The Gardener (22 page)

My mom said, “It’s true. Eve attacked him and left him for dead.”

Eve took a step back. The green suits looked at each other, seemed to evaluate whose side they should be on, and moved away from Eve.

My mom continued, “But Mason … our son”—she pointed at me—“found him before it was too late. And then he got me.”

Solomon said, “I’m already feeling stronger.”

There were a few relieved exclamations, until the gray-haired man turned to Eve. “Why?”

Eve smiled. “You people have no idea. No idea how important this project is.”

Mom frowned. “I’m quite certain they do.”

Eve laughed as she reached down and pulled a knife out of her boot. Green sparkled on the blade. “The deal is done. Once I took care of Solomon…” She glared. “Let me rephrase. Once I thought I took care of Solomon, I called my contact with the military. They’ll be here in twenty-four hours.”

Gasps turned into shouts.

Eve knelt down to the closest child and sliced through one of his silver hoses. A green, viscous liquid spurted into the air as the child moaned. The others around him joined in, launching what sounded like a mourning medieval chorus.

Someone screamed. “I need you all back there,” Eve said. With her head, she nodded toward the far back corner. “All of you, back there.”

Slowly, we all moved to the back as Eve continued to hold the knife, standing slowly. “Make a move, and someone will die.”

As Eve headed to the front, Solomon called out, “Eve!”

She turned as she backed toward the double door. “I’ll lock you all in here until tomorrow.”

The red-haired man yelled, “There are more of us out there!”

Eve smiled. “I’ll simply tell them Solomon is dead. Or I’ll tell them whatever I need to in order to stall them until tomorrow. When the military arrives, they’ll be welcomed with open arms.”

She pushed on the double door, still facing us as she paused once more. She started to say something, but just as her mouth opened, I saw a flash of red as a fire extinguisher hit her in the back, knocking her down. I ran with a couple of the men to the front. They restrained Eve as I looked to see who had delivered the blow.

Dr. Emerson held the fire extinguisher and shrugged when I raised my eyebrows. I said, “I’m sorry I said you suck.”

With a clank, the extinguisher slipped out of her hand. She said, “You were right.”

“Not anymore.”

She smiled.

As people noticed her, they approached and greeted her. There must not have been any hard feelings about her leaving, because they all seemed pretty happy to see her. Even Solomon reached out to hug her.

A few people rushed to the side of the moaning child, as everyone gathered around, the gray-haired man clapping for our silence. “Solomon wants to speak.”

Everyone went silent. Solomon said, “This isn’t over.”

I looked at Eve on the floor, surrounded by two green suits and three men in white and khaki. It seemed over to me.

Solomon continued. “I have no idea who Eve contacted, no idea how to stop the military from coming here. There’s only one thing we can do.”

People started to whisper.

The gray-haired man called out, “Project X?”

Solomon nodded.

A few people groaned; one of the women started to cry.

I asked Dr. Emerson, “What does that mean?”

She said, “I think it means they’re moving.”

“Moving what?”

She said, “You mean moving who.…” She waved a hand out at the kids. “Project X stands for Project Exodus. They’re moving the Greenhouse.”

“They can’t!”

My mom came over to me. “Mason, they have to. Solomon cannot risk the children.”

“But where? Where will they take them? How can they make another Greenhouse so fast?”

Dr. Emerson and my mom looked at each other. Dr. Emerson said, “Mason, this isn’t the only Greenhouse.”

“What?” And then I thought about it. The books in the green room, the books that each represented one child. There were thousands of books in that room. “How many Greenhouses are there?”

Solomon spoke up. “We have ten in the United States.”

I stumbled. “You have some in other countries?”

Solomon nodded. “All seven continents.”

Seven? How? My mind reeled. And then I remembered Laila. “Oh my god.” As I ran to her, I called out, “I need somebody who speaks French!”

A kind woman with wire-rim glasses and blond hair spoke the French words as I told them to her in English. Laila blinked her eyes and looked up at me. “Mason?”

Holding her face in my hands, I planted my lips on her forehead, then held her, not ever wanting to let go.

Mom knelt beside me. “Mason, they have work to do. We have to go.”

I shook my head. “I’m not leaving her.”

Mom scratched her head. “You have to.”

“I’ll take her with me.”

“You already know what that would do to her.” Mom set a hand on my shoulder.

I leaned back, looking at Laila. Then I thought of something. “What will happen to Eve?”

Mom said, “She’ll go with the others. They’ll keep an eye on her, but I’m sure she’ll keep doing her work. You know the saying, keep your friends close…”

“And your enemies closer.”

“Exactly.” She shrugged. “There is no other recourse. They can’t just call the police and turn her in.”

Laila said, “Where are they taking us?”

Mom shook her head. “That, I don’t know. But you’ll be safe.”

Laila looked at me. “I want to stay with you.”

I smiled. “I’d like that.”

She put her arms around my neck and pulled me so close I felt her breath on my face. “Then let’s do it. I don’t care if I only live a little while. I want to spend my time with you.”

I pressed my forehead against hers. I wanted so badly to say yes, to rip out her tubes and carry her out of there. Live all we could for as long as we could. For as long as she could.

Instead, as I felt my eyes tear up, I whispered, “Maybe they’ll figure out a way for you to survive off the machine, by yourself.”

Her arms tightened around my neck. “No. They won’t. Take me with you.”

My hands went up to her face and I leaned back. Tears started to spill out of her eyes as I felt my own start to slide down my cheeks. “I can’t. I want to. But I can’t.”

“No.” Her face crumpled as her eyes squeezed shut, and her head went from side to side in my hands. “No.” She held me tighter. “Please. Mason,
please
.”

“Listen, listen.” Sobs reached my throat and I struggled to gulp them back down. “It will happen. They’ll figure it out. And you can come to me.”

Her brown eyes were filled with tears. “Where?”

Where would I be? Dr. Emerson said there was a chance of stabilizing the organics once the kids stopped growing. So maybe when Laila was eighteen? Nineteen? I would be out of high school. But where? “Stanford. I’ll be at Stanford. You’ll find me there.” Oh, how stupid. She had no idea about Stanford. I reached into my pocket and thrust my phone into her hand. “I’ll find you,” I said. “I’ll find you.”

Before she could say anything, or before I could start bawling like a two-year-old, I tightened my grip on her face and leaned forward, touching my lips briefly to hers. When I drew back, her eyes were shut, her sparkly cheeks wet from tears. She opened her eyes and set both her hands on mine. Then she leaned forward and put her lips on my cheek, the one with the scar. She stayed there until I knew I had to move or I never would.

I whispered, “See you.” Her hands clung to mine a few more seconds, then she let go, watching me. I stepped away and didn’t look back. I couldn’t. If I had, I never could have left without her.

As I walked toward the double doors, the entire place was in chaos. Many more people had come in, and no one even glanced my way.

My mom was with Solomon, who held out a hand to me. I took it. His skin was warm. “Mason,” he said, “I’m glad I finally met you.”

I nodded.

He said, “I have to leave. But I have an offer you should consider. I want to help with your future. Perhaps even be a part of it. In some way.”

“I’ll consider it.”

I left my Mom alone to finish their good-byes.

I found my way outside to where the Jeep was parked, and leaned against the driver’s-side door, wiping my nose with my sleeve. When my mom came out about ten minutes later, her eyes were red.

“You still love him,” I said.

She nodded. “I always have.”

“Then why did you leave him, leave here?”

One of her hands reached up to pat my face. “You have to ask?”

No, I didn’t. Everything she’d done was for me. That was pretty clear. I started to open the car door and she shoved me a bit. “You’re too young to drive.”

I was still wiping away tears. “Since when?”

“Since now.” Mom smiled. “Things are going to change.”

We got in and headed for home. I asked, “Are you out of a job?”

She nodded. “Pretty much. But I’d been thinking about a career change anyway. I can teach at a college in Portland.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “Free tuition for you.”

As I looked out into the side-view mirror and watched TroDyn recede and disappear, I said, “No way. I’m going to Stanford.”

“T
HIS IS THE END OF THE TOUR, YOU TWO
.” T
HE PERT AND
pretty brunette Stanford tour guide holds up a hand to stop us, and Jack is so busy watching everything but her hand, he walks right into me.

“Watch it,” I whisper.

“Sorry.” He shrugs.

The tour guide points out the commons. “Feel free to hang out here as long as you’d like; they have great iced coffee.” She hands me a voucher. “Enjoy yourself, on us.”

Jack continues to stare as the tour guide waves and walks away, so I grab his T-shirt sleeve and pull him toward a table.

He laughs and grabs the voucher out of my hand. “I’ll go get us some snacks.”

I sit down at the table and put my face up toward the warm sun. Our spring break road trip to Palo Alto is a welcome reprieve from the dreary Pacific Northwest winter. And a nice way to gear up for the end of our junior year. I glance at my watch. We have a half hour before I meet with the football coach. Since sophomore year, I added another twenty pounds of girth and two inches of height, so my football possibilities at Stanford are greatly improved.

Students are walking to and from classes as I wait for Jack, and I enjoy watching them. After a few minutes, I notice a girl with short platinum hair almost to her shoulders, standing with her back to me. Dressed in faded Levi’s and a white tank top, she is reading the bulletin board on a kiosk in the center of the courtyard, about fifteen yards from where I sit.

The girl is tall, with an athletic build.

She seems so familiar, and I study her, every aspect of her.

The girl is tall. Tall enough?

I shake my head, trying to get a grip. It had been over a year since that day at TroDyn. I hadn’t heard anything. From Laila. Or from my father. Although Mom finally revealed the details of my college fund. By scrimping, and not touching it all these years, she’d saved enough to pay for whatever college I chose to attend. Hence the big open arms for me and Jack on our campus visit.

Mom reassures me all the time that no news is good news. I assume bad news would make CNN.

Every day, I call my old cell phone with my new one. It always goes immediately to voice mail.

Still, I find myself drawn to the girl at the kiosk.

And then I am standing, taking a step toward her.

Her hair. Too short? Wouldn’t it be longer?

I am only a few steps away, and I reach out for her. …

Jack clamps his hand on my shoulder, startling me. He says, “Dude.”

Just then, a guy pops around the kiosk, gives me and Jack a funny look, then embraces the girl, saying, “Hey, Jen.”

I clear my throat and look at Jack. “Yeah?”

Jack says, quietly, “It’s not her. Not yet.”

I nod. “I know that.”

“Do you?”

My eyes widen in a mock glare. “Yes, I do.” Then a corner of my mouth turns up. “Sue me. I can’t help it.”

We go back to the table.

Jack slides an orange tray over to me. I pick up a peanut butter cookie and take a bite.

Jack holds up a Yoo-hoo. “A toast?”

I grin and pick up the iced coffee from the tray, holding it to his bottle of chocolate milk.

Jack says, “To the end of our junior year.”

“And the beginning of our senior year.” Then I add, “May it frickin’ fly by.”

And I watch the girl and the guy. One day, maybe, that would be me and Laila. One day, maybe, not that long from now, that would be me and Laila standing there at the kiosk, hugging a long hello.

At the edge of the commons, a woman strolls by, holding a sheath of papers. She looks familiar, but I can’t figure out why. She glances my way and seems to falter.

Dr. Emerson. Is it possible?

I stand up.

Jack asks, “What?’

“I’ll be right back.” I break into a jog as she rounds the corner of a building, but when I get there, she’s gone. Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe she was never there.

As I head back toward Jack, I see a girl in sunglasses about twenty yards away, sitting in the sun, leaning against a tree. I had to have walked right past her, but I was too focused on following the woman. The girl’s hair is platinum and long, almost to her waist, and it blows lightly in the breeze. Her blue dress reaches to her ankles, her long legs stretched out in front of her. Her feet are bare. She is reading a book and in one hand, holds a bottle of Yoo-hoo. As I watch, she takes a drink. Frozen, I stand there and watch her drink again.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and stare at it. Maybe this will be the day the call goes through. With a finger, I hit speed dial. And, like always, I hold my breath and hope.

Faintly, Black Sabbath comes to me on the breeze as the girl reaches beside her and picks up a phone. My phone.

I’m halfway there before she has a chance to answer.