Authors: Cindy
Rippler (24 page)
“Have you been here this whole time?” My stomach squeezed. Did he see me crying
when I thought he was lost?
“No, I took off once Dr. Yang started fixing up my sister.”
“Where’d you go?”
“UC Merced,” he said.
I gasped.
“I rippled. I wanted to find out a few things about who’s using Pfeffer’s old lab.”
“Please tell me no one saw you,” I said, squeezing my hands into tight fists.
“Relax,” Will said. He looked at me and shook his head in a gesture of defeat. “How am I going to tell Mickie if
you
don’t take it well?”
“I’m taking it well,” I said. “This is me. Taking it well.” I released my fisted hands. “See?
No problem.”
Will smiled and continued. “I snooped around and found some interesting things. Helga Gottlieb works for Geneses Corporation. Well, they fund her research, which is almost the same thing.”
“Geneses? The ones doing breast cancer research?”
“The same. But I think they’re doing more than just that. Helga is definitely interested in the gene for Helmann’s Disease.”
“Did Pfeffer know her?”
Will shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe. But he never referred to her as one of his
colleagues, to my knowledge. I’ll have to ask Mick to be sure, but I don’t remember the name.
There were only a handful of people he trusted.”
“Dr. Gottlieb might be the one who killed Pfeffer and the others,” I said, my voice a bare whisper.
“That’s what I think. Or her brother—the guy who came to town looking for you.”
The one who killed my mother.
“Or the man they call Father,” added Will. “I bet everyone in that article Sir Walter sent
and
the dead researchers were killed by this same group. The million dollar question is whether Geneses Corporation knows what its research dollars are being used for.”
I nodded. “I wonder if Sir Walter knows this?”
“Yeah,” replied Will. “Me too.”
“The French Club trip is only six weeks away. I mean, if you’re still going.” I held my breath, waiting for his response.
“Of course I’m going, Sam.” Will’s eyes, large and dark, stared into mine. “I’m not moving from Las Abs no matter what my sister does.” He grunted. “I don’t think she believed I’d really stay here without her. Guess I didn’t believe she’d leave without me, either.”
“You’re both idiotically stubborn,” I said.
A low groan sounded from the dining room; Will and I jumped up.
“Get in here so I can kill you,” said Mickie. “Don’t protect him, Sam. I know he’s in the house. I can smell the stink from here.”
I laughed.
Will walked in ahead of me to his sister. Tenderly, he moved a stray curl off of her face.
“You’ve looked better,” he said.
“You’re still ugly,” she retorted. “Where’s Sam? I want both of you over here because I’m only going to say this once. And if you ask me about it later, I’ll say it was the pain-meds talking.”
I came up beside Will, smiling at his sister.
She took in a breath, wincing slightly. “I was wrong to try and leave. Sam, you’re family.
We’re staying here until it’s time to go to France.”
I wanted to hug her. I wanted to hug Will. I hugged my arms around myself and grinned
‘til my face hurt.
Mickie continued. “If we left now, our names would be on everyone’s lips, and we don’t want that. I saw it all clear as day when that car hit me. That accident should have been tonight’s news. Thanks to Sylvia, that won’t happen. But if Will and I disappeared, it would happen. This may not be the safest place on the planet for any of us, but I’m betting we’ll be safer here for the next six weeks than we would be anywhere else with rumors flying around about how we left town.”
“My sister
does
have a brain,” murmured Will.
“I’ll de-brain
you,
idiot,” said Mickie. “Besides, we owe it to Sam. If Hans comes after you, Sam, I’ll sick Will on him. I’m pretty sure Will’s bite is septic.”
Will chuckled quietly and took his sister’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze.
“This is home,” murmured Mick as her eyes drooped shut. “We’re family.”
I looked at Will and then at his sister. “Family,” I agreed.
Will put his arm around my shoulder and steered me out of the Yang’s dining room. “She needs sleep,” he whispered, leaning in close so as not to wake his sister.
His breath felt warm in my ear, a small glowing heat I could carry inside me.
“You want to go outside for a minute?” I asked. “Catch the sunset?” The Yang’s
backyard overlooked the west. I didn’t think they’d mind us hanging out there.
We strolled out and stood side by side, shoulders almost-but-not-quite touching. The evening was mild, unusual for late October. We stared out at the sunset, watching the last sheen of gold disappear into a purple haze over the San Joaquin Valley. I tilted my head up to stare at the sky overhead. It was grayish-bluish-purple.
“Knowing the truth about Mom’s death . . .” I paused, gazing at the vast heavens. “I’m glad I know now. There’s . . .
purity
in knowing. Even if the truth is dark, there’s still beauty in knowing it at last.”
“Sham-Sundar,” Will whispered the unfamiliar phrase.
I turned to look at his face, chiseled in the afterglow of the setting sun.
“What did you say?” I asked.
“A classmate from India told me his word for this time of evening, when it’s between day and night. He called it ‘Sham-Sundar.’ Literally, it means something like ‘the dark and the beautiful.’”
“Like the truth sometimes,” I murmured. “Dark but beautiful.”
“Like the truth sometimes,” Will said, nodding. “What’s that poem, the one they wrote on the Greek’s Urn?”
I smiled, breathing out a soft laugh. “Not on it—about it. ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn,’” I said.
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty, —that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”
“That’s the one,” said Will. “All you need to know.”
I felt a rush of joy, that elusive emotion. If I closed my eyes, I could hear the flutter of a sheet from my childhood and see the lake spread out before me. But I didn’t want to close my eyes; I didn’t need to hide in the past anymore.
“First star,” said Will, pointing overhead to the darkening canvas. “Make a wish.”
I smiled at Will, and he smiled back, and in the warm reflection of his eyes I saw myself exactly where I wished to be.
THE END
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About the author:
Cidney Swanson grew up within spitting distance of the central California foothills and learned to drive on the crazy highways linking gold rush ghost towns. She began her first novel at age eight; it started with “Ouch,” and she’s enjoyed creating painful situations for her characters ever since. Cidney worked as a costume designer, clothing designer, and kitchen gadget salesperson prior to giving it all up for literature. She obviously couldn’t hold a job, so it was probably a good decision to write full time instead. Cidney lives in Oregon’s Willamette Valley with her husband, three kids, a dog, and two cats and entirely too much rain.
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Acknowledgements
I’m bound to leave out someone important here, so I apologize in advance. I should have written these months ago when my brain wasn’t fried from spending too many days in a row nit-picking my novel. But I didn’t; so here goes.
Thanks to Deanna Stollar, the first person to provide a critique. Thanks to my Big Sur buddies Rhonda and Kristen who provided the most recent feedback. Neighbor and teacher Liz Engstrom: big hug! JMatt contributed planks along the bridge to publication. Maggie Stiefvater wasn’t afraid to give it to me straight, the good and the bad. (Maggie, you define rock star.)
Katie, Rachael, Toby and Isabel: thanks for loving it from the first, and I’m sorry you (along with Ryan and Jacob) had to endure the hike to Illilouette Creek and back. My bad.
Chris and Natalie, your support has meant the world. Jacob, your example gave me the courage to write, and for that I shall always be grateful.
