Eden (24 page)

Chapter 24: Places

Still slightly enthralled by the weird miracle that is
Celine, I sit down on the wall next to Jonas.  He turns to me and smiles.

"You're good at this," I say, sweeping the terrace
with my gaze.  The meeting has broken into little groups of chatter.  Nothing
particularly heavy was on the agenda today, and everyone seems at ease.  It's a
beautiful day, and Jonas looks perfect and handsome in the wash of sunlight,
the breeze pushing at his white, unbuttoned shirt like it would enjoy seeing
just a little more of his stomach.

He takes my compliment in stride, tipping his head from one
side to the other.  He looks out over the terrace, the sungoggles masking his
green eyes.  There's something about his face when he's wearing them. 
Something familiar and heartbreaking.  I reach out for them, to take them off
his face, but he counters my move, grabbing my wrist and lowering it onto his
leg.  We sit looking at each other, and he holds my wrist lightly.

"You and Celine seem to be bonding," he says.

I laugh softly.  "You could call it that."

He gives me a curious smile and lets go of my wrist.  I
consider making another grab for the goggles, but decide against it.  I decide
to leave my hand on his leg.

"You wanna walk?" he asks.

I nod and we climb to our feet.

We take two steps, and he does a double-take.  "Where
are your guards?"

"Apparently, Celine's in charge around here," I
drawl as I loop my arm through his offered elbow.

He snorts.  "Well, that's not surprising."

I check his face, and his smile is full of dry amusement.  We
move to the stairs, and down them, across the lower terrace then down again
into the street.  We stroll slowly, meandering, our arms linking us together,
our shoulders brushing as we lean into each other, then separating, then
brushing again.  The noise of life is on the streets and in the sunshine, but
we're a quiet, drifting little raft of our own.  I feel full and happy, walking
with him like this.  It's a perfect walk, until I consider that it's really a
parade.  We're on display, showing ourselves off to our people.  Showing them
how together we are.

There are so many things that flood into my mind.  So many
things I want to talk about—to tell him about.  To ask him.  Now is a good
time—I could try to sway him to come with me and find Oscar.  He does care for
me—I know he does.  And there is a chance it would be enough.

I glance at his face.  He's not looking at me, but off down
the street, taking in everything in that relaxed sort of way one does when
everything is good and at ease.  He looks at me now, sensing me looking at
him.  His smile is so easy.  So real and natural.  It's the perfect time to ask
him, when he's like this.  But that would bring all the weight back in.  His
smile would disappear.  Maybe we'll walk just a moment more.

But a moment, and a moment, and a moment.  It's not enough
of this.  When I let all my thoughts go—when I let them float away on the
breeze like a cobweb—there's just the filmy sparkle of their passing.  And
behind, sunshine.  Smiles.  Something warm and good inside me that I don't want
to give up.  Yes, there are tuggings and pullings and longings deep within, but
if I pay them no attention, I can just be here in this moment.  I can just feel
what it's like to be smiled at by him.

I sigh and lean into his shoulder as we walk.  He murmurs
something—some wordless something—an unimportant comment or offhand
observation.  I feel outside of language, right now.  It's the tone that's
important.  The being.

So we walk, and I drink it all in.

Forever later—an instant later—we find ourselves at one of
the warehouses with the trees.

"They're mostly in bloom," he says, drawing me
through the door.

Inside is a secret forest of blossom and nectar and
sunshine.  We walk through the rows of trees, observing their flowers and the
occasional fruit.  It's a quiet place in and of itself, and our voices are gone
for a long time.

There is a single orange dangling off the end of a branch,
right at face level.  We stop, and I caress it with my finger tips, leaning in
to smell it.  There is
something
about that smell.  My eyes flutter
closed as I inhale, drinking in the perfume of citrus.  When I draw back,
exhaling slowly, opening my eyes, Jonas is looking at me from the other side of
the orange.  A soft, soft smile is painted across his face.

And I don't want to let go of this moment.  But I have to
ask.  He knows so much more about everything here, than me.  "What can you
tell me about oranges?"

His eyebrows go up a touch with surprise.  He considers. 
"They're our main source of trade."

"Yes."  I suppose I knew that.  But what does it
mean?

"...And you like them," he adds.  "A
lot."  He takes hold of the orange and plucks it from the branch, holds it
out to me.  It rolls off his palm and comes to rest in the cup of his curved
fingers.

I look at the orange for a moment, a little chill running up
my spine.  "Yes," I say again, taking it from him and raising it to
my nose.  I meet his gaze as I breathe in the lovely smell one more time,
smiling behind the orange.  "I do."

He laughs and turns away, touching a dangling branch of
blossoms from the next tree over.  "We used to come here," he
murmurs, and though the words are quiet, I hear him well.  He glances back over
his shoulder at me, and a line has etched itself across his brow.  "I wish
we had a place just for us," he says.  "That wasn't ever anyone
else's."

"We have a river," I say, before I know what I'm
saying.  "And a spot on a raft in the morning, with the sun just
rising."

An open-lipped smile stretches slowly across his face. 
"Next time I take you back there, it will be just you and me on the
raft."

Now I laugh and move because I'm blushing and if I don't
move I might pass out.  And because there's too much pain in this joy.  And too
much uncertainty.

We walk for the door like we've made an unspoken agreement.

And all the doubt and all the questions are rushing in.  I'm
frowning, clutching my orange, and trying to puzzle out what it means.  So
maybe it's about me.  Oranges are about me.  And playing cards are about me. 
Clearly.  Lily, I correct.  About Lily.  So maybe we share a few things.  And
alligators seem to be about Jon—Jason.  Though it still makes no sense.  But
all the places are weird.  The sewer, and a random rooftop in a mess of No
Man's, and a stinking, filthy cell.  But try as I might, I can't figure out
what it means.  I think and think as we walk back toward our apartment, but
there's no use.  I know I'm at the mercy of the next clue.  Well, with any
luck, I'll dream it tonight.

When I go to sleep, I place the orange under my pillow, in
the hopes it will help trigger the next dream.  As I drift off to sleep, the
lingering scent of citrus is comforting, beautiful.  But not half as beautiful
as Jonas' arms around me.

Maybe he will come with me, I think as I float into my dreams. 
Maybe he will. 

***

In the morning, Jonas is gone.  I eat breakfast alone,
trying to remember my dreams... but there's nothing.  I get ready and head
out.  But as I'm going down the stairs, Jonas is coming up.  I stop three steps
down and consider the frown on his face, the tension in his shoulders.

"Hey," I say, waiting for him to come up.

"Hey," he says.

I turn and go back into the apartment with him.  He goes to
the kitchen and pours a drink of water from a pitcher.

"What's wrong?" I ask, though already he's pasted
on that blank-slate expression.  That poker face.

He lowers his glass, wipes his mouth, and shakes his head. 
"Nothing," he says.  "Just the same old shit."

I wander toward him.  "McCain?"

"It's nothing," he says.  "An annoyance, really. 
I don't want you to think about it."

"Why not?"

"Because you have enough."  His tone is
controlled, but it rings with something fiercely protective.  I can't say I
don't like that, even though I don't want him to keep things from me.

"I think you have enough, too," I say, stopping a
few paces from him with my hands casually on my hips.

He closes the distance between us, cupping my face in his
hands, smoothing back my hair twice before his hands come to rest on my
cheeks.  He looks very serious.  "Just trust me to deal with this on my
own.  I want to."

I lean into him like a building tipping slowly.  His arms go
around me.  "OK," I say.  "But if you want my help..."

"I know."

It's pretty easy.  And I like it.  I like not having to
think about McCain.

I slip my arms around his waist, rest my face on his chest,
and relax.  It's like a little glimpse of nighttime, right here in the day.

But he kisses my forehead and pushes me away.  "I have
to go."

"OK," I say, watching him as he retrieves a
notebook and pen out of a drawer.  He leaves as quickly as he came.  Then I'm
alone with my thoughts, again, obsessing over the lack of dreams.  I don't have
time for this, part of me says.  I can't wait.

But Lily refuses to let me go.

***

As I slip into Apollon's tent, I register two familiar
voices: Apollon, and Celine.  I freeze, almost turn immediately back, but
there's Jack in the corner, counting his nuts quietly.  If they'd wanted
privacy, they would have kicked him out.  Or just gone to Celine's, for that
matter... wherever she lives.

I stop, a few paces in, and observe.  Apollon's sitting on
the floor, his book in his lap.  Celine's on one of the crates, bending over
him, one hand lightly on the edge of a page.  "Yes, that's exactly what it
means," she says.  "It's really good, isn't it?  I think they're all
going to die."

"It seems hopeless, doesn’t it?  But you never
know."  Apollon glances up at her with a smile, then threads his fingers
through the handhold on the crate.  Celine gives a little squeal as he tugs it
closer.  He turns his eyes back on the book, clearing his throat.

"Oh my god," I say before he can begin reading
again.  "You two really are going to fall madly in love and make little
Apollons."

Celine snorts and gives me a look.  "Honey, I don't do
love."

My eyes flick from her to Apollon.

"Shut up," he says.

I smother my smile and flop down on the floor in front of
them.  I have to take a moment, because the smile keeps wanting to come back. 
I take a deep breath and finally manage, "No dreams."

"No?" Apollon raises one eyebrow then glances at
Celine.

"Is
that
what Lily did?" she muses.

I shrug.  "I guess so."

She sighs and looks away.

But no, I can't say the things I want to say with her here. 
I don't trust her
that
much, yet.  No way can I talk about dragging
Jonas out of here to go find Oscar.  But I
do
want to know her better. 
I
want
to trust her.

"What do you think about all this..." I ask,
looking at her.  "All the thing with the Sentries?"

She considers me for a moment.  "I've never been sure
it would work.  There are a lot of unknowns, aren't there?"

I nod, looking down.  "True."

"I told you that before," she says.  "Of
course, you wouldn't listen.  Now I know why."

I raise my eyes to her face, studying her.

After a moment, she gives a little shrug and half-smile, and
says, "But you've always been like that, now haven't you.  Impulsive. 
Reckless, even.  But you seem to always land on your feet.  Kitten."  The
last word, spoken softly, is almost not there.  An afterthought.  She smiles
suddenly, leaning forward.  "But I'm not talking about you."

I laugh and shake my head.  "But the Sentries," I
insist.  "What about them?  What would it be like without them?"

Now she looks at Apollon.  They share some sort of silent
communication.  Have they been talking about this?

Apollon lifts his book.  "There are no Sentries in
here," he says.  "There are no Sentries in any of the old
books."

My eyes wander to the cluster of pages in his lap. 
"And they're all going to die?"

He and Celine laugh, exchanging another look.

"Probably," he says.  "They have a lot of
things.  A lot of bad things.  I've read about some of them before, but I never
read it like it was real."

"Is it?"

He shrugs.  "Maybe."  His eyes zone out, and I
know what he's thinking about... the thing we found in the ruins along the
river.  I wonder if he's showed it to Celine.  I wonder how much he trusts her.

For a moment, I imagine telling her about our journey here. 
About all the beauty of the wilderness beyond the barriers.  About the trees
and the animals, and the open sky.  About the smell of the world without
people.  As I sit, eyes closed for a moment, remembering it, I think it is a
place I would love to show her.  I would love to see what happens to her face
when she experiences the joy of it.

But Oscar.  Yes, Oscar.  There's a thread, underneath, that
I've been trying not to hear.  We might not find Oscar, but we might be able to
make the whole world better, for all the people.  For Oscar, wherever he is,
even if he is not with us.  I take a deep breath and remember his sweet face,
his deep brown eyes.  I have two beautiful images in my mind, and I push them
together.  Oscar, and blue sky.  Fresh air, brown eyes, a mischievous smile. 
His little feet running through a green wilderness.  The sound of his voice
echoing off a vast, immeasurable distance, bouncing back at him filled with
excitement and joy.

It's so easy to sink into that vision.  So heavy.  Almost
too far to pull back out.

I push to my feet, dragging in a deep breath.  "Gotta
go," I say, and I'm out.  Moving.  Trying not to think.  There's just here
and now and ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven coconuts.  Ninety-six. 
Ninety-five....