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“He knew this was going to happen. And it means he didn’t do anything to stop it,” Ethan said. Lucy closed her eyes and felt the letter crinkle in her grasp. She resented how easy it was for him to speak those words to her, as if it weren’t damning their father with one big swoop. But then he added, “And worse than that…”

“Please don’t say it,” Lucy said quickly, her anger rising. “I’m not ready yet.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she waved her hand in front of him and made a shushing sound.

“I’m begging you,” she said and she blew air into her cheeks and then let it go slowly.

“Lucy, please, that’s the whole thing. That’s everything.” Ethan looked sad, but she could tell he was going to take it further anyway and there was nothing she could say to stop him. “You have to connect the dots and understand why we are alive. Right? Why our family was taken.”

“We have some pretty big blind spots. There’s no way we have all the information. I can’t make that jump with you. I can’t!” Lucy’s voice started to increase with intensity.

“That doesn’t make me wrong.”

“Just tell me the next part,” Lucy said and held the paper out. “Tell me what he said. Where we’re supposed to go.”

Ethan looked confused. “There’s no other message. I’ve told you everything I know.”

Lucy cocked her head at him. “Dad said he was leaving something behind to help us and to do whatever we could to reach that place. Right? You honestly didn’t find the next clue?”

“The next clue?” Ethan asked and shook his head. “I honestly thought he was just talking about the food.”

Lucy took a deep breath. “He said, find this place and you’ll find me, and you thought he was talking about chicken quesadillas? This is why you were such a bad student,” she said, exasperated. Thrusting the paper out for Ethan to look at, she continued, “The message. On the bottom. It’s a clue.”

“I didn’t catch that,” Ethan said with a shrug.

She had known immediately because she had internalized that quote; it was as much a part of her childhood as playing with her American Girl dolls or watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas every year as a family on Christmas Eve. For a second, Lucy wondered if maybe the clue was just for her—a single nod to a shared memory. But then, she realized, that would’ve meant that her father expected her to be the one left behind and that he intended the note for her and her alone. That, she rationalized, was ridiculous.

“Wait here,” Lucy said and she flicked her flashlight back on and scooted around the observers, heading back out into the main area, through the dining room, and up the stairs. At the top of the landing, she took in a deep breath and pushed the fear of the dark aside. She bypassed her own room and scooted into Harper’s room and shined the flashlight over her sister’s books. All of Harper’s books had been inherited from her siblings and they arrived to her already dog-eared and missing pages, falling apart at the bindings, and scribbled in with crayons. The stories were unmarred, but the books themselves had seen better days before traveling down to the youngest King.

And yet their soiled appearances had not stopped Harper from devouring them just like her brothers and sister before her.

Finally, after a prolonged search, Lucy saw the tan binding with purple lettering. She pulled it down gently as to not disturb any of the other books on the shelf. She held the hardback in her hand, trembling.

Without opening it, Lucy tucked the book under her arm and went back downstairs. Darla and Grant had returned and moved to the couch, they formed a semi-circle in her absence and were discussing something in low voices as the candles flickered around them. Teddy devoured a granola bar and a bag of fruit gummies. He asked if he could watch television and Darla said, “No power Theodore…you know that…let’s just use our imaginations tonight.”

With a full lower lip, Teddy huffed, “My imagination is too tired.”

“Here,” Lucy said and showed Ethan the book.

The Velveteen Rabbit?”

“My mom used to read that to me,” Grant said. “It’s really sad.”

Lucy turned and regarded Grant. His mom. It was the first time he had mentioned her the entire time they were at the school. His dad, whom he lived with, he mentioned in anger. His mom hadn’t existed in conversation at all. She opened her mouth to ask about her, but Darla interrupted.

“But it’s hopeful too,” she added.

“Sad, but hopeful. Thanks Dad. Your stab at symbolism is bursting with heavy-handedness,” Ethan muttered.

“I had a bunny,” Teddy said.

“The quote at the bottom of dad’s note. It read…‘When you are real you don’t mind being hurt.’ It’s from this book.”

“I had a bunny and it died,” Teddy continued. Darla got up and sat down by her son and gave him a hug. She kissed his cheek.

“The rabbit in the book had to die, right? To become real? Or something like that.” Grant remembered as he reached for the copy of The Velveteen Rabbit and Lucy passed it over to him.

“Did my bunny become real?” Teddy looked up at his mother.

Darla smiled, “Your bunny was already real, little man. Now shush.”

“Dad didn’t strike me as a children’s book guy. Mom was always the one who read to us,” Ethan said. He reached for the book next, but Grant shied away from his hand. “Come on, pass it over.”

“Did you say there’s supposed to be a message in this book?” Grant asked, his voice tight.

“Help,” Lucy stated. “He said he was leaving help.”

“Like…maybe…coordinates?” Grant opened to an illustration of the rabbit enjoying a picnic outside. And written in marker over that idyllic image in her father’s handwriting: 42°1′16″N by 102°5′19″W.

“Oh my goodness,” Lucy grabbed the book back and studied the numbers. “He left us directions.”

“To where?”

Ethan laughed, a sardonic, quiet laugh. “Too bad we can’t just Google it, right?”

“It’s called an atlas, dumbass,” Darla replied in jest and stood up, walked over to the myriad bookshelves and scanned the titles. Finally she found a spiral-bound atlas tucked away near the door. She tossed it to Ethan who looked at it and flipped it open.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Seriously?” Darla asked. “Longitude. Latitude? Teachers don’t teach you anything nowadays. High school graduate can’t read an atlas?”

“Here,” Grant reached up and pulled the atlas down off of Ethan’s lap. “I got this. Shine the light.”

Lucy directed the flashlight over to the open book and Grant flipped to a page with a map of the United States. He marked an area with his finger and then looked at another area. “Nebraska,” he announced with a triumphant grin.

“What?” Lucy leaned down.

“The coordinates…are…for,” Grant looked around him for a pen and Darla tossed him one from the desk, “right here…in Nebraska.”

“Do we know anyone in Nebraska?” Ethan asked.

“Who knows people in Nebraska?” Darla replied.

“Turn to Nebraska in the atlas,” Lucy said and Grant turned, finding the state with ease, and he looked up the coordinates again. “This is in the middle of nowhere.”

“Brixton, Nebraska,” Grant read, squinting. “If the map is right…it’s like a two-street city. But, hey, according to the key…at least there’s a post-office. Good thing there are so many people left in the world to send letters to.”

“What the hell?” Lucy growled. “Dad leaves us with a confusing letter and directions to Nebraska. Why not just tell us what to do? Or tell us what we’re looking for?”