One Month Later
I trudge down a long dirt road, trying to keep up with the group. The solid ground beneath my feet is unfamiliar and I sway a bit before finding my balance again. We pass a man and woman dressed in designer clothing, looking so clean and polished. I do a double-take, turning halfway around to look them over. It’s been so long since I’ve seen anyone dressed in nice clothes. Many in no clothes at all. I glance down at myself, run a hand through my tangled hair, and for the first time in weeks I feel self-conscious.
I’ve been awake for nearly thirty hours, haven’t showered in five days, and my clothes are torn and filthy. Also, my mouth tastes like stomach acid in the worst way, probably because I’ve spent about twelve of the last thirty hours barfing.
As if reading my mind, Miles tugs a water bottle from the side of his hiking backpack and offers it to me. With a sympathetic smile, he says, “At least now you know that you get seasick.”
I nod and take a sip of the water, rinsing my mouth before spitting into the grass lining the dirt road. “Yeah, it was a real educational experience.”
The bottle gets stuffed back into Miles’s bag. I’m afraid to drink much until I’m sure it’ll stay where I put it. Miles remains at my side, allowing some distance between the two men we’re supposed to be following. I glance sideways at him a couple times while walking, surprised by the peaceful, even excited look on his face. He’s been awake even longer than I have. But grunge definitely looks better on Miles than me. He’s rocking the tanned, scruffy, rolled-up sleeves and pant legs look. Me, on the other hand…
Despite my protests, Miles removes the heavy backpack from my shoulders and tosses it over his own shoulder, causing the two bags to bump together. Without the extra weight I’m able to close some of the distance between us and the two guys in front of us. They are speaking rapid French to each other, too fast for me to translate all of it, but I do catch one guy asking the other which hut we’ve been assigned.
I look at Miles, raising an eyebrow. “A hut? I guess that’s a step up from a tent. But I do recall you promising me a hotel when we got off the boat. One with hot water and real beds.”
He laughs but doesn’t meet my gaze. “Not a word of complaint from you for an entire month about traveling off the grid, sleeping outside—”
“Parasite infested water,” I add. “And I’m just saying it’s pretty shitty to promise me something and then not deliver. I’ll be fine, no worries.”
But he isn’t wrong. I haven’t complained at all. I figured we were doing what had to be done, so what was the point of griping about it. Plus, it’s been kind of fun, Miles and I working together again, trying to figure out how to move from country to country without leaving any trail behind us. This meant cash only payments, eating, sleeping, and shopping in places with little technology, no surveillance equipment. Some of what we’ve done is similar to my family’s way of life. Just expanded to many countries—Uzbekistan, Nepal, Bangladesh, Indonesia, and a whole bunch more I can’t think of in my exhausted state.
A hut appears out of nowhere, and for a second, I’m thrilled that we’ve reached our destination, hot water or not. But then I see the sign on the door—in French—and quickly translate it as “office.” We’re led inside, and Miles converses with a woman behind the desk before producing a large envelope the captain of the boat we were on before had handed him over thirty hours ago. I watch in silence, hiding my surprise when he hands over a credit card and two passports. The passport Clyde gave me a month ago is tucked into my bag. This is a new one.
The woman behind the desk smiles at us, then opens the passports, flashing a photo of me above the name Kaley Carrington. Well that’s new. Looks like I’m sixteen now. I catch sight of Miles’s passport, too—Brian Carrington. Same last name. We’re related now? I lean forward against the counter to see more. Same birthday, too.
Not just related but twins? Gross.
“Your parents will be joining tomorrow?” the lady asks us in broken English.
Our parents?
Miles’s face reveals a flicker of surprise, but he hides it well. “Yes, that’s right. Tomorrow.”
He answered her question in French, which appears to excite the woman. She flutters around, gathering items until we’ve both got keys in our hands and the men who led us here are taking our bags, leading out a back door. Realizing that at least one of us speaks French, the men switch to what I can only assume is Tahitian.
Behind the office hut is something so startling I blink to make sure I’m not imagining things—a golf cart. It looks so out of place in the middle of nowhere. In no time, we’re cruising down that dirt road again, expelling very little energy this time, passing rows of doors to huts.
The ocean is visible once again and it’s magnificent, blue in places, green in other spots, and crystal clear. I’d hated it when we were on the boat, rocking constantly with no end in sight, but seeing it from solid ground I can finally appreciate the beauty. Finally the golf cart stops in front of what looks like a small hut held on stilts over the water. But when I step inside, a whole different image is revealed. A giant gorgeous living room opens in front of us. Across the room is a deck with a small pool that seems to filter right into the ocean somehow. I walk farther inside and stop before my feet cross over a square glass panel in the floor.
“Oh my God,” I whisper to Miles who is now beside me, both of us admiring a school of fish swimming beneath our feet. “What is this place?”
“A resort,” he says simply, and then he leaves me to tip the guy who brought our bags inside.
When he returns and we’re alone, I have a sudden surge of energy despite my lack of sleep and recovering seasickness. I sprint up a spiral staircase and gasp when I see the second floor loft. The biggest, most beautiful bed covers about half of the room. Off to the left is a mega big bathroom with a shower big enough to fit a dozen people comfortably.
“Are you seeing this?” I ask Miles.
He’s trailing behind me, flipping through the resort brochure. “Hot water every day, it says.”
I spin to face him, nerves fluttering in my stomach. “Your parents sent us here, right? What do you think this means? That things are better or worse?”
At first we talked constantly about where everyone else in our lives were, what they were doing, if they were worried about us (I’ve been able to send Harper a few postcards luckily) but eventually we just stopped. There was no point in worrying beyond making sure we were doing everything we could to stay out of anyone’s sight.
“I’m not sure what it means,” Miles admits. “But yes, they sent us here.”
“Do you think they’re really coming tomorrow?” I ask, and he shakes his head, unsure. I glance longingly at the giant bed and then the big bathroom. “If they do, they’ll probably want this room, right? We should take the two small rooms downstairs.”
Miles steps closer, hooking an arm around my waist and tugging me closer. “All I know is they won’t be here tonight. So…”
Not needing any more prompt, I hurry to the shower. “Dibs!”
…
I wake up with a start, sitting up quickly and blinking in the dark. It takes me a minute to remember where I am. The soft bed is so unfamiliar, as is my squeaky clean body and new clean clothes I bought at the gift shop earlier today…or maybe yesterday?
“Hey,” Miles says from beside me, and I immediately sigh with relief. I’ve gotten so used to waking up beside him. “You okay? Still feeling sick?”
I hadn’t eaten any dinner, not wanting to chance another puke fest, but now my stomach rumbles with hunger. “I’m good. Just forgot where we were.”
“Quite an upgrade, huh?” he says.
I return to lying down, but this time with Miles’s arms around me, my cheek resting on his chest. “Definitely. It’s weird. Like your parents knew we were in desperate need of a real shower.”
We fall silent again and something feels different than all the nights we’ve spent together since leaving New York. It feels like an end, but I don’t know that for sure. “Are you glad you came with me?” I ask, and then immediately regret the question. “I mean do you wish you could be there hunting down more of Jack’s group?”
He tightens his hold on me, kisses my hair. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Truth. I can hear it loud and clear. All the time I’ve spent with Miles has reduced his ability to lie to me. Probably vice versa, too, but I’m okay with that.
I remember something from weeks ago and start laughing. “Remember the fight we had over mystery meat in Nepal that first night?”
“Yep,” he says, and I can hear him smile. “I thought we were doomed after that.”
“Me, too.” I laugh again. “I was sure we’d get tired of each other after a while.”
But I’m even more in love with him than the moment he sat beside me on that flight out of JFK airport. We’ve had some nervous moments, times when one or both of us was sure someone had followed us. But overall, we worked well together, we usually want to see the same sights, try similar foods. Which is weird because I used to think Miles and I were so different. Turns out when both of us are being open-minded and traveling in a new foreign country, we have a lot of common interests.
I lift my head, scoot up a bit, and kiss Miles in a way that hopefully shreds any doubt that I don’t love his company all hours of the day—and night. He responds immediately, kissing me back and then pulling me on top of him.
His mouth grazes my ear and then he says, a whisper, light as the ocean breeze right outside of this room, “I love you.”
I rest my hands on his face, holding his gaze below mine and letting myself really look at him. He’s different than the boy I met outside the apartment pool months ago. I’m different, too, I’m sure. But if I look hard enough, I can see traces of that boy, qualities and pieces of him I didn’t know or couldn’t back then. I can’t imagine not getting to see this face, these eyes, every day. But whatever happens, we’ll deal with it. We’ve dealt with so much already. I touch my mouth to his again and whisper against his lips. “I love you, too.”
Neither of us end up going back to sleep. Instead we put the master loft bedroom back together again with the skill of two people who have made invisibility a career—just in case anyone is actually going to show up today. Then we stand outside and watch the sun rise over the water, Miles’s arms around me, the air outside tropical and perfect.
After the sun is fully in the sky, when we contemplate going for a swim, both of us turn at the sound of a golf cart rumbling down the dirt road. Miles and I look at each other for a beat and then dart inside, across the living room. The door to our “hut” opens and sure enough, Agent Beckett and Agent Beckett enter. I watch Miles as a grin spreads over his face. And then I look at them and laugh. They’re decked out in vacation wear, Hawaiian shirts and all.
Mrs. Beckett spreads her arms wide. “My two beautiful children! I’m so happy to see both of you.”
Before embracing them, I toss Miles a disgusted look. Not loving this whole twin cover. Ew. I’m hugging Mrs. Beckett, nearly as glad as Miles to see these two very amazing adults, but over her shoulder, I catch sight of someone else clambering through the door, dragging a giant suitcase.
Someone with blond hair and feet identical to mine. “Oh my God,” I whisper under my breath. I abandon Miles’s mom and rush toward the door, but stop short taking in another newcomer.
Harper.
And Aidan.
My sister is here. I can’t even speak. Or move.
Harper sees me and I can tell it’s not easy for her to hold it together, either, but she glances back at the golf cart driver and then looks at me and Miles and shouts, “Surprise! Family spring break with Aunt Harper! Who’s excited?”
There isn’t any room in my head or heart to process her words. I stumble to the door and hug my sister harder than I did when we saw each other after five years apart. Soon I’m crying and so is Harper. Even though the golf cart driver is still here. Miles skillfully hands over a tip big enough to send him on his way.
When I finally break away from Harper, I just look at Miles’s parents and say, “How?”
“Took a while to create our family’s identity, but it came together a few days ago,” Mr. Beckett says.
I reach for Harper again, squeezing her way too hard. I can’t help it. There were times when I was sure that we’d never see each other again. After I release Harper and rush over to give Aidan a hug, we all sit on the couches, listening to Mr. Beckett explain how he put this “family” vacation together.
Miles sits beside me on the loveseat, his fingers combing through my hair while his dad talks. He keeps turning to stare at his mom and then his dad and then Harper. And I know how he feels. It’s just been the two of us for what feels like an eternity. We’ve barely spoken to anyone along our journey, often because of language barriers, and sometimes for security reasons.
Finally when the energy settles from our reunion, Miles asks the very question that had been at the forefront of my mind. “So what now? Are we done running?”
“Almost,” Mr. Beckett says, exchanging a weary look with his wife. “I’m sorry, I’d hoped for better news, hoped to bring both of you back with us, but we still have some stragglers in Jack’s group.”
“But we were able to make some travel plans for you,” Mrs. Beckett assures us. “We thought Europe might be safe now that you’ve been off the grid. There, we were able to arrange places for you to stay, real homes, not a tent in the wilderness.”
“We should be able to visit in another month or so…” Mr. Beckett adds. “Probably Switzerland because communications are easier there.”
“Will it be terrible for you?” Harper asks tentatively. “To keep going like you’ve been?”
I feel Miles’s warm fingers rest on my leg, and then he laces our fingers together and gives my hand a squeeze.
“We’ll survive,” he says, all serious. “Whatever needs to be done, we’ll do it.”
I match his serious expression, silencing the voice inside me that’s chanting, Europe, Europe, Europe! “Whatever we need to do,” I agree. “If that involves suffering through a month in where…France? Italy?”
“Definitely the Alps,” Miles says. “Oh! And Morocco! We are totally going to Morocco.”
Both Miles’s mom and Harper roll their eyes at the same time. His mom says, “Okay, so apparently it’s not the big sacrifice we thought it’d be.”
Miles’s eyes meet mine. “Definitely not.”
After a few seconds too long, I tear my gaze from his. “Not that we can’t enjoy a week in this tropical heaven.”
“Yes, as twins,” Mr. Beckett reminds us, gesturing for the two of us to scoot apart. “I should hope you can manage a week as siblings without blowing our cover?”
With a sigh, Miles puts a couple of inches between us. But as everyone gets up to check out the place and unpack, he leans in and whispers in my ear, “Now we have even more reason to look forward to Europe next week.”
Despite the explicit directions, I lean forward and kiss him. “Last one for a week, I promise.”
And he kisses me back, making it worth the wait ahead of us. Sometime hopefully I’ll hear from my own parents, find out when my mom will be released, and maybe even get back to my life and Holden Academy. But for now, I have a week to spend with my sister and Aidan, a sturdy backpack, a couple of passports...and Miles.
And that’s enough for now. Maybe forever.