One Wish Away (15 page)

“Lyra?” Darren's smile is genuine, but tired. “What are you doing here? Don't you have work?”

“Dad's running a little late. I thought I'd keep you company?”

“Sure. Come on in.”

The guardrail I use to hold myself up as I take my shoes off comes loose and clatters to the ground. Judging by the scrapes on the wall, it's done that a thousand times before, but I still cringe.

“Sorry,” I whisper and glance to the family room where Abby usually sleeps when she's sick.

Darren dismisses it with a wave and both of us turn as a small voice comes from the next room.

“Darren?”

“Coming, bud.” He smiles and gestures for me to go first. When I round the corner Abby's eyes grow in excitement.

“Lyra!”

“Hi there, you.” I cross the room and sit down on the edge of the couch. “I heard your stomach isn't doing so hot today.”

She shakes her head and pouts her lips. She's a spitting image of Darren. Dark brown, almost black eyes, and hair. Small features. When she's not sick her eyes sparkle with excitement, like her brother's.

“We're out of medicine so we've been trying the ol' soda method, haven't we Abby?”

Abby gives a weak smile. “I don't get Sprite very often. It's good.”

I speak softly. “I can run and get some medicine, Darren.” I'm worried the issue isn't that they ran out. It's that they don't have the money to get more.

He pushes his lips together and shakes his head. “Mom said she'd grab some on the way home. She should be here within the hour.” Darren lightens his tone and moves to sit above his sister's head. “Until then, we're going to sit around and watch some TV. Join us?” Both he and Abby flash me the same smile.

“I'd love to.”

I move to the chair on the other side of the room. It's so old my butt is resting on metal more than a cushion. I've tried to get the leg rest to pop up on past visits and know it doesn't work, so I don't even try.

Abby shifts so her head rests on Darren's lap. He softly strokes her hair and within a matter of minutes she's out.

Even though the TV's showing a kid's program, Darren is completely engrossed in it. He laughs at the little vegetable jumping around and then looks over at me when I chuckle at him.

“Everything okay?” I whisper, gesturing to the little girl sleeping in his lap.

He shrugs. “Yeah. She'll be fine. She's been to the doctor a bunch of times. Just growing pains or something.” He looks at my backpack on the ground. “You'll have to tell me what I missed in our classes.”

I nod and pull out a sheet of paper from my backpack. I already wrote down everything he missed. Even asked some of the kids in his other classes what the assignments were. I wave it at him and place it on the table next to the chair.

“Thanks, Lyra.”

“You bet.”

Abby stirs a little, resituating herself on Darren's lap.

“Lyra?” I blink to clear my vision.

“Everything's fine.” I gesture to the two of them. “You're so good with her.”

“It's nothing.” He smiles. “Thanks for coming over.”

Darren continues to watch the show and I pull out my laptop. He doesn't have internet access at his house but his neighbors have Wi-Fi and they don't have it password protected.

“What are you looking up?” Darren whispers.

“I want to see if I can figure out what happened to my neighbors, the Turtens. The ones you don't remember.”

“I can't imagine that will be easy,” he says and turns back to watch the television.

And he's right. It isn't easy. I search for at least a half hour but since AIDS doesn't exist, I can't look to see if one of them had it, or if they knew someone who did. Or the real change could have been with my current neighbors, in this reality, the Webers.

With each passing minute, each dead end, the realization that this could happen to Darren creeps to the forefront of my mind. I shiver at the thought of scouring the internet to find him.

I can't control it, I tell myself. I don't get to choose the wishes.

Before I close my browser I scan the news articles on my home page. A particular article catches my eye.

Fighting between Botswana and Zimbabwe Escalates.

I bite my lip and suppress a groan.

“Any luck?” Darren asks as I close my laptop and shove it in my backpack.

“No. None.” I fight every fiber in my body to keep a calm exterior. Darren has his own problems. Don't force him to worry about things that have always been this way for him.

Darren's mother gets home a few minutes later and takes over his role. We're about to head to his room when I get a text from my father.

On my way. Be there in 10.

“Dad will be here in a few,” I tell Darren. So we head to the front yard.

Darren rests his back on the house and even though we've kissed, I'm still nervous to make the first move.

“Come here.” He reaches out and pulls me to him. I turn so my back rests on his stomach and tuck my head under his chin. His arms wrap around me. If I could stay here forever, I would.

“What are we going to do, Dad?” I'm sure he was terrified of this car ride. Of being stuck in a vehicle with me, forced to talk about our new reality.

He massages the wheel and takes a deep breath. He's hoping the silence will swallow my question, but it won't.

“Mom is back. She's
been
back for almost seven years, and we don't know why.”

“Seven years?” Finally, Dad says something.

“That's what Darren says. Does Aunt Steph know Mom's back?”

Dad shakes his head; the grooves on the wheel have to be smoothed out with how hard he's pressing his hands into it. “She doesn't know. No one knows. And for now, let's keep it that way. We need time to think, Lyra.”

My throat constricts at the idea. I know why he wants to keep it secret. This could jeopardize the project he's worked his whole life for.

“Time to think? We have to let everyone know. We need to at least alter our simulations. There are a lot of things we didn't realize would change with this wish.”

Dad's eyes find me for a second and then shoot back to the road. “Our algorithms predicted most of the major alterations perfectly. There are growing pains with every project. You really want to be responsible for the end of the Cricket Project? Or at least putting it on hold?” His voice gets softer, as if he's talking to himself. “It's not worth it. We'll figure this out.”

“Not worth it? We should have all the results on the table.” Of course my mother returning doesn't compare to all the lives saved. But wasn't he in the room with us last night with Mom freaking out?

“Millions of lives, Lyra. Millions of people were saved. We're doing so much good. We can't stop. Not for anything.”

I cross my arms over my chest and look out the window.

“Things will be fine, kiddo. We've got another chance to be a family again. We'll work it out.”

I'm not so sure.

*

I still hold my breath every time I enter SEAD, just waiting for Secretary Morgan to materialize out of the shadows and pull me along in a death grip. Thankfully, that has only happened once. I wonder if I'll ever be able to breathe as I enter the lobby without looking for a threat amongst the shadows.

“We're in the same conference room as last time, Lyra. I have to run and get my notebook. I'll meet you there.”

Dad scurries off and enters the door to our office. I hear him mumbling to himself until the door closes and the whole universe jumps to life.

A meteorite flies by and even though I've done it at least ten times, I run my finger through its trail. I manage not to chase after it, which is a first. I'd rather the folks with offices not see the new intern chasing outer space phenomena.

Another meteor flies past Saturn and since I haven't paid it a visit yet, I walk over.

The nine rings around the planet are remarkable, and this replica is so exact you can even see the Cassini Division and Encke Gap. Again I run my hands through what should be 99% ice water, without the chilling sensation that should accompany it. I'm just running my hand through air. Normal, room temperature, air. But the visual display in my hands still gives me goose bumps.

I look at Titan, Saturn's largest moon and then look over my shoulder to find the planet Mercury. Yup, Titan is bigger. If Titan orbited the sun instead of Saturn, it could be a planet. It's amazing the effect perspective can have.

“Kiddo? We have to get to the meeting. We're very late.” Dad tries to wrap his arm around my shoulder and I shake him off. I'm still not okay with how we're treating the whole ‘mother has returned' debacle.

He doesn't slow his stride and I fall in behind, longing for the day I have some control. “There he… they are,” Secretary Morgan says as we both file in and someone closes the door on my heel. There's only one seat left, which my father takes, speaking to the guy next to him and spreading out loose pages from his notebook onto the table.

I wave off Carl, who offers me his seat, and whisper I'll take a place in the back.

“Okay.” Secretary Morgan stands and lets out a big sigh, taking in everyone around the room. “I trust you all had a fine weekend?”

We do what scientists do best, mumble and nod. No time for small talk.

Morgan nods. “All right then. Mine was fine too, thanks for asking.”

I can't help but chuckle. A few of the scientists in front of me spin to see why I'm amused. By their confused looks, it seems like something like a joke would be difficult to explain.

“Okay, first thing's first. What do we think about the AIDS wish?” Morgan grabs a seat, signaling he'd prefer others take the floor.

I look to my father who is taping his fingers on the table. The muscles in my back tense as I realize he's wearing his wedding ring again. I thought for sure he'd gotten rid of it. I suppose he would have to wear it since Mom is back. What else is he supposed to do?

It's not the fact Mom is back that has me worried. It's that
no one
predicted that. I wonder if another wish would make her disappear again? Or go somewhere else.

But if it's that easy for her to vanish or return, it could be the same for Darren. The pressure behind my eyes builds as I think about approaching his driveway, waiting next to the mailbox, only to find he's moved. Never to see those soft brown eyes. Hear his calm, assuring words.

I'm so lost in my thoughts I haven't paid attention to the debriefing. Morgan is saying something about “monitoring the situation” by the time I've risen out of my fog.

Standing, Morgan addresses the room. “That was a great discussion. Thank you. We've many notes to take away from this meeting. Things we have to follow up on. But I think everyone in this room can agree the world is better off now than it was before this wish. Are there some unforeseen changes? Yes. But these changes, like the situation in Botswana, are things we can deal with. And we always have the Cricket Project to make immediate adjustments if a reality turns out completely different than planned.”

Morgan claps his hands. “So, on that note, let's decide on the next wish.”

Every person in the room sits straighter, turning so they face the Secretary. My stomach clenches at the interest they have in this project, even though they admit we can't predict all the outcomes of a given wish. The only thing I can conclude is they're desperate for more data. More wishes could give them a better model for predicting effects. But this is so much more than science. These are people's lives.

I focus on Secretary Morgan. “Again. It's hard to zero in on one wish, but the White House would like the next one to focus on world peace, to bring our boys home to their families.”

“And girls,” Iris adds coolly a few seats down.

“Excuse me?” Secretary Morgan asks, placing both fists on the table and leaning towards us.

“You said, bring our
boys
home. Women fight too, Secretary.”

“Of course they do, Dr. Shepherd. It's a figure of speech.”

Iris crosses her arms over her chest. “I'm just saying.”

The Secretary looks a bit amused as he continues.

“We're going to focus on the war in Syria. Focus on ending it. Bring us one step closer to world peace.”

Every person around the table gives a small nod. They're not politicians. They're scientists. They have little interest in foreign affairs. Few care exactly what we wish for as long as it moves the world in the right direction and gives them a better understanding of what the Cricket Project can do. It's starting to become clear that the decision of which wish to grant isn't made in this room. We're just asked to predict what the outcome will be.

Morgan continues without missing a beat. “So, the questions for those around the table are: What can we expect? What could go wrong?”

Heads spin to look at those next to each other, a few mumblings from the corner of the room. I duck my head and try to hide behind the bigger guy standing next to me. Even though it's highly unlikely the Secretary will ask me anything, he did during the discussion about the last wish, and I don't feel qualified to partake in this conversation. Aunt Stephanie is the first to speak.

“I think it ultimately depends on what the exact wish is. Do you want to kill specific people? Wish they were never born? Lock them in a prison cell? What are you thinking?”

Secretary Morgan takes a seat again, placing his hands behind his head as he surveys the room. “Which would be the most effective in establishing peace?”

A number of those sitting around the table dive to the computers to run algorithms and theories for all the possible outcomes.