His tone, his words, the frown on his face—Maxine knew. She read the truth between the lies, between the softness of his voice, from the way Huck looked at the ground, his fists in tiny balls at his side. She knew because of the whispers and the stares and the pitying strangers.
“Look at me,” Maxine said to Huck. She sidestepped Gordy and a guard swooped in, pushing her back away from the leader. “If you have something to tell me, then you tell me. Don’t stand there and act like I don’t deserve to know the truth. Don’t stand there and act like my family means nothing to you. You owe me more than this. You owe me honesty.”
Huck raised his head, his eyes flashing. “Honesty? The truth?” He shook his head. “What truth?” He walked away from her, and then turned at the last second. First, he looked at Lucy, then to Maxine, finally to the younger kids. “Go home, Mrs. King. Just like my son asked. Go home before everyone here learns your truth...that your husband killed a child, and then in a final act of cowardice...” Huck looked upward to the overcast sky and put his hand straight in the air. Then he whistled low and made his pointer finger swan dive. “His body is somewhere in the ocean and I have no desire to recover it. He will rot there, alone. Is that the truth you wanted? That your husband was a gutless pig? A worthless traitor who never deserved to see the beauty of my creation.” Gordy walked to his father and stood between him and the King family.
“Father—” Gordy said, his voice low.
“Dove to his death. Left you to pick up the pieces of a broken life. I hope you learn to hate him. Let the years harden your heart.” Huck pointed at her, a piece of spittle flew from his mouth.
Gordy put his hand up, but Huck shook his head and waved his son away, undeterred.
The twins whimpered and buried their heads, and Harper sucked her thumb, wide-eyed and unmoving. Lucy disentangled her hand from Galen’s and stepped between Huck and her mother. She rooted her feet firmly—her hands clenched by her side.
“You don’t get to talk about my father that way,” Lucy snapped. She felt so instantly protective. Her fear of Huck was gone, dissolved in an instant, and she saw him for the shell of a human he truly was. She took another step forward and the guards shifted into place. “And don’t yell at my mother in front of her kids. Who’s the coward now? Who’s the gutless worm?” She tried to push past the guards; she strained against their arms, her hands formed into claws, and she batted at the air.
They picked her up like she was a doll and moved her back into place.
Huck laughed. “Go home, Lucy. Take your family home. And wait until I decide what the hell I’m supposed to do with you now.” Without another word, he stomped off and slipped inside the elevator and disappeared.
For a brief second, the atrium was filled with desolate stillness. No one dared to breathe or move. It was the concierge who finally moved out from her post and approached the shell-shocked family.
“I’ve been instructed, Mrs. King, to have the guards walk you home. And, I’m so sorry, but please hand over your keys. You and your family are under house arrest. Such a shame.” Maxine eyed the woman and dug into her pocket. She flipped the keys onto the ground, forcing the woman to bend down and pick them up. “Yes, well, thank you. And have a wonderful day at—” she stopped herself, aware of the gaffe, and cringed.
Maxine turned, her nostrils flaring. “Have a wonderful day at Kymberlin?” she repeated incredulously. And then she added for good measure, “Do us all a favor and go to hell.”
When they arrived back at their house, Maxine cried for a second. She hit her head against the door and cried. But then she stopped as suddenly as she had started and wiped her tears. She took her full glass of water from the morning and carried it with her up the stairs. Every step seemed laborious and yet Maxine moved with a trancelike quality—her eyes never traveled to the children downstairs.
“Mom?” Lucy asked, running after her, but Maxine drifted upward without turning. She walked across the loft and opened her bedroom door and slipped inside then shut it soundlessly. Lucy turned and saw her brothers and sisters huddled together. Monroe and Malcolm were holding hands and Galen was holding Harper. They looked to her.
“What are we going to do?” Monroe asked.
“I’m scared,” Malcolm added.
“Is dad coming home?” Harper asked.
Galen patted the little girl’s back and shook his head. “Come on, let’s go downstairs and play for a bit.”
“I don’t want to play,” Monroe said. “I want mom. I want dad.”
Lucy walked over and crouched down on the ground. She opened her arms and her siblings rushed forward. Together they hugged and breathed as one. When Lucy finally stood up and brushed her fingers across the twin’s hair and straightened Harper’s camisole, she could feel their eyes looking to her for answers. She pushed aside her own terror and grief, and looked at those who needed her most.
She shuddered to think of her siblings enduring their father’s death without her.
“I think we wait,” she told them. She thought of Cass and wondered how to get a message to her friend; and she thought of her father. Suicide. The explosion off the shore. There were so many unanswered questions enmeshed with her grief. “But I don’t want you to worry about anything, you hear me? I’ve got this. We’ll get through this together.”
Galen had tucked Harper into bed and the twins played a board game. They did not seem committed to winning. Each one moved his piece robotically. Sometimes they forgot whose turn it was next. Eventually, Monroe just put his head down on the carpet and stared at the wall. Galen and Lucy sat and stared out of their window. It was a spectacle: the helicopters buzzed around the crash site for hours. Wisps of smoke still appeared on the horizon, but the tendrils were smaller now, barely noticeable. Upstairs, their mother was quiet.
“Should we check on her?” Galen asked.
Lucy shook her head.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door and Lucy hesitated. She did not know what was beyond the other side, but she was certain that it wasn’t anything good. Two armed guards were stationed just beyond their doorway in the hall; anyone knocking on their door would be there with authority. Her first instinct was to hide the children. Then she lamented that she hadn’t thought of plotting an escape sooner. Could she have tunneled her way to the other homes? Would anyone have aided in their escape? Were they friendless and alone?
With a deep breath, she walked over and opened the door an inch.
It was Gordy and Blair. Their faces were stern; Lucy couldn’t see the guards.
“I have nothing to say to you,” Lucy said, and she started to close the door, but Gordy was quick and he pushed the door back open and let himself inside the house. Blair followed and shut the door quickly. She slid the lock into place and scanned the living room.
“Where’s your mother?” Gordy asked.
“I’m in charge,” Lucy answered. “To get to my mother, you go through me.”
Gordy smiled. He tilted his head. “Oh yeah?”
From behind her, Lucy could hear Blair opening and shutting the cabinets and the refrigerator, checking each drawer.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking,” Blair said and she continued. She wandered to the coffee table and peaked underneath. “I don’t know, Gordy,” she said. “I’ll check upstairs.”
“What are you looking for?” Lucy asked, her voice tense.
Blair walked into the downstairs bathroom. Her voice echoed out into the living area. “Did your father keep any of his viruses around the house?” She exited empty-handed. “His lab has been stripped clean.”