All Our Yesterdays (23 page)

James sighs. “Maybe.”

“Or maybe there’s nothing to find?” Finn says.

“No.” I stand up and stretch my stiff legs. “Nate wouldn’t have wasted energy telling me to come here if it wasn’t important.”

“But he didn’t actually tell you that, did he?” Finn asks.

I open and shut my mouth before I’m able to collect the words. “Not exactly. There wasn’t time. But it’s what he meant, I know it.”

Finn looks skeptical, but before he can say anything, James abruptly stands and walks out of the room.

“Where are you going?” I call after him.

“Kitchen. I’m starving.”

Finn and I follow James downstairs, and he assembles the ingredients for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. James spreads the peanut butter with quick, hard strokes that rip the bread, and after two mangled pieces, he picks up the entire loaf and hurls it across the room with a guttural cry. I jump, and Finn winces. James buries his face in his hands, and for a moment there’s no movement or sound outside of his labored breathing.

Then Finn steps forward and takes the knife smeared with peanut butter out of James’s hand. He sticks it back into the jar and collects the bread off of the floor. He dumps the dirty slices into the trash and calmly starts making sandwiches with the clean ones.

James sits on the floor in the corner of the room, rubbing one hand against his forehead, his lips moving silently as he talks to himself.

I stand frozen at the counter, so unsure of what to do that I can’t do anything.

Finn puts a peanut butter sandwich on a paper towel and slides it over to me. He puts one beside James, who doesn’t even look up at him, and then sits beside me at the counter to eat one himself.

When our eyes meet, he gives me a small shake of the head, his brows drawn close together. He’s worried. I look away and take a bite from my sandwich.

The jangle of the telephone on a side table cuts through the air, and we all start. James jumps to his feet and crosses the room to look at the caller ID.

“It’s Vivianne,” he says.

The sandwich turns to sawdust in my mouth, and I push the rest of it away.

“I think you should answer it,” Finn says.

James shakes his head. “She’s just trying to figure out where we are.”

Finn’s voice is soft. “You don’t know that, man.”

“We’ll be home in a few hours,” James says, and he stands there beside the phone until it stops ringing.

I shred my paper towel into little squares. God, why did I bring us here? Everything seemed so clear before, but now I feel muddled and ashamed of dragging James away from his family at such a time. All because of one odd conversation with Nate in the snow and a couple of letters he signed to me that I might not have even interpreted correctly. Maybe I really am losing it.

And James, he’s . . .

Finn finishes his sandwich and starts to tidy the kitchen island, replacing the jars and loaf of bread and wiping away the crumbs. “We should probably head back now, huh?” he says.

In my mind, I hear the crack of gunfire, see the blood and the scattering of people. James is
safe
here. I may not be sure of anything else, but at least I know that much.

“There are still places we haven’t looked,” I say. “We could still find something—”

“Damn it, Marina! This wild goose chase of yours has gone far enough,” Finn snaps. He turns to James. “I’m sorry, man, but she’s not doing you any favors by pretending there’s some neat solution to all of this. The truth is, the world is just a fucked up place sometimes.”

I’m not sure why I feel so wounded by the words. Maybe because they sound so true. But before I can figure it out, I hear myself flinging words back at Finn.

“No one made you come with us,” I say. “You could have stayed in D.C.
Alone.
As usual.”

Finn’s jaw tightens as the tension between us builds like gas in need of a single spark.

“He should be with his brother right now, and you know it,” he says. “Don’t take your guilt out on me—”

“I’m only trying to—”

“Stop, stop, stop!” James cries. He’s rocking back and forth on his feet, fingers clenched in his hair. “I can’t think!”

Finn and I exchange alarmed glances at the outburst, suddenly on the same team again. Thick, choking silence fills the air. I reach hesitantly for James. “Are you okay?”

“The safe.” James suddenly goes limp. “I’m so stupid.”

He rushes from the room without waiting for either of us.

“This isn’t good, M,” Finn whispers. “He’s really starting to worry me. This isn’t normal.”

“
James
isn’t normal,” I say, stuffing my own worry down. “He just thinks differently than we do. He’s fine.”

“Maybe, but—”

“No buts! He’s fine!”

We catch up to James on the third floor. He opens the door to a darkened room and flips the light switch, revealing a massive bed with a dozen pillows arranged perfectly against the headboard, a vanity littered with little bottles and brushes and a strand of pearls, and fine antique furniture in need of a good dusting.

“It’s my parents’ room,” James says, and I shiver, recognizing the room for what it is: a mausoleum. It looks like it hasn’t been touched except for an occasional cleaning since the day they died. “I saw Nate coming out of here one morning last week. He never comes in here.”

James walks to a bookshelf across from the bed and pulls at a book. A whole section of what looked like leather-bound volumes turns out to be a panel covering a small wall safe.

“Cool,” Finn whispers.

“Do you know the combination?” I ask.

“No, but Nate was terrible with numbers. He would have picked something he could remember.”

James punches in several combinations. Nate’s birthday; his birthday; their addresses in Georgetown, Martha’s Vineyard, the Chesapeake, and here. Each is followed by a blinking red light and a deepening of the wrinkles on James’s forehead.

“You have any other houses?” Finn asks.

“Don’t think so.”

James tries a few more combinations, and in the heartbeat between the numbers going in and the light turning red, I hold my breath. It’s here, I know it. Whatever it is Nate sent me to find, it’s in this safe. I see Finn looking at me from the corner of my eye, but I won’t look back at him. He may think this is a waste of time, but I’ll stand here while James enters numbers all night if I have to.

Two more combinations and the light turns green. James exhales. “Mom’s birthday.”

The handle makes a heavy clunking noise as he turns it and pulls the door open. Inside is a jewelry box, several stacks of foreign currency, and filing folders full of documents. On top of everything, one corner bent like it was shoved inside hastily, is a manila envelope. James reaches for it and holds it lightly in his hands, like he’s trying to weigh its contents.

“Open it,” I say.

He bends the brads that hold the envelope shut and pulls out the stack of papers inside. His eyes sweep across the top page, widening more and more as he reads.

“You were right, Marina,” he says.

I lean in so that I can see the sheet over his shoulder. It’s an e-mail, and I scan it quickly. I see Nate’s name, and James’s, and the bottom is signed
CR
. I check the e-mail address at the top to see who wrote it.

Chris Richter.

The three of us are so stunned that it takes us a moment to recognize the dim sound of the phone ringing in another room.

Eighteen

Em

Finn pulls the Honda off to the side of the road a hundred yards from the Shaws’ guardhouse and kills the lights.

“What do you think they’re doing in there?” I say.

“Don’t know. Maybe they just wanted to get out of the city?”

“Well, they’ll probably want to get some sleep, so I doubt they’ll leave before morning. Which means it’s going to be a long night for us.” I pop my seat back and ball one of the spare shirts Connor gave us under my head. “Ugh. I’m so sick of this car.”

“Me too. We should steal a new one soon. They’ll be looking for this one.”

“Can we get one with leather seats? And a better stereo?”

“You bet.” Finn unbuckles his seat belt. “Come on, let’s get out of here for a while.”

“What?”

He opens his door, which lets a frigid blast of air into the car. “Hurry up!”

“It’s freezing!” I say, but I’m already zipping up my hoodie as far as it will go and climbing out of the car.

Finn hops up onto the hood and offers me a hand. “It’s nice and toasty up here.”

“You are such a weirdo.” But I climb onto the hood next to him. It
is
warm, from hours of the engine running and heating the metal. He lies back, folding his hands under his head, and I do, too.

The stars are shocking. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them, and I swear they’ve multiplied in my absence. Out here, away from the city, they’re like tiny explosions of light. Thousands of diamonds lodged in the atmosphere.

“Wow,” I whisper.

“Yeah. I’d forgotten they were so
bright
.”

We sit in silence, staring up at the sky, and after a few minutes Finn takes my hand and rubs it in his own to warm it.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

“Connor’s pancakes.”

“Mmm. And hot chocolate.”

“Oh God,” he groans. “I could kill you for making me think of hot chocolate right now. I’d do anything for some of that.”

“You started it with your pancake talk!”

“You asked! And besides—”

The world spins underneath me, and the rest of what Finn says gets lost. I know what it is now, but I’m not sure if that makes it easier to take or even more terrifying. I just have time to grip Finn’s hand before the chain wraps itself around my middle and yanks me out of the present.

It’s dark, only the faintest blue safety light from the hallway creeping in through the window of my cell door. Taminez, one of our usual night guards, turned the lights out a long time ago, but I haven’t been able to sleep.

Finn, of course, has been out for hours. The jerk.

I hear footsteps outside and sit up on my cot. A soldier I don’t recognize slides open my cell door, and the doctor walks in.

“Thanks, Greggson,” he says. “You can leave us.”

So it’s going to be one of those nights.

The soldier salutes and shuts the door behind him. The doctor sits down on the floor of my cell, facing me. It’s strange to see him there on the concrete floor in his white lab coat and expensive slacks, looking up at me. It makes him look small. I pull the blanket tighter around myself and wait.

His eyes drop to his lap. “I miss you, Marina.”

I hate these nights. I think I hate them more than anything else.

“I’m right here,” I say. “You’re the one who’s gone.”

“I understand, you know, why you hate me.” He examines his hands closely. “I’ve done terrible things.”

“Do you want my forgiveness? Is that why you came here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He takes a shaky breath. My God, is he crying? “Maybe I just needed to be with a friend tonight.”

“I’m not your friend,” I say. “You can hold me here forever and confide in me every night, but I’ll never be your friend again.”

“Marina, it’s not like you think,” he says, and the desperation in his voice is palpable now. “If you knew what I know . . . It requires some terrible sacrifice, but we’re doing good things—”

“I’m tired. Can I go back to sleep now?”

He reaches for me. “Please, I
need
you to understand—”

“Good night, doctor.”

His hand hovers in midair, trembling, and falls to his side. He moves like an old man as he gets to his feet and knocks on the door to be let out. The soldier I don’t know reappears and slides the door open.

The soldier I don’t know.

“Where’s Taminez?” I say. “It’s his shift.”

The doctor stops but doesn’t look at me.

My stomach clenches. I suddenly realize why the doctor is here. “Oh God. What did you send him back to do?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” the doctor says, and the door closes behind him with a clang.

“Em!”

I blink and inhale. The world rights itself, and I see stars, real ones.

“Em, wake up!” Finn’s voice is choked. “You’re breaking my fingers.”

I feel Finn’s hand in mine. I’m squeezing it with all of my strength. I drop it, and he cradles the appendage to his chest.

“Damn, girl,” he says. “When did you get so freakishly strong?”

“I-I’m sorry.” I push myself into a sitting position and rub my eyes. The memory may have been a brief one, but the effects of it are lingering the longest. I can still feel the dread in the pit of my stomach and see the shadow of my cell walls in front of my eyes.