The Brokenhearted (37 page)

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Authors: Amelia Kahaney

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Love & Romance, #Action & Adventure, #General, #Social Issues, #Adolescence

BOOK: The Brokenhearted

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HarperCollins Publishers

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CHAPTER 47

With Ford getting healthier every day and Gavin gone, I have nothing to do except pore over the
Collusion
book, looking for answers to questions that are only half-formed in my mind.

I stare at page four and read a section someone underlined:

The police, in this way, act as enablers of both the corrupt interests of the elite and the corrupt interests of the criminal underclass. And those who do not benefit from this complex exchange of money and power—the ordinary citizens of our vast metropolises—are kept terrified, helpless to change the system.

I look up from my book, my mind on fire.
Photographers will be arrested
. Batons. Feargas. Detective Marlowe. The Money.
Helpless to change the system
. I flip to the back of the book, staring at Gavin’s chart until the names begin to swim in front of my eyes.

Lily is singing softly in the kitchen, an old song, something corny about a revolution. I hear the
slish
of her knife as she dices vegetables, preparing canapés for an intimate dinner my parents are hosting here tomorrow night with Mayor Marks and Will’s parents. Will is due to be released next month from Weepee Valley. When that happens, I’ll have to pay him another visit at home to make sure he keeps quiet.

I don’t really sleep much anymore. Now that I’ve adjusted to my new heart, my body doesn’t seem to need more than a couple of hours per night, which makes it easier for me to find time to spend with Ford as he recuperates at home. I’ve gotten to know his uncle Abe and his two daughters, Sam and Sydney, on the rare times I get there during the day. Ford’s apartment is a basement one-bedroom not far from the MegaMart. We sparred a few nights ago at Jimmy’s Corner, and he lasted longer than I thought he would, and then groused at me for taking it too easy on him.

Every day, I scan the papers for mention of a body washing up on the shores of the lake. I have been rewarded with three others, two young women and an older man. Lake Morass is swimming with corpses.

My father’s shoes click down the hall, and I slam
Collusion
shut, careful to shove the book behind a chintz couch cushion before my father gets too close. I jump up, craving I-don’t-know-what from him—some combination of reassurance and distraction, maybe—and meet him in the hallway. He’s wearing all black. Even his shirt and tie are black.

“Somber,” I say lightly, trying to smile. Trying to be the girl I’ve always been, the hard worker. The future valedictorian. The one he never has to worry about.

“Headed to a funeral, unfortunately,” he says, straightening his tie in the mirror before turning to look me over, to scan my eyes for trauma as he has been doing ever since the kidnapping and my three-day disappearance. “No dance class today, kitten?”

“It’s Sunday,” I remind him. “I’m just sitting around, resting the old muscles. Whose funeral is it?” I smooth my freckled hands over his black suit jacket, plucking a stray thread from his lapel.

“Someone who worked with me,” he sighs. “Young guy too.”

“Was he sick?” Death. Everywhere I turn, there seems to be more death. Do the Fleets attract it, or does it follow everyone?

“Not that I know of. Robbed is my guess. Killed senselessly. They found his body days after the fact,” my father sighs. “Tragic, what this city has become. I have half a mind to leave here, to take your mother and you and move to Exurbia or even farther out, to some barricaded hilltop.”

His words drop into silence, and my chest blazes with heat.
Killed senselessly.

“Where did they find the body?”

I study my father’s unlined face, his upright posture, the sonic boom of his charisma. “He was checking up on our Morass Bluffs projects, and then, just,
poof.
” He snaps his fingers, pauses for emphasis. “Just like that, he washes up dead in the lake. A terrible thing.”

“Oh.” The hall goes up at a tilt, and I need to grab the wall for support. I try to focus on the light fixtures, the warm glow of lamplight illuminating the family pictures lining the walls.

The one in front of me was taken before I was born—my mother, my father, and bouncing blond Regina. I’ve never liked this picture. Regina reaches toward the camera and looks as if she’s about to howl. My mother is looking at something off to the right, and my father stares straight ahead, nostrils flared, lips pressed together impatiently.

“Who do you think did it?” I breathe, struggling to push the words out as my father studies me with worried eyes.

“I’m leaving that to the police to figure out,” he says. “Some Syndicate thug would be my guess. Don’t think about such dark stuff, kitten. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

When I don’t answer, he leans down and kisses me on the forehead. “I love you to pieces. You know that, don’t you?”

I nod, forcing my lips to curve into a smile for him.

A minute later, I’m waving a feeble good-bye as my father rounds the curve of the hallway and moves out of sight. I press my forehead against the cool wall, black splotches blooming in front of my eyes as words move through my consciousness like water circling the drain.

Recover, don’t raze.
They should be thanking me.
Schools not stadiums.
Someone who worked with me.
We will rise.
Some Syndicate thug.
Drinks at the police commissioner’s house.
Manny Marks is soft on crime
. Checking up on our Morass Bluff project.
The Money.

When the front door clicks shut behind him, I head toward the kitchen, my heart racing, beads of sweat forming on my forehead. I pause in the doorway and watch Lily’s knife move through a head of cabbage, slicing it again and again until it’s in shreds.

“Hey, Ant,” she calls out as I move through the kitchen. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

I shake my head and smile, though inside I am a ticking bomb.

“Just looking around for something I lost,” I murmur.

Then I reach the narrow staircase to my father’s office on the lower floor. I don’t bother switching on the light. I grab hold of the banister and force my shaking legs to take me downward, into the dark.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My enormous gratitude goes out to everyone who helped shepherd this book into the world:

To the certified genius Sara Shandler, for teaching me how to write for younger readers and giving me a shot at building Bedlam City; to Josh Bank, for trusting me to do it right; to Katie Schwartz, for starting it all; and to the endlessly patient, kind and hilarious Joelle Hobeika, for always wrapping your razor-sharp notes in the softest velvet as you ushered this book into being. Thanks also to Katie McGee, Aiah Wieder, and Phyllis DeBlanche, for lavishing such careful attention on the manuscript at every stage of the process.

To my editor Sarah Landis at Harper Teen, who came back from maternity leave to work her magic on my newly born first draft, for knowing where Anthem’s story was going even when I didn’t; to the whole team at Harper, for believing in this book and giving it a home; and to my agent, Faye Bender, for your wise council and constant reassurance. You are Xanax in human form.

To Michael Cunningham, Josh Henkin, Stacey D’Erasmo, Susan Choi, Mary Morris, Ellen Tremper, Elaine Brooks and everyone at the Brooklyn College MFA program for early encouragement. And to everyone at
One Story
, especially Marie-Helene Bertino, Hannah Tinti, and Maribeth Batcha, for taking this debutante out on the town.

Huge thanks to Lauren Flower, for being my dear friend and fairy godmother for the past twelve years. It’s been thrilling to share this journey with you. To the members of my writing group, the Imitative Fallacies: David Ellis, Tom Grattan, Elizabeth Harris, Anne Ray, and Mohan Sikka, your friendship, perspective, and generosity have been invaluable. Special thanks to Helen Phillips for her even-keeled advice about all things publishing, and to the future Dr. Adam Brown for teaching me the ins and outs of chimeric heart technology. And to my glamorous neighbor and friend Allison Devers, thank you for the cheerleading and unicorns as I hammered out multiple drafts of this book.

Heaps of appreciation go out to Jessea Hankins, for doing everything first and always letting me follow your lead, and to David Alpher, Mehernaz Hamsayeh, Conor Hankins, Thais Jones, Julia Landau, Jennie Litt, Shasta and Jeremiah Lockwood, Cinque Schatz, and Naomi Schultz for your friendship and support.

Thank you to my parents, Alan and Phyllis Kahaney, for raising me with a love of books and adventure and for always encouraging me to keep writing no matter what; to my sisters, Jeannie Kahaney and Cory Kahaney, who taught me everything I know about tenacity, pluck, and good wine; and to Ariel Segan, the cake maven of New York, for your enthusiasm at every stage of writing this book. Thank you to Agnes and Ivan Sanders, intrepid in-laws and treasured friends, and to Lizzy and Neil Postrygacz, Ken Misrok and Rufus Misrok for key plotting advice and inspiration.

To Ezzy, my little love who has been eagerly awaiting the arrival of this book so he can add pictures: Ta -da! Here it is. Let’s dance. And to Gabi—my love, my life—thank you doesn’t even come close. Ten years ago, you found me on a park bench and stole my heart. It’s been yours every day since, still beating like mad, unbroken.

About the Publisher

Australia

HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.

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Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia

http://www.harpercollins.com.au

Canada

HarperCollins Canada

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Toronto, ON, M4W, 1A8, Canada

http://www.harpercollins.ca

New Zealand