Roland’s hand snaps together Legos just as efficiently as Connor’s natural hand, proving it can create as well as it destroys.

• • •

Sonia’s powers of persuasion must verge on superhuman, because Hannah consents to keeping them all under her protection.

“Grace can bunk with Risa. You boys can share my sewing room. There’s a daybed in there—you’ll have to either share it or slug it out,” Hannah tells them. “I’ll make this very clear. I am not a safe house. I am doing this just because it’s the right thing to do—but do not take advantage of my good nature.” She goes on, instructing them to stay away from windows and hide if anyone comes to the door.

“We know the drill,” Connor is quick to tell her. “It’s not like we’re new to this.”

“Some of us are,” Cam says, and indicates Grace. “From what I understand, you dragged her into this.”

“I dragged myself,” Grace tells him, keeping Connor from being drawn into a battle with Cam, “and I can hide as good as anyone.”

Satisfied that the situation is under control, Sonia leaves. “Gotta feed the gremlins in my basement before they get restless,” although Connor knows from experience that they’re always restless.

A storm hits twenty minutes later—a steady stream of rain and distant lightning that threatens to draw closer but never does. Hannah orders in pizza for dinner—a bit of absurd normality in the midst of their situation.

The sewing room is upstairs with the rest of the bedrooms. A tiny space with a frilly daybed that insults the very concept of masculinity.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Cam offers, making sure Risa can see his selfless generosity. Risa’s response is to grin at Connor. “He beat you to it.”

“Yeah,” says Connor. “I’ll have to be quicker next time.”

Cam, still locked in competition mode, is not amused. For the rest of the day Risa does her best to avoid being in the room with both of them at the same time, and since Cam won’t let Connor out of his sight, their only interactions with Risa are her quick forays into their cramped room with blankets, towels, and toiletries. “We keep a collection of stuff for the kids in Sonia’s basement,” she says as she hands Connor toothpaste and Cam a toothbrush.

“So are we supposed to share it?” Cam asks with an annoyingly rakish grin.

Risa, flustered, apologizes. “I’ll find another one.”

Connor has never seen Risa flustered. He would dislike Cam all the more for making her so—but he knows it’s not Cam, but the combination of the two of them. Connor wonders how Risa would be with him were the presence of Camus Comprix not a factor.

He finds out after dinner, while Cam’s taking a shower.

Grace has taken to entertaining Dierdre. The giggles from the nursery attest to her success. Connor struggles to find a comfortable position on the dusty daybed. When Risa appears at the doorway, she just stands at the threshold. The sound of the shower down the hall makes it clear that Cam won’t be back for at least a few minutes.

“Can I come in?” she asks tentatively.

Connor sits up on the bed, trying to be less fidgety than he feels. “Sure.”

She sits on the room’s only chair and smiles. “I’ve missed you, Connor.”

This is a moment Connor has longed for. A moment that he’s held in his mind to keep him going—but as much as Connor wants to return her affection, he knows he can’t. They cannot be together. He cannot draw her back into this battle now that she’s safe. But neither can he push her toward Cam.

So he clasps her hand, but doesn’t hold it all that tightly. “Yeah,” he says. “Same here.” But he says it without the conviction he really feels.

She studies him, and he hopes she doesn’t see through his cool facade. “All those things I said—the commercials, the public service announcements in favor of unwinding—you know I was being blackmailed, don’t you? They were going to attack the Graveyard if I didn’t do it.”

“They attacked the Graveyard anyway,” Connor points out.

Now she begins to get concerned. “Connor, you don’t think—”

“No, I don’t think you betrayed us,” he tells her. He can’t mislead her about his feelings that much. “But a lot of Whollies died that night.” What he really wants to do is take her into his arms and hold her tightly. He wants to tell her that thinking of her is the only thing that kept him going. But instead he says, “They died. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Next you’ll be blaming me for Starkey.”

“No,” says Connor. “I blame myself for that.”

Risa looks down. For a moment he sees tears building in her eyes, but when she looks up at him again, her expression is hard. Her vulnerability is once more protected by armor. “Well, I’m glad you’re alive,” she tells him, taking her hand back from him. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“As safe as can be expected,” says Connor, “considering I have a rogue parts pirate, Proactive Citizenry, and the Juvenile Authority after me.”

Risa sighs. “I guess we’ll never be safe.”

“You’re safe,” Connor says before he can stop himself. “Do yourself a favor and stay that way.”

Now she looks at him with suspicion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve settled into this life with Hannah and Didi. Why throw it away?”

“Settled in? I’ve been here two weeks! That’s hardly settled in—and now that you’re here—”

Connor never considered himself much of an actor, but now he feigns irritation for all he’s worth. “Now that I’m here, what? You think you’re going to join me in raging against the machine? What makes you think I want that?”

Risa is speechless, as he hoped she would be. With the first emotional punch thrown, Connor follows up with “Things are different now, Risa. And what we had at the Graveyard . . .”

“We had nothing,” Risa says, saving him the pain of yet another lie—replacing it with a different kind of pain. “We just got stuck smack in each other’s way.” Then she stands up just as Cam makes his appearance at the door. “But we’re not in each other’s way anymore.”

Cam has a beach towel wrapped around his lower half, but his upper half is on display. The perfect package of six-pack abs and sculpted pecs. He came in here like that on purpose, Connor decides. Because he knows Risa is here.

“What did I miss?”

Risa puts her hand unabashedly on his chest, tracing the lines where his flesh tones meet. “They were right, Cam,” she says gently. “Those seams healed perfectly. No scars at all.” She smiles at him and gives him a peck on the cheek before she strides out of the room.

Conner hopes her sudden attention to Cam is merely a jab against him, but he can’t be sure. Rather than thinking about it, Connor looks to his grafted arm, letting it draw his focus. He’s conscious to keep the fingers from contracting into a fist. Some people wear their emotions on their sleeves. Connor wears his in the skin of his knuckles, pulled tight in a gesture both offensive and defensive. He concentrates on the shark on his wrist now. Its fiery unnatural eyes. Its oversized teeth. The muscular curve of its body. Such an ugly thing, yet disturbingly graceful. He hates it. In fact, he’s come to love how much he hates it.

Cam closes the door and immodestly exposes the rest of himself as he dresses, as if Connor cares. He’s all smiles the next time he looks at Connor, as if he knows more than he does.

“No surprise which way the wind is blowing when it comes to Risa,” Cam says.

“The wind’s gonna blow sand in your eyes if you’re not careful,” Connor responds.

“Is that a threat?”

“You know what? You’re not half as smart as you think you are.” Then he goes to take his own shower—a cold one that can hopefully numb the heat in his head.

63 • Grace

While playing with Dierdre is a treat, it’s only to settle Grace’s mind. Powerful forces are at work in this house, and those forces are a hairbreadth away from tearing each other apart. Cam and Connor had been so united in purpose until now, in spite of their rivalry. And although Grace considers herself just along for the ride, she knows she sees the things that the others don’t.

For instance—she sees Connor: She knows he loves Risa and is intentionally pushing her away to save her. He will not save her. Risa will push back, acting out against his cold shoulder by throwing herself into the war against unwinding even more recklessly than before. By trying to save her, he may just get her killed.

And Risa: She would have stayed here had Connor not shown up, but now it’s out of the question. Connor will never see that. He’s convinced he knows her better than he truly does.

And Cam: He’s the real loose cannon. He’ll foolishly lap up any attention Risa gives him, whether that attention is real or calculated. In the end, whatever she gives will not be enough for him. He will feel betrayed and used—and even if Risa chooses him over Connor, he won’t believe it. He won’t trust it. His confused fury will fester. Grace knows that someday soon Cam will blow, and God help anyone near enough to get caught by the shrapnel.

So Grace plays with harmless Dierdre but hears every word, sees every move the others make, knowing nothing she can say will affect this doomed board of play.

• • •

Late that night Grace lies awake, staring at the ceiling. Shadow tree limbs crawl ominously across the ceiling with each passing headlight.

Risa gets up and quietly goes to the door.

“Don’t,” Grace says. “Please don’t.”

“I’m just going to the bathroom.”

“No, you’re not.”

Risa hesitates, then stiffens a bit. “I have to.” Then adds, “It’s not your business anyway.” But Grace knows she’s wrong about that.

Risa leaves, and Grace closes her eyes, hearing the door to the boys’ room creak open. She knows what will happen in there.

Risa will sit on Connor’s bed, gently waking him up, if he’s not already awake. Cam, who sleeps on the floor will not be asleep, but will pretend that he is. He’ll hear everything.

Risa will whisper something to Connor along the lines of “We need to talk,” and Connor will try to delay it. “In the morning,” he’ll say. But she’ll touch his face, and that will make him look at her. They won’t see each other’s eyes but for a pinprick on their pupils of the reflected streetlight outside. It will be enough. Even in the darkness, Connor’s facade will fall away, and Risa will know. They won’t speak, because, after all, it was never about words, but about connection without words. A connection that can’t be denied. They’ll step just outside the door. Close it, but only partway, so that it doesn’t make a sound.