Tumble & Fall (24 page)

And not the way Leo surprised her. Leo was so consistently unpredictable, it was almost impossible for her to be taken off guard. But Nick is different. He seems so stable, so … normal, that when he pulls something out of left field—like the trip to Boston, or the Swan Boats—it almost feels more exciting.

Zan stands on the dock and shakes her arms and legs, as if she’s physically shaking Leo away.
You’re not welcome here,
she hears a strange voice in her head say.
There’s no room for you anymore.
She hops the gap beside the dock, her feet landing heavily and rocking the boat back and forth. She keels forward and plants both hands on a bench.

“Careful,” Nick says. “I don’t think the lifeguards are on duty.”

“I’m a very strong swimmer,” Zan says, another sudden hiccup jolting her upright.

“I bet,” Nick jokes.

“I am,” Zan insists. She lies down on the bench, stretching her legs and looking up at the clear night sky. The orange, pointed beak of the oversize swan sneaks into her peripheral vision. It’s sort of creepy, being watched by a wooden swan with stiff, feathered wings and dark, painted eyes. “I hate swans,” she sighs.

Nick falls heavily onto the bench near her feet. She automatically inches the toes of her sneakers under his leg. She tells herself it’s for support. The boat is still sloshing against the dock, and the bench isn’t very wide. If she doesn’t hold on to something, she could fall.

“Nobody hates swans.” Nick shakes his head. He unfolds one of the blankets and lays it around them. The air is cooler on the water and she’s glad for the warm weight of thick, musty cotton.

“I do.” Zan nods seriously. “I hate them. They’re so … stuck up.”

Nick leans back and laughs. Zan giggles even harder. It’s the first time she’s seen him laugh,
really
laugh. His head knocks clumsily against the back of the bench.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’ll live,” he says, rubbing his hair with his hand.

“I’ll live,” Zan repeats. “Isn’t it funny how people say that? Like, it’s one or the other? You’re either living, or you’re not living. Are those really the only two choices?”

Nick looks up at the sky, where the stars are hidden by strings of gauzy clouds. “Um, yeah,” he says. “Kind of.”

“No.” Zan sits up, folding her arms over her bent knees. “There’s more. Of course you’ll live. Of course it didn’t kill you. But just because something doesn’t kill you, doesn’t make everything else, like, automatically awesome. What’s so amazing about not-dying? I mean, shouldn’t there be a better goal than just that?”

Nick puts a hand on Zan’s knee and looks solemnly into her eyes. “Zan,” he says steadily, tapping the top of her knee with one finger. “I think you might be drunk.”

Zan puffs some air between her lips and slaps his hand away. “I am not drunk,” she says. “I’m thinking.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth she starts laughing again. Nick joins in, and soon they are both bent over and giggling uncontrollably. She can’t remember the last time she’s laughed like this. She loved Leo, truly, with every part of her, but he didn’t make her laugh. He made her think, and want to be a better person. At least, she thought that’s what he was doing.

Zan catches her breath first and watches Nick as he settles down. The top half of his face is lit up by the glow of lanterns on the dock, and his blue eyes crinkle happily in the corners. She feels, suddenly, weightless, like she could dance all over the clear, dark surface of the pond that surrounds them. It’s Nick, she realizes. She would never be here, feeling this way, if it wasn’t for him. She’s no longer numb. She’s grateful.

Nick sighs and holds the edge of the bench with both hands. He studies the panels on the boat’s wooden floor. Zan feels her heartbeat in the strangest places, the tops of her ears, the insides of her knees. She reaches for the back of Nick’s neck with one hand, cupping her small palm around the soft line of his fine blond hair. His skin is warm, her fingers are cool and dry against it. He turns to look at her, his eyes locking with hers. His stare feels different now, like he’s seeing her for the first time. Or maybe, it’s the way he’s seen her all along, and it’s Zan who hasn’t been looking.

They lean in together, so slowly it’s impossible to tell who reaches who first. The kiss is soft, and controlled. It feels like it could last forever, like they could find a way to do whatever else they needed to do, and stay locked together like this, all the way up until the end.

DAY FIVE

CADEN

“Not hungry?”

Caden eyes Sophie’s untouched plate of eggs Benedict as he reaches into the breadbasket for a second blueberry muffin. The patio table bustles with loud conversation and requests for more home fries or another mimosa. Luisa has prepared a brunch unlike anything Caden has ever seen. It’s pure gluttony, with every classic dish presented on a flawless serving plate: pancakes, French toast, bacon and sausage. And it’s all delicious, which doesn’t help to explain why Sophie has hardly eaten two bites.

“I had some cereal,” Sophie whispers, disinterestedly picking at the crumbling edge of her English muffin. She’s wearing a sleeveless yellow sundress, and Caden finds his eyes wandering to the neat, dark shadow between her small breasts. He steers his eyes quickly back to his own empty plate.

A deep chuckle rolls up from the other end of the table, where Arthur holds court between his mother and Tobias. Seating had been assigned, by printed cards perched over the gold-rimmed charger plates, and it was embarrassingly clear that Caden and Sophie were afterthoughts, stuck at the far end with the kids and a handful of buttoned-up second cousins.

One of the twins—Ella, Caden thinks—slurps her orange juice through a straw, tapping his arm to make him watch every time, as if the outcome might be different. Caden satisfies her with a thumbs-up or a goofy smile, but finds his gaze always pulled back to Sophie. Her light brown hair is pinned up in a scrappy bun, and loose tendrils hang down past her shoulders.

Another honking laugh cuts through the tableside chatter and Caden catches Sophie rolling her eyes. He smiles. “Kind of sounds like a donkey,” he whispers to her. “Or a dying goose.”

Sophie manages a weak smile. She glances quickly across the table. “You should hear him sing in the shower,” she says under her breath. “The first time, I thought
he
was dying.”

Caden half laughs, half cringes, trying not to picture Arthur in the shower with Sophie anywhere nearby.

As brunch winds down, Arthur and Tobias are the first to leave the table. The TV in the living room is already on, the low rumble of newscasters filling the house with stalling small talk as everyone waits for the announcement. Every few hours, the Emergency Alert System has been updating them with a series of beeps and a message to stay tuned.

Caden watches Sophie as she walks through the crowd and ducks into the kitchen. He can’t believe that Arthur would keep her from her mother, especially on a day like today. Before he can help it, he sees Ramona’s face, imagines her and Carly huddled on the couch, staring silently at the boxy TV. It seems impossible that he won’t be with them. As if, whatever happens, the news won’t actually be real if he’s not there to hear it.

As the group trickles inside, Caden finds himself hesitating outside the kitchen. Through the big glass windows he watches Sophie as she pours herself another cup of coffee. She seems to be looking at things without actually seeing them, as if a part of her is refusing to believe that they’re real.

He watches as she wipes away a tear, feeling his own throat tighten, his jaw ache. He has to say something, do something to make her feel better. He puts one hand on the door and is stepping into the kitchen when she turns. She gives him a sad smile before starting for the living room. He has no choice but to follow.

*   *   *

As soon as they reach the landing, Caden knows that something is wrong.

The family is gathered around the television, and there’s a new, frantic energy. A terrible quiet. Arthur stands beside the mantel with his eyes closed. The sharp, clipped voice of the president reaches them as they’re rounding the corner of the room, and Arthur points a small remote at the cable box, hidden in a wooden console.

Caden hears his heart stop beating, feels the blood stalling in his veins. There’s a moment when he thinks they’re in trouble, that Arthur saw them last night, walking on the beach. But then he sees Aunt Sarah, her eyes red and raw. The twins, fearfully clutching their father’s hands. The older cousins are huddled together, talking in low whispers and gesturing frantically, wiping their brows, crossing and uncrossing their arms.

It’s bigger than Sophie. It’s worse.

“Shit,” Sophie mutters under her breath.

“Everyone, please, stay calm,” Arthur says after clearing his throat. “For those of us who may have missed it—” He looks up sharply at Sophie and Caden. “The rocket launch has failed. The bomb was not powerful enough to steer Persephone off course. Instead, we are to brace for an impact, potentially … many … impacts, as the force of the explosion has broken the asteroid into a number of smaller pieces. This is good news, and bad news. And, to be frank, it was exactly the news I’ve been expecting.”

Arthur straightens and lays an arm on his sister’s shoulder. “We are here, together, in this house, on this day, because we are family. And in times of … confusion, when things are uncertain, when maybe we’re feeling a little bit … afraid, that’s when family matters most. I’ve brought you all here because it’s the only way I can protect you. And nothing matters more to me than keeping each and every one of you safe.”

Caden glances around the room. Arthur’s mother holds Sarah’s hand, her soft, round chin lightly trembling. The second cousins are now still and silent, with lost, childlike looks in their eyes. Tobias has scooped the twins onto his lap, and moves his hands gently over their fine blond hair.

“The asteroid is expected to make contact tomorrow evening, at sundown,” Arthur is saying. “But there is still hope. For the past few months, I have been working with a team of highly skilled engineers to build a private bunker. It is right here, beneath where we are standing, and it is fully equipped with everything we need to survive.”

Caden watches his father speak, Arthur’s lips moving only slightly, as if he’s being controlled by robots. He is confident and strong. He is exactly the kind of person you want to be around in an emergency.

A bunker. Suddenly, it makes sense. Why Arthur insisted on showing him everything that could someday be his. Why Arthur wanted him around. He thought they were going to survive. He had a plan, all along.

“As soon as we’re finished here, some friends of mine will take you all down to your rooms,” Arthur continues, glancing quickly at George and Joe, who have appeared out of nowhere, flanking the living room doors. “Nobody can say what will happen tomorrow, and it’s important for me to know that we’re all prepared. Everything you need to make yourselves comfortable is already down there. You will be safe. We will be safe. But only if we’re together.”

There are murmurings around the room. For a moment, nobody moves, still gripped by stunned silence, frozen in time. Slowly, Aunt Sarah stands and wraps her arms around Arthur in a sideways hug. He looks uncomfortable at first, but gradually softens into the embrace. He reaches an arm out to his mother, and the three of them hold each other. Soon, everyone is reaching out, a hand, a shoulder, a hug, exchanging unspoken words of comfort.

Caden takes a step away, back into the hallway, watching the scene as if he’s not there. As if the news is not his own. A flash of yellow catches his eye from the kitchen. He looks up to see Sophie, standing at the open window, one hand over her mouth, her light brown eyes pooling with fresh tears.

Two of these things are not like the others, he thinks.

Two of these things do not belong.

ZAN

The geese wake her first, loud and brassy overhead.

Zan winks her eyes open, one at a time. There’s a moment of confusion as she takes in the giant painted swan and thinks it’s quacking at her, until she remembers where they are. The concert. The Swan Boat. Nick …

“Morning.”

Nick sits on one of the shorter benches up front. Zan drags her fingers through her tight, dark curls, attempting to tame the frizzy bedhead that’s sure to have found her overnight.

“Hey,” she says. There’s a pulsing in her brain, a subtle soreness in her joints. Nick hasn’t turned completely around, and she studies the back of his neck, seeing flashes of her hand on his jawline, his hand on her bare waist …

She closes her eyes and waits. She expects to feel something, maybe a lurch in her stomach, a hot flash of shame or regret stinging the center of her heart. But nothing comes. She feels, simply, quiet, as if the volume has been turned down on the world around her, on the constant nagging of her thoughts. All that’s left is the soft swish of the water on the docks, and the easy rhythm of her breath.

Nick takes long strides toward her. His short blond hair is tousled and there is a shallow line indented on the side of his cheek, from where it was pressed against the wooden bench as he slept. He smiles, his blue eyes warm and hopeful, and reaches for the blankets crumpled at her feet. He folds them into neat squares and tucks them under his arm. “Ready?”

Zan tries to smile back, but it feels funny, like her face is struggling to catch up. “Let me just get dressed,” she says, making a show of smoothing out her wrinkled jean skirt and adjusting the elastic collar of her hooded sweatshirt. “There we go. All set.” The joke falls flat and Zan wishes she’d said something else, something that meant something. Something real.

Nick hops onto the dock and holds out a hand for her to grab. She looks at his palm, strong and calloused from working on the boat. This is it, she thinks. This is where she should say they made a mistake. Before the spell of morning is broken. Before this—whatever it is—before it goes any further.