“Callie’s the only reason this baby exists.” Angela looks down at Remi, beyond smitten. Ready to sacrifice the world for a six-month-old. “Her courage showed me, showed so many of us, that we don’t have to live in constant fear of tomorrow.”
“You’ll be fine. More than fine. You’re a wonderful mother, Angela. This baby is lucky to be born to you.”
I should know. For the six years I was on the run with Harmony, she was the only person who tucked me into my pine-needle bed and kissed me good night. Since she and Mikey adopted Ryder, and Ryder and I were inseparable, she was like my mother, too. And now that I’m living in the little cottage behind their home, sometimes I can even pretend she is.
She ruffles my hair. “I’m the lucky one. You and Ryder came to me fully formed. Six years old, the two of you, with so much goodness shining from your eyes I was slayed. I was fortunate enough to guide you a bit and love you a lot. That’s all.”
I drop my head, resting it briefly next to Remi’s. She squirms, trying to twist free of the wrap, and holds her arms out to me.
I grin. Other than Ryder and her parents, the only person Remi will let hold her—the only person Angela will let hold her—is me. It’s like a double seal of approval.
“Can I play with her?” I ask Angela.
“Well…” Even now, after I’ve held the baby dozens of times, Angela hesitates. “You have to make sure you don’t put her on the ground. Or let her play with any small trinkets or beads. Or put a blanket too near her mouth. Or jostle her too violently. Or—”
“I’ve read the baby care manual along with you,” I say gently. “Twice. You know how careful I am with her.”
She smiles. “Yes. I do know that.”
She unwraps Remi from the fabric and hands her to me. I hold her straight above me, her dimpled thighs dangling in front of my face. She squeals and coos, clapping her hands as if to say, More! More!
If it were any other baby, I might toss her in the air. I’ve seen Laurel do that with her son, Eli, and I remember his laugh of pure delight. But this is Remi. Maybe Angela’s too protective of her, but I can hardly blame her.
I take the baby on a tour of the eating area, pointing out the various Meal Assemblers and the pantry of plastic-wrapped trays, and then give her back to her mother. Angela carefully places her back in the length of fabric. For a moment, I wish I were a baby again, so I could be as safe and warm as Remi.
“I don’t know how I would’ve made it through those years without you and Logan,” I mumble.
“You would’ve managed. You’re a survivor.” Calmer now, Angela tugs a plastic block out of the wall and begins to transfer the madeleines into it. “So is Logan, although sometimes I think you’ve adjusted better than he has.”
I hesitate, not sure I should betray Logan’s confidence. But if there’s anybody in the world who worries about Logan as much as I do, it’s Angela.
“He still hopes she’s alive, Ange. He thinks…he thinks his memory is going to come true, the one where Callie cheers him on at a swim meet. Last week, he cut his hand in the same way it was in the memory.”
“Was it an accident?” She puts down the spatula, her voice as sharp as the metal corners. “Or did he cut himself on purpose? Is he so desperate to make the memory come true, he would do anything to help it along? Even hurt himself?”
“I…I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
She snaps the lid in place and fits the block back into the wall. A hose sucks out the excess oxygen, and the madeleines join an array of other airtight blocks, designed to maximize freshness. “I’ll talk to him. It’s not healthy for him to dwell so much on the past. We have to focus on today. And prepare ourselves for what tomorrow will bring.”
The words are strong and sure, but her voice wavers. Like the ripples that expand from a single stone, the trembling gets bigger and bigger until her voice cracks. And I know she’s no longer thinking about Logan.
I touch the soft black down on Remi’s head. “Keep her away from those cliffs, okay?”
“Are you kidding?” Angela smiles, quick and ferocious. “She’ll be lucky if she leaves the house these next eighteen years.”
The door opens, and Ryder swaggers into the room. He does a double take at the cookies. Recovering quickly, he sweeps up half a dozen with one hand. “Who aren’t you letting out of the house? Is that why you made so many cookies? Because we’re stuck inside?”
Angela swats him on the shoulder, the way she used to when he was a little kid. Except now, he towers over her by half a foot, and he has to lean down to kiss her on the cheek.
“It’s called nesting,” she says.
“You should nest more often.” He places a soft kiss on Remi’s head, leaving cookie crumbs in her hair. “Except next time, maybe you could nest with red meat? Lamb chops, rib eyes, beef tartare. That would be epic.”
“I don’t think birds eat red meat,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, because they eat cookies all the time?”
Angela giggles, and whatever else, I’m glad to see her happy again, if only for the moment.
“Get out of here, both of you,” she says. “I need to figure out what to do with these cookies.”
Ryder grabs another handful, and we leave the eating area.
I take a deep breath. “I have a mission for us.”
He groans. “Another one? Jessa, your bite hasn’t even healed, and if we break into another lab, Mikey will ground me for—”
“Not that kind of mission. No more labs. I just need to figure out where a certain purple and green hallway is. Are you game?”
He finishes the snickerdoodle and looks longingly up the stairs, as if wondering if he should’ve gotten out of bed this morning. Then, he turns back to me and sighs.
“For you, Jessa? I’m always game.”
8
Ryder sends me upstairs to grab his magnifying goggles—can’t leave home without them, even if we’re just going to the storage shed—and I skip down the hall toward his room. On the way, I pass Remi’s nursery, catching a glimpse of muscles and bare, glistening skin. I halt. Wait a minute, that can’t possibly be… I double back slowly, certain I’m imagining things. But nope, there he is. Tanner Callahan in the flesh. Literally.
He’s wrestling with a large plank of wood and foam padding. And he’s shirtless. Before I can stop myself, my eyes rake over his torso, exploring every ridge and dip that my mouth watered over the day before, when I didn’t know it was him. Now, I do know it’s him—and it doesn’t make a damn difference. My mouth’s still watering.
I swallow hard. Pull yourself together, Jessa. This is Tanner Callahan. You don’t like him, remember? My brain remembers that, all right. Too bad my hormones didn’t get the memo.
“What in Limbo are you doing here?” I ask, more sharply than I intend.
He looks up, mopping his brow with a soft gray fabric. Dear Fates, is that his shirt? And if so, will he put it back on? I can’t decide what I want the answer to be.
“Making a playpen for Remi,” he says. If he’s surprised to see me, he doesn’t show it. “She’ll be crawling in a few months, and she’ll need a safe place to explore her world.”
Wait—what? I shake my head, trying to compute the information. “How do you even know Remi?”
“Mikey’s my boss at TechRA. One of them, anyway. When I heard that Angela was having a hard time putting her daughter on the ground, I offered to make Remi her very own maze. I design all the mazes for the mice, you know.”
Oh. I look at the octagon-shaped frame he’s already built. It spans more than half the room and yet fits perfectly in the space. The padding is covered with a sturdy tangerine material—Angela’s favorite color. I can’t help it. My heart softens. Remi will love playing in here, and maybe Angela will be eased into not having the baby constantly attached to her.