Still Point (11 page)

“You're on my side.” It wasn't a question.

She looked at me with sad eyes. “Why did you come home, Maddie?” she asked. “To make your father look like a monster? To ruin him?”

I shook my head. “Mom, I came home because I want the same thing you do. I want our family back together. What we're doing isn't working. Something is driving us all apart. I can sit around all day and whine about how I wish my family got along, and miss the way we used to be, or I can do something about it. Actively do something.”

She nodded and her eyes filled with tears. Her chin started to tremble but she held herself together. “I'm afraid, Maddie,” she said. She spoke quietly, like she was confessing a secret. “I'm afraid your father might go to jail for what's coming out about the detention centers. He's hiding something. And he won't open up to me. He's been meeting with attorneys every week—that's why he's out of town so much. They're already planning the defense for his case. He keeps saying he wants to protect me.” She shook her head. “But your father's idea of protection has become secrets. And I'm not okay with that anymore.”

“We'll figure it out,” I said. “You haven't lost any of us. Joe still loves you. We all love you.”

Her voice came out flat. “I only talk to him a few times a year, through a screen. That's not a relationship. I want to be in my kids' lives, not a digital icon they have updates with when it's convenient. That's not enough for me. And with you I know I can have more. I need that.” My mom looked outside, through curtains that only seemed to be open when my dad was out of town. “I love that since you've been home the windows are open. I want to open our lives up again.”

“I promise to stay close, Mom,” I said, and I meant it. I hated seeing all the sadness in her eyes, and maybe I couldn't fix it, but I could at least support her. She supported everyone. But who supported my mom?

It was such a gift, to be here, sitting with her. I used to count the days when I could put space between us, but now I basked in her company. There are so many things and people we don't notice until we are forced to live away from them. Why does closeness make us so blind?

“You grew up,” my mom said. She reached across the table and ran her fingers over my cheek, down to my jaw. “It's a hard thing for parents to grasp. One day you blink and your children are adults.”

I smiled. I wondered if my father accepted that yet. My mom seemed to be reading my thoughts.

“Your dad loves you. He's more stressed out right now than you know. Give him a little time.”

“Do you think his job will ever settle down?” I asked.

“I hope so. I fell in love with him for how passionate he was. He wanted to make the world a better place. Not very many people are that ambitious. But this is the reality,” she said, and pointed around our huge, perfect, perfectly empty house. “He's never here.”

“Somebody has a boyfriend,” I said as I jumped onto the train next to Clare. I had asked her to meet me when I saw her at the club the night before. I needed her help.

Her entire face lit up. “I've had a crush on Gabe all year.”

I sat down next to her, so close our legs were touching. The rainy mist and fog turned everything outside a shade of gray. We could hardly see out the train windows.

“Why didn't you say anything?” I asked.

“It started happening at the detention center. I didn't want to tell you, under the circumstances.”

“It's not the most romantic setting,” I agreed. “Unless you're into storage basements and eroding tunnels.”

She nodded. “I thought it would be a little selfish to tell you I was falling madly in love while you were being psychologically tortured.”

“That's sweet of you,” I said.

“He's moving up to Portland this summer,” she added easily.

My mouth fell open. Clare and I had been talking about moving to Portland together after the national vote. We wanted to be roommates.

“That happened fast.” I was surprised to feel jealous. Clare deserved to be happy.

She nodded. “When it's right, I think it should happen fast. Relationships should be easy. It's the ones that take too much work that aren't worth the time.” She caught herself as she was saying this and noticed my expression change. “No offense,” she said, and pointed at me. “I'm not trying to date Mr. Real World Avenger.”

“Got it,” I said, and pushed my lips into a smile. But her advice sank in, under the surface, and rolled inside my head. I wondered what it would be like to meet someone you connected with and fall into a relationship. Go on dates, watch movies, make dinner. The timing is right. Your feelings are mutual. Your goals fall into place. Your parents actually
like
him. Must be nice.

“Anyway, it's not like he's moving in with us. He met some guys who live up there.”

She wrapped her arm around mine and started to talk about how fun it would be with all of us together in the city—me, Gabe, and Justin. I tried to envision it, but I couldn't picture it as clearly as she could.

“Justin's going to move there, right?” she asked. “Isn't that the plan?”

“We haven't talked about it. It took him a year just to admit he liked me,” I reminded her. “Justin's more of a live-in-the-moment kind of person. I don't think he plans more than a week into the future.”

Come to think of it, Justin and I had never actually been on a real date.

“People are worth some planning,” Clare said.

“I think he gets that,” I said in his defense. “We talk about things when they happen, when they're in the present. Besides, why talk about an invisible point in the future? You're just making predictions. Justin says that people can waste their lives planning and never actually do anything. He claims nothing happens the way you plan it, so why bother?”

The more I heard myself rambling, the more I realized I was filling silence with words because I really didn't know the answer.

“He's pretty impulsive,” Clare agreed. “You might need to drop anchor on that kid one of these days.”

I felt an irritation tickle through my chest, down to my stomach. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying you two might need to sit down and discuss that big, scary word.”

I scrunched my face together. “
Marriage
? Ech. Please.”

She laughed. “Not
marriage.
The
Future.
Planning is like emotional insurance. If circumstances suddenly change, you can handle them better because at least you have some blueprints to work off of.”

“Emotional insurance—I like that,” I said. That's what best friends were for. They encouraged you to take giant leaps, but they were always there to be your parachute.

The train wheezed to a stop, and Clare and I jumped down to the street.

“So, where are we going?” she asked, and tried to match my fast stride.

“A house visit,” I said, my eyes fixed on the road ahead. Clare stopped in midstep. I looked back at her, over my shoulder. “You've done these before,” I said. “I thought you'd be up for it.”

“Have
you
ever done a house visit?” she asked. The fear in her eyes made me stop walking.

“No,” I said.

“Does this person know you're coming?”

I shook my head. “It's just a drop-by.”

She looked at me like I was nuts. “Maddie, that's crazy. You don't randomly drop by people's houses these days. They arrest you.”

I waved my hand in the air like I was batting away her comment. “You guys do it all the time.”

She shook her head. “We always contact people first. We feel it out. We do background checks. Then we meet them in person, just like we did with you.”

“I can't contact him,” I told her. “My dad's still tracking what I do online. Trust me. He'll be cool.”

She kept walking. “Do you know him?” she asked.

“Sort of. We used to be contacts, four years ago.”

She looked at me quizzically. “Why are you suddenly interested in him now?” she asked.

“I'm interested in his connections. You'll see,” I said. “Come on, the worst he can do is say no.”

She raised her eyebrows and reluctantly followed me down the street. The road ended in a cul-de-sac, and we stopped in front of the last house on the street, a small, shabby yellow cottage. The siding was dotted with algae, and green moss grew in furry patches on the roof.

The trees and grass in the front yard were faded to a light green, in need of fresh spray paint. Weeds poked through cracks in the turf lawn. I marched up to the front door and confidently pushed the glowing orange bell. Clare hung back closer to the street. A few seconds later a female voice came over the speaker. She sounded older, and her voice was sharp.

“What do you want?”

“Hey, I'm here to talk to Jax?” I said in my best
I swear I'm not a dangerous stalker
voice.

A few seconds went by. “He doesn't live here. Get lost,” she said. The speaker turned off with a clap.

I looked over at Clare, standing with her hands tucked into her jeans pockets. She was trying not to smile. She walked up next to me and I rang the bell again.

“You touch that bell one more time, and I'm calling the cops,” the voice barked. “Now, get off my property. Both of you.”

“We're friends of his,” Clare insisted.

“I don't know where the hell Jax is. Send him a message, you freak,” she said.

The speaker switched off again. Clare gave me one of those
what did you honestly expect
shrugs and started to turn around when the front door clicked open.

Large brown eyes underneath delicate lashes peered through the opening. Her eyes locked on my hair, and the guard in her face started to dissolve. She opened the door the rest of the way. Her brown hair was cut short, above her ears. She was wearing blue cotton sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt. Even her socks were blue. She looked older than us, in her late twenties.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked. “What kind of person randomly drops by? Are you mentally challenged?”

“Possibly,” Clare said, looking at me. “Your hair dye might have seeped through your skull and caused brain damage.”

“I thought you were the cops,” the girl said to us.

“Does Jax live here?” I asked.

“Does he know you're looking for him?” she asked, avoiding my question.

I sighed and shook my head. “I can't contact him digitally. My computer and phone lines are tapped.”

She groaned at the ceiling. “Oh, give me a break. Are you being censored too? Can't my cousin have a single normal friend?” Clare and I looked at each other and back at the girl.
At least we aren't wearing our pajamas in the middle of the day,
I wanted to point out.

The door creaked all the way open, as if it were stretching muscles it hadn't used in years. She moved aside, her way of saying we could come in. I walked into the living room and felt like I'd walked into a video game. The ceilings, floor, and walls were all digital screens, all littered with talking heads and moving advertisements. A few couches and chairs were scattered around the space, but the seats weren't facing one another. They were all facing screens.

There was so much commotion, I had to close my eyes because it felt like the ground was moving. A dozen different shows were on at once, and they all competed for our attention. My brain couldn't separate all the things I was hearing, not to mention the lights flashing around me. I couldn't even focus on what I wanted to say. Every time I opened my mouth, a video or advertisement would start playing.

The hug machine is on sale now! It's a must-have for your family. This cuddly robot's electronic textiles can sense touch. It can give hugs, hold, even read to your children! Too busy? Sore back? Let your hug machine take over. It will give your children hours of one-on-one, affectionate care! It even comes in adult sizes
. . .

A Vacuumspot wheeled around the corner and started vacuuming the carpeting around us. It was the size of a flipscreen. My mom owned the same one; you just turn it on and a sensor directs its location. In about two hours it could vacuum our entire house. Baley loved chasing after it. It was the only friend she had. We got her a robot play dog when she was a puppy, but she preferred chasing the Vacuumspot.

The girl bent down and switched it off, after it hit her feet.

I squeezed my forehead in between my fingers.

“Would you mind turning some of these screens off for a second?” I asked.

She mumbled a few commands; the shows didn't turn off, but a few of them paused and the volume was muted. I took a breath of relief. Finally, I could think.

“So, can I talk to Jax?” I asked her, but she wasn't looking at me. She was distracted by something on a screen.

“Wait here,” she said. She padded down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

“Who is this guy?” Clare asked.

“He's a DS Dropout,” I said.

Clare looked up at the ceiling, which depicted a giant advertisement for a virtual beach vacation.

“Are you sure?” she asked, looking around. “And he lives here?”

The girl sauntered back down the hall and pointed across the living room to two glass doors covered in digital curtains. “Through that door. Take the path through the backyard. Next time, use his entrance.” She said a few more commands, speaking some kind of robot language, and the volume snapped back on.

She dragged her feet down the hall without saying goodbye. Clare and I walked to the back door and opened it, careful not to displace the digital curtains. When we walked outside, we both stalled on the back porch. Tall pine trees stretched across the entire yard. It looked like a forest my parents used to show me in pictures, before cities switched to synthetic trees. The trees were young, their trunks not very wide yet, but they were real. The new growth of needles made the branches look like someone had dipped the ends of them in neon green paint. I touched the baby needles, and they were as soft as feathers. They made the air smell crisp.