After Eden (18 page)

“Why didn’t you answer the house phone?”

“I couldn’t hear it from here.” Also true. “And I didn’t realize I’d turned my cell off. Sorry.”

“Just keep your phone switched on, okay? I need to be able to reach you. I have to work late tonight. You’ll need to make your own dinner. I’ll see you around ten.”

“See you tonight,” I said.

Ryan had finished planting the tree. “You hungry?” he asked.

“Starving.”

“I made a picnic.” He looked up at the sky. “It looks like the sun is going to shine for a few more hours. Shall we eat outside?”

“Are you expecting the weather to change?”

“It will cloud over later on. But tomorrow will be clear again.”

“You’re becoming quite British you know—this unhealthy obsession with the weather.”

Ryan stood up. “When the sky is cloudy, you can’t see the stars. Most of the last two weeks have been too
cloudy for stargazing. But tomorrow night will be clear all night.”

Of course. He would be tuned into things like that. I was suddenly reminded of the fact that Ryan was here for a reason and that he’d only shared with me the big picture, the things I needed to know. By tomorrow evening, he would be gone and it would be too late to ask any more questions.

He came back with a blue checked picnic blanket that was still in its protective plastic wrap and a traditional wicker picnic basket, crammed with food. He tore the plastic off the blanket and spread it across the grass.

“When did you get all this?”

“This morning.” He gestured to the blanket. “Make yourself comfortable.”

He took out a green bottle and two crystal champagne flutes.

“I was going to buy champagne, but decided that you’d probably had enough alcohol for one weekend.”

“You thought right. I will never, ever, drink alcohol again.”

“So we have sparkling water with a slice of lemon.” He pulled a couple of lemons out of the basket.

“What else is in the basket?”

Ryan pulled out several different packages. “Sandwiches,” he said. “Roasted vegetables and hummus. And I made a salad.” He pulled the lid off a glass container. Inside was a salad made from cherry tomatoes, cucumber, pumpkin seeds, walnuts, black olives, and tiny grains I didn’t recognize. “And we have cherries and strawberries.”

“Wow. That looks really good,” I said, stunned. I would
have expected Ryan to be the sort of boy who’d buy prepared food from the supermarket.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “What? You didn’t think I could make a picnic?”

“It’s not that. I’m just surprised at how much trouble you’ve gone to.”

He smiled. “It was no trouble. I wanted today to be special. Tomorrow will be stressful. I’ll be working. We both will be.”

The sun was warm on our backs. We ate the sandwiches and drank the cold water and talked about trivial things: the pink and silver theme of the ball, our favorite music, Connor and Megan going to the ball together.

“It’s hard to believe that Connor is such an important person in the future,” I said. “He’s so ordinary. He’s just Connor. He’s good academically, but he’s not exceptional. I know at least a dozen people in Year Eleven who are smarter than him.”

Ryan laughed quietly. “A few weeks ago you asked me who my hero was. When I was younger, Connor was one of my heroes. For becoming such a big hero with so little effort.”

“How do you mean?”

“He discovered a temperate planet, quite by chance. Serendipity. It could have been anyone or no one. It wasn’t as though he’d been searching the skies for a habitable planet. He just happened to have a big argument with someone—you—and go outside and look up at the sky.” Ryan smiled and shook his head. “The discovery wasn’t a
big deal at the time. Planets were being discovered every week. There was just a small article in the daily paper and that was that. He didn’t go on to become a famous astronomer or anything like that. He just bummed around for a few years being spectacularly unexceptional.”

“What did he do?”

“You can probably guess.”

“From the pictures in his autobiography, I’m guessing he finally learns to surf. If I had to predict Connor’s future, it would probably be underachieving beach bum? Am I close?”

“Don’t ask me to confirm or deny,” said Ryan. “You’re going to grow up with the guy. How would you like it if he knew everything you were going to do before you did it?”

“But you haven’t explained why he was your hero. Why do you admire him if he did so little?”

“For seizing opportunities when they arose. Eden didn’t matter when we couldn’t get there. But then my grandfather discovered a means of traveling across the galaxy, and suddenly Connor Penrose was famous. He was everywhere. He was on one of the first voyages to Eden. He was interviewed on every talk show. He was everyone’s favorite dinner-party guest. He dined out on that one opportune discovery for the rest of his life. To achieve so much success with so little effort is quite admirable.”

I grinned. “There’s no such thing as a work ethic in the twenty-second century then?”

“Work for work’s sake? No.”

I sighed. “Poor Connor. To think he would have had a lifetime of cool parties and easy money ahead of him and now he doesn’t.”

“We’re not there yet.”

“I hope he finds something else. I would hate to be responsible for robbing him of a lifetime of fame and fortune.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure Connor cares too much about fame. And I bet he’ll have a good life whatever lies ahead of him. He has the knack of seizing opportunities when they arise. You may be helping him achieve even greater things.”

“Or not. It feels so unethical to be helping you ensure he doesn’t achieve the one thing he was known for.”

“Well, remind yourself that you’re helping save the lives of billions of people. I bet, if he knew, Connor would be willing to sacrifice a little celebrity for that.”

When the food was gone, I lay back down and shut my eyes against the sun, wondering what sort of magic it would take to keep Ryan here in my time. I tensed as I felt his fingers in my hair.

“I love your hair,” he said, taking a strand and bringing it up to his face. “It smells like apples. Whenever I see apples, I think of you.”

“With you it’s lemons,” I said, squinting up through the sun at him. “Lemons and metal.”

Ryan crinkled his nose. “Metal?”

I shrugged. “I like the smell. No one else smells anything like you.”

He smiled and lay back on the blanket next to me. I
could feel the warmth of his skin radiating across the small divide between us.

“Tell me about your life in the twenty-second century,” I said. “I bet it’s loads different from life here. What is it like? How did you grow up?”

“We had two homes. One in New Hampshire on Earth and one in Zion on Eden.”

“What is Zion like? Is it a big city?”

In my head I pictured cities I’d seen in futuristic films: large polluted cities with hover cars and neon signs everywhere.

“Not really. Zion is in a valley. It’s almost completely enclosed by mountains, so it can’t grow very big. The only way in or out of the city is by river. The city itself is built from pink stone, but the surrounding mountains are covered in green jungle, so it’s pink and green.”

I remembered the photograph in Connor’s book.

“I was conceived on Earth, but my parents moved to Zion just before I was born. I spent most of my childhood there. Then Dad decided we needed to be on Earth, to monitor the political mood. So just after I turned twelve, we moved back.”

“Did you have a best friend?”

“I hope I still do. His name is Peg. We were in school together.”

“A boy called Peg? Peg’s a girl’s name. Peggy. Short for Margaret.”

“How is Peggy short for Margaret?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“Peg’s a boy’s name,” he said. “Short for Pegasus.”

“Pegasus!” I couldn’t help but giggle.

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you my real name then.”

I rolled onto my side so I could look at him. “Ryan’s not your real name?”

He tilted his head in a half-nod, half-shake. “Yes and no. My full name is Orion, after the constellation.”

“Orion,” I said, staring at him. “I like it.”

“No one calls me Orion, except my mother when she’s mad at me. It’s usually Ry. In the second half of the twenty-first century naming children after stars and constellations is very popular.”

“Orion and Pegasus,” I said, smiling. “What about Cassie?”

“Cassiopeia.”

I sat up and reached for my glass of water. “And Ben?”

He laughed. “Short for Benjamin. Not everyone is named after a constellation or a star.”

Ryan sat up. He reached out a hand and touched my cheekbone, his warm fingers running slowly down the side of my face. My skin burned beneath his touch.

“But you’re unique,” he said. “You’re not named after a star or a constellation. You have a planet named after you.”

He looked into my eyes. His brown eyes were dark; I could see my reflection in his pupils. His hand cupped my chin. I held my breath.

“Orion,” I said. It felt strange calling him by his real name.

I could feel his warm breath on my face. Then, abruptly, he turned away. Something dawned on me. “Is there a girl back in the twenty-second century?”

He shook his head. “There’s no girl.”

“So …”

“I’m not going to make this harder than it already is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not going to kiss you. How much harder will it be for me to leave tomorrow night if …?”

“I understand,” I said softly. And I did understand, but it was still hard not to feel rejected. Surely if he really liked me—if he wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss him—he would kiss me anyway and to hell with the consequences. In fact, I knew that if I was the one who had to leave, I wouldn’t be able to do it. I couldn’t leave him behind. And the only thing stopping me from begging him to kiss me and then begging him to stay was knowing that he would say no.

“You know, when I signed up for this mission,” he said quietly, “I thought it would be the biggest thrill-ride. I thought I could be a hero, save the planet, meet some cool people, and then go home. I thought it would be easy. I never expected to develop feelings for the people I met. It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t want to go back.”

“Is there no way?”

“You know the answer to that.”

I remembered, miserably, what he had said about cleanup agents ensuring that the laws of time travel were followed.

Ryan jumped quickly to his feet and took out a small silver box from the pocket of his jeans.

“It’s time for your gift,” he said.

I took the box from him and lifted off the lid, wondering
what on earth he would give me. Lying on a bed of white cotton was a key.

“Um, thanks?” I said, confused.

“It’s the key to my car,” he said. “Or perhaps I should say, your car.”

“Oh my God!” I yelled. “Thank you!”

He shrugged. “I can’t take it with me.”

“I’m not seventeen for three months.”

“Let’s be honest, it hasn’t stopped me!”

“Are you suggesting …”

“Look, you’ve often said how isolated you are out here at Penpol Cove. One of the first times I spoke to you, you were walking home alone on a dark and windy night. I figure, if I teach you to drive now, you can get a bit of practice in here, and then by the time of your birthday, you’ll be ready to get your license.”

I tried not to run like an excited little girl as we headed over toward Ryan’s silver car. I unlocked the door and slid into the driver’s seat. Ryan sat in the passenger seat.

“Let’s belt up,” he said. “This could be a bumpy ride.”

“I don’t want to hear any crap about female drivers,” I said.

Ryan laughed and showed me how to check that the gearshift was in neutral before turning the ignition. The car purred to life.

He rested his hand on my left knee. “This is your clutch foot,” he explained.

If he kept his hand on my knee, there was no way I would be able to focus on learning to drive.

“The only thing you do with it is press and release the clutch pedal. Your other foot controls the gas and brake.”

He held my left hand and placed it on the gearshift. “I want you to press down on the clutch and I’ll help you find first gear.”

I pushed down on the clutch, the way he’d described, and he moved my hand into first gear.

“Gently release,” he told me, “and step down lightly on the gas.”

I did as he said. The car lurched forward and stalled.

“It’s getting hot in here,” I said, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. I rolled down my window.

“Cassie, Ben, and I all had to teach ourselves,” he said, laughing. “We had the cars delivered here to the house. We kept stalling too. In fact, we nearly sent them back to the manufacturer because we thought they were faulty.”

“What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing. It takes a while to get a feel for how to release the clutch. Just keep trying.”

By the third attempt, I managed to get the car moving. Within seconds the engine was screaming.

“Take your right foot off the gas pedal, press the clutch, and we’ll move up into second,” Ryan shouted above the noise of the engine.

I lurched forward again.

By the time I had driven to the end of the driveway and reversed back ten times, I was feeling pretty confident.

“I think it’s time for you to take us out on the road,” said Ryan.

“What if someone sees me?” I said.

“I’ve been driving along the coast road for months without anyone noticing,” said Ryan. “I’ve never seen a cop car. Miranda and Travis will both be at work.”

“Okay,” I said shakily.

I drove up the lane from the farmhouse to the village in second gear, leaning forward over the steering wheel, terrified that I would meet a car coming in the opposite direction and have to brake suddenly, or worse, reverse. Once in the village, Ryan directed me around the roundabout. Several roads radiated off the roundabout like the spokes of a wheel. I took the last exit, the coast road. The road my parents had driven along the night they died.