“I put a lot of trust in your opinions, Risa,” he tells her. “Most of the time you’re right. But not this time.”
She studies him, maybe looking for a crack into which she can inject some doubt. What she doesn’t know is that he’s all doubt—but that doesn’t change his need to do this.
“What can I say that will talk you out of it?”
Connor just shakes his head. Even if he had an answer to her question, he wouldn’t tell her. “I’ll be careful. And if I can safely get to them, I’ll feel them out, see where they stand. If time has turned them against unwinding, maybe they’ll see helping us as a second chance.”
“They’re unwinders, Connor. They’ll always be unwinders.”
“They were parents first.”
Risa finally backs down, accepting it with mournful resignation. Funny, but Connor wasn’t even sure he’d go until Risa challenged him. Now he’s committed.
Risa stands up and suddenly the gulf between them feels immense. “When your parents turn you in to the Juvenile Authority—and they will—I will not shed a single tear for you, Connor Lassiter.”
But that’s a lie, because her tears have already started.
• • •
“The house will be under surveillance,” Sonia says. “Not as much as before—after all, thanks to that Starkey person, you’re no longer public enemy number one—but the Juvies still want to take you out if they can.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“You realize how much danger you’re putting yourself in. You don’t know what your parents have been told, or what they believe about you. They might even think you mean to kill them.”
Connor shakes his head to scramble away the thought. Was it possible that his mother and father knew him so little to think he’d do that? But on the other hand, they must feel responsible for everything that’s happened to him since signing that unwind order, and might think he’d want vengeance. Was there ever a time he would have taken their lives to avenge himself? No, there wasn’t. And not just because of his brother. Even were he an only child, he wouldn’t do it. Someone like Starkey might target his own family—but Connor is not Starkey.
Connor turns the letter over in his hands. “I need to do this, and I need to do it soon. Or I’ll never have the nerve again.”
“You’ll have the nerve,” Sonia assures him, “but not the need. There’s a critical time for everything. I do believe you need to do this now, or forever hold your peace.”
He knows the worst that could happen probably outweighs the best that could happen. Lev found that out, didn’t he? He found out the hard way.
“My friend Lev—I’m sure you’ve heard of him—he saw his parents again. They disowned him.”
“Then Lev’s parents are assholes.”
Connor guffaws in surprise. Not that he wouldn’t expect that out of Sonia, but to be so blunt about it. After everything, it’s refreshing.
“I never met the boy, or his parents, but I see kids like him every day.” Sonia tells Connor. “Their world is shattered, and they’re so desperate for validation that they’d blow themselves up to get it. Any parent who disowns that boy after what he did, and didn’t do . . . doesn’t deserve to have children at all, much less a child to give away.”
Connor smiles, thinking of Lev. He was mad when Lev chose not to come here with him, but he was only mad for selfish reasons. “He saved my life,” Connor tells Sonia. “Twice now. He’s a pretty amazing kid.”
“If you ever see him again, you should tell him that. After what his parents did, he needs to hear it, and never stop hearing it.”
Connor promises Sonia—and himself—that he will. Then he looks down the stairs to the basement. He considers going down, but knows if he does, he’ll find too many reasons not to go. To reassure himself—and to remind himself of his resolve—he pulls the letter out of his back pocket. The envelope is tattered and beginning to fall apart. He takes a deep breath and tears it open, pulling out the pages within. He had planned to read it, but he can’t bring himself to do it, because he doesn’t know what emotional acrobatics his own words might send him through.
When he looks up, Sonia is watching him to see what he’ll do. “Do you need some time alone?” she asks.
He answers by folding the pages of the letter and slipping them back into his pocket. “They’re only words,” he says, and Sonia doesn’t argue.
“If you get there and change your mind at the last minute, you can always mail that letter instead.” Then she looks over at the trunk. “In the meantime, I think I’ll get all these other letters stamped and in the mail. I’ve never felt the time was right to send them. But if the Akron AWOL is going home, maybe it’s time for all of these kids to be heard too.”
“Have Grace help you,” Connor suggests. “She needs it. I’ll try to be back as soon as I can. Even if it looks like they’re willing to help, I won’t bring them back here . . .” Then he swallows hard, forcing himself to admit the real possibility. “. . . just in case they’re lying.”
“Fair enough.” Then Sonia takes a few steps closer to Connor, considering him like she might appraise an antique. “I hope this brings you some peace. We all need a moratorium on misery now and then.”
“Moratorium. Right,” says Connor.
Sonia regards him with the sort of mock contempt usually displayed by people his own age. “It means a temporary break.”
“I knew that,” says Connor, which he didn’t.
Sonia shakes her head dismissively and sighs. “It’s Sunday morning—do your parents go to church?” Until then Connor had no idea the day of the week.
“Only on holidays and when someone dies.”
“Well,” says Sonia, “let’s hope nobody dies today.”
23 • Lev
Hennessey is dead, and Fretwell will face justice. The unwinding of Wil Tashi’ne will be avenged. Lev couldn’t ask for more.
Una calls ahead so the Rez is expecting them—and intends to play it for all it’s worth. The Royal Gorge Bridge is closed to traffic for the transfer. A phalanx of guards is there as Morton Fretwell, the Arápache’s public enemy number one, is taken from the trunk of Una and Lev’s car and into police custody. They remove the gag and plastic ties restraining him, and place his hands and feet in steel restraints that seem like overkill for his ugly, emaciated frame.
Then he is walked across the bridge, in perhaps the greatest perp walk of all time. The Arápache are nothing if not dramatic.
“You and Una will lead the procession,” Chal Tashi’ne told them over the phone. “It will be a public event, and the first thing the public will see coming over the bridge will be you.”
Chal is not there when they arrive. Lev is not surprised. As an accomplished attorney for the tribe, Chal might put on a professional façade, but as Wil’s father he couldn’t bring himself to face the last living parts pirate responsible for his son’s unwinding. At least not yet.
At the far end of the bridge is a large turnout of the Arápache people. Five hundred at least.
“Don’t wave or smile or anything,” Una tells Lev as they cross the bridge toward the crowd. “Show no emotion. This is a somber event.”