Astray (33 page)

“My family is leaving the Community,” Will says. He looks down at me. “My dad’s uncle has offered to help us make a fresh start. He’s been trying to get in touch with us for a long time, but I think maybe after all of this my dad was finally open to it. He’s got us on a flight to Texas tomorrow morning.”

He’s leaving?
I never thought that he would be the one to go. I always thought it would be me.

“I came to say goodbye,” Will says. The way he looks at me hurts. I’m probably never going to see him again. I’m not ready for this. I can tell he isn’t either. “I’ll always love you, Lyla,” he says, his voice full of resignation.

I want to hug him, to hold on to him for a little longer, but it’s time for both of us to let go. I look up at him, at those blue eyes of his, and all I can see is the boy I met when I was seven, the one who taught me so many things and could always make me smile. No matter what happens to him after today, no matter how far apart we are, I will carry that boy in my heart for the rest of my life. I nod at him and smile, tears blurring my vision. “I hope that you can start over, Will. I want you to be happy.”

He nods. “I want that for you too.”

He backs away and disappears into the candlelit crowd before I can say more. Before I can tell him that I will always love him too.

Once upon a time I thought my happy ending hinged on the destruction of this earth and the vision of one man. Now I know that my future is dependent on me and what I choose to believe about it.

—Lyla Hamilton (taken from her statement to the press at the trial of Alan Cross)

It’s early morning and I’m crouched beside my bed, desperately trying to find my other shoe. Today I will see Pioneer for what I hope will be the last time.

I’m scheduled to testify at his trial in a few hours. That is, if I can find my shoe. It’s there, finally, behind the stack of library books I’ve checked out from school. I fish it out and sit on the floor so I can put it on. I look around the room.

I’m still sleeping in Taylor’s room, but now it looks different. There’s more of me here than there used to be. Behind my bed are travel posters—Paris, Ireland, England, all of the places I plan to see now that I know that I can—as well as a bulletin board containing a dozen photographs of me with Cody, Jack, Taylor, and several other kids I have begun to think of as friends. After so many years spent in
isolation, I want to explore every place and possibility, to meet as many people as I can. The world is one wide-open field, and it’s all I can do not to run across it.

I breathe in, hold it, and then breathe out to try to calm my nervous stomach. I’ve seen Pioneer on TV a few times over the past few months, but I haven’t seen him in person, not since the day he was arraigned in the courthouse, and I haven’t heard his voice since the Winter Festival. His voice used to be enough to paralyze me. I wonder if today it will still have the power to do that. I don’t think so, but I won’t know for sure until we’re face to face.

The drive to the courthouse is a long one. Pioneer’s trial was moved three counties over in order to make sure the jury is as unbiased as possible. I’m not sure how it makes any difference, since he’s been national news for months, but I’m not complaining. It’s been easier to breathe these last few months knowing that he’s no longer nearby.

Cody, Taylor, and Cody’s mom—she wants me to call her Nora now—leave me to go sit in the courtroom with Jack. I’m being held in a separate room until after I testify so that I don’t hear what’s happening inside before it’s my turn to talk.

The sheriff is with me. He says I can call him Stan, but somehow it doesn’t fit the way “Sheriff” does.

My dad didn’t come today. It isn’t that he didn’t want to. It’s just that he’ll be testifying too and he couldn’t get off of work for both days. The sheriff helped get him a job with a construction company in Culver Creek. It’s not
exactly what he used to do before we moved from New York City, but it’s more than he could have hoped for, since he hasn’t had a regular job for almost eleven years. He left the Community not long after the bombing, once he found out exactly what happened to me during my recentering. Now he lives alone in an apartment near the diner. We eat dinner there together at least twice a week. He’s lonely, but neither of us is ready to live together just yet. There is a lot we have to work through on our own—and together, I guess—before we can.

My mom didn’t leave the Community. She still lives in the same trailer as before and still follows Pioneer. Her trailer is one of four still left on the property. Mr. Brown’s family, Brian’s mom, and Mr. Whitcomb’s wife live in the others. They are all that’s left of the Community. There’s no one left to lead them now that Mr. Brown and Brian are in jail too. But they stay anyway. Admitting Pioneer was wrong means that they all were—all those deaths become meaningless.

Dad goes to visit Mom, but I don’t go with him. Maybe I will someday, but for now … I can’t stand to see her keep clinging to the past. I’m not sure that she’ll ever be able to let it go, and it makes me so angry. I don’t want to hate her, but I’m pretty sure that if I see her in that trailer with Pioneer’s pictures still tacked to the wall and Karen’s shoes still tucked under her bed, I might.

The sheriff and I wait to be called. He brought a deck of cards, and we play hand after hand of gin and crazy
eights. After a while he clears his throat. “You ready for this?”

I shrug. “I have no idea. I think so.”

The sheriff nods and then we grow quiet again, immerse ourselves in the game. A little while later a woman pokes her head through the door.

“Lyla Hamilton, they’re ready for you.”

My stomach plummets to my shoes, but I get out of my chair and follow her into the courtroom. As soon as I’m inside, my eyes find Pioneer. We stare at each other. He looks the same as the last time I saw him, gaunt but intense. He’s still capable of commanding everyone’s attention. Every person in the room is watching him watching me.

My legs shake as I walk across the room. I sit in the chair I’ve been led to and wait for things to start. Pioneer leans forward.

“Little Owl,” he says with a smile. I wait for the familiar thrill of fear that always comes when he calls me this, but it doesn’t this time. I stare right at him, wait. Still I feel nothing. I look over at Cody and Jack and smile.

Without warning, Pioneer jumps out of his chair and tries to get past the table and make his way to me. His lawyer grabs his arm, pulls him back. He’s not smiling now. There’s something else in his face, something I never saw there before.

Fear.

And it’s because of me. The last time he talked to me,
he thought I was going to die, but just like him, I managed to survive.

What I say now helps determine what happens to him next, and he’s scared. He thought that he would be out of jail by now. Maybe he thought the Brethren would get him out, perform a miracle, but they haven’t, and now after what I say, and what the prosecutors are able to prove, he may be stuck in there for the rest of his life.

He’s just a man. He really is just a man after all
. The truth of this finally sinks in and I smile. I can’t help myself. Knowing this isn’t enough to calm my nerves completely, but it is enough to give me some peace.

Pioneer looks at me, his eyes widening, and I can almost see him beginning to understand. The last, thin rope of fear that’s been tethering me to him drops away, and for the first time in a very long time, I am free.

To my God, who gave me a passion to write and the opportunity to pursue it as a career. I am truly humbled by all of the wonderful blessings that you’ve given me.

To the readers who loved
Gated
in ways that both touched and surprised me. Knowing that you embrace Lyla and her story so wholeheartedly has meant the world to me.

To my agent, Lucienne Diver, who knows when to hold my hand and when to set me straight and does both with aplomb and skill. You are amazing, and I am thankful every day that you are in my corner.

To my editor, Chelsea Eberly, who has worked tirelessly to get this book ready for the world and polished into something I can be proud of. You are a rare breed of both editor and friend who can rock a red dress like nobody’s business. I love working with you.

To Lauren Donovan, who has done an incredible job spreading the word about
Gated
and
Astray
, as well as getting me gigs that I only ever dreamed about doing. I owe you a thousand doughnuts at least.

To my publicist, Sadie Trombetta, who took on the task of promoting
Astray
with great enthusiasm and mad organizational skills. You are a powerhouse!

To Jocelyn Lange, who loved this book enough to sing the creepy cult song in it to people in the Random House Children’s Books office, which tickled me to no end. I only wish I’d been there to see it. Thank you for championing
Astray
to the rest of the world.

To Nicole de las Heras, cover designer extraordinaire, who has gone above and beyond to find just the right cover for this book. Your attention to detail and care in creating something eye-catching have meant so much.

To the Lucky Thirteens, who have made navigating the publishing world much, much easier. You all have saved me from more meltdowns than I care to fess up to.

To the Gunning for Awesome girls—Natalie, Kim, Michelle, Amy, Gemma, Ruth, Corinne, Lori, Deborah, and Stephanie—you have become some of my truest friends. I am so glad we get to be on this publishing road together.

To my truly talented critique partners, Jennifer Baker, Krystalyn Drown, and Stefanie Jones, who have read and reread this book and have been brave enough to be truthful, yet kind enough to keep me from doubting my vision.

To my parents, who still give out the best hugs. Thanks for loving this very stubborn and determined girl and being the biggest cheerleaders a writer could ever have.

To Trish and Alan for showing my books to every person that steps foot in your home and buying more than your fair share of copies! I am fortunate to call you family.

To Tom, Erika, Lauren, and Kiersten. I’m overwhelmed by your continued support and love. You guys have championed my work and me and there are no words for how I feel about you all.

Finally, to my husband, Jay, and my two incredible girls, Samantha and Riley, who remind me of what’s really important. You three inspire me to be a better person every single day, and I love you with all my heart.

AMY CHRISTINE PARKER writes full-time from her home near Tampa, Florida, where she lives with her husband, their two daughters, and one ridiculously fat cat. Visit her at
amychristineparker.com
and follow her on Twitter
@amychristinepar
.