What’s your name?” he asks me again.
“Lionfish,” I answer back, giggling. “That’s my hunter name, what’s yours?”
He laughs with me now and tsks his tongue. I’m not allowed to ask these things, but he’s not either. And he did anyway. “You made that up.”
“So make one up,” I challenge him back. “You remind me of sea grass so I will call you sea grass.”
“Sea grass! How boring.”
“But…” I can’t stop my smile. My cheeks get all hot. He squats down next to me now and his gaze falls over my drawing. My heart beats a little faster. I wonder if he can see my secret? I want him to see it. I want him to guess. But I don’t want to be caught giving out such important information. So I keep talking. “But your eyes are green like the sea grass. And I saw a manatee yesterday eating sea grass. You remind me of that.”
He lowers the hand he’s been using as a sun shield and I can’t stop looking at him. “And your eyes are amber, like the lionfish.”
Amber… I’ve never heard of that color before. I will have to look it up.
“Sister!” Nick calls from down the beach. I lean to the side so I can see around the hunter and spy my brother. He’s not happy.
“What?” I call back. Why is he mad?
“It’s time for cake,” Nick says as he runs up and grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet. He glares at my new friend as I’m tugged away. But a few feet up the beach I turn back and catch the hunter standing up to follow us. “Don’t forget your present!” I yell at him. He has a puzzled expression and then glances down at the sand drawing and smiles.
I hope he never forgets that present.
Because I want him to remember me.