Authors: Rowan Speedwell

Finding Zach (36 page)

“Unless you live under a rock—and I think history has shown that MIT students live very much in the world—” another laugh of approval, “you know about my son Zach. It was technology that helped us find him five, nearly six, years ago when the world believed—when I believed—him dead. Technology that drew on inventions and developments pioneered here and at other schools. Technology that shows the truth of what we do: that whatever the plan or process or product, what we do affects what we become and defines what we are. The world tends to see us as ‘ivory tower’ academics, or wild-haired geniuses, or evil scientists; we may see ourselves as dedicated scholars and researchers; but one thing we cannot forget is that we are also people. We bear the same few chromosomes; we are made up of the same chemicals. We are fragile. We break.”

He looked at the students until he found Zach’s face. “But we are also strong, strong enough to survive horrific situations; and strong enough to reach out to each other, to offer a hand or a shoulder to another human being….”

“H
E
’
S
SUCH
a good speaker,” Jane whispered, her hand in David’s. The brim of her straw picture hat shadowed her blue eyes, but they were still as crystal-clear as Zach’s as she looked up at him. “He totally hates public speaking, but he does so well at it. I’d be a nervous wreck, shaking in my shoes.”

He smiled down at her, then shifted on his hip so that he could pull out the ball cap he had stuffed in his back pants pocket, shook it out, and put it on his head, pushing his Wayfarers up on his nose. That was better. It wasn’t a particularly hot day, but the sun was fierce and he needed the extra shade the cap bill gave him. Jane looked at him and giggled. Okay, he thought, grinning back at her, maybe the virulent purple cap with the fluorescent orange “MIT” on the front didn’t exactly go with the neat cream linen suit he wore, but Zach had given it to him last night for this very purpose. “It’s gonna be hot as hell out there in the sun,” he’d told David, “and everyone’s supposed to tell their guests to wear hats. So since I knew you wouldn’t have one, I got you one.”

“Could you have found one a little more, I don’t know, gaudy? This is awful conservative,” David had replied dryly. Zach had laughed, and kissed him, and one thing led to another, and all in all it was a pretty nice reunion. Zach had come pretty far in the last couple of years. There had been times after the article had been published that Zach had backslid into reclusiveness and fear and belligerence, and he still had plenty of hang-ups that he was still working out, but being on his own and among his peers here had given him a lot more confidence, just as David had promised him when he’d left on his own that first year. He’d been terrified even to get on the plane, and it had taken all of David’s resolve to let him go alone. David had cried, and so had Jane, and Richard had held onto both of them as they watched Zach walk down the terminal on his own. It had had horrible echoes of that plane trip to Costa Rica. And Hell, and points south.

But this time it was okay. This time he’d gotten to where he was going, and after a few hysterical phone calls, had settled into life as an undergraduate. He’d even gotten to the point of being able to tease David about running off with some hot young science geek. But he hadn’t. When he’d come home for holidays and on break, it was always to David.

And last night, David had given a graduation gift to Zach, in a sense—a new job for David at Foothill College in Palo Alto, and a lease on a townhouse in Mountain View, for the both of them. An easy commute for David to school, and Zach to Stanford, where he’d be pursuing a graduate degree with a concentration in nanoscience. School for Zach, and mountains for David. The Santa Cruz range wasn’t exactly the Rockies, but then, the Rockies didn’t have surf spots within an hour’s drive. David grinned to himself. He was
so
looking forward to teaching Zach to surf. Had to keep ahead of the kid somehow….

Richard finished his speech to roaring applause and went to sit with the rest of the speakers. Jane let out a long sigh. “Well, that was good,” she said in relief. “He did a nice job.”

“Yep,” David said. He put his arm around Jane and squeezed gently. “Both of them. And you. You did a nice job too.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Jane said, smiling up at him. “But today… no. Not today.”

T
HE
Massachusetts sun is warm on my face and hands, and a cool breeze stirs the tassels on the caps of the students in front of me. I listen to the speeches and try not to react when my father mentions me. It’s a good speech, despite that. The memories it brings back are ones I’ve come to terms with. And the listeners seem to enjoy it.

Then the speeches are suddenly done and names are being called. The time passes in a blur until suddenly I’m standing at the edge of the stage, and the university president is calling, “Zachary John Tyler.” It takes a second, but then I realize it’s me.

I’m not sure for a moment as I walk across the stage to shake his hand that it’s actually real. That these past few years weren’t a dream. That I won’t still wake in the cage that still occasionally haunts my nightmares. But it’s real, all of it. The stage floor squeaks quietly as I walk across it, the president’s hand is slightly damp from all the warm palms that have pressed it before, the leather of the diploma case he hands me is padded and soft in my fingers. The roar of the students chanting, “Zach! Zach! Zach!’ is a shocker; I turn in surprise and see them on their feet, grinning in approval.

I guess I’ve made friends here. That’s good.

I step down from the stage and return to my seat, to let the rest have their moment. It’s good I’m at the end of the alphabet; it’s not much later that the final benediction closes the ceremony. My heart is too full, and I’m afraid I’ll start to cry. Already some of my female classmates are in tears.

I will miss them. Miss here. But I’ve got a graduate spot at Stanford waiting for me, and I’m excited about that too. I want to try California. I want to learn to surf.

The final congratulations and then the air is filled with flying mortarboards. I’d always thought that tradition was kind of stupid, but here I am, caught up in the moment, hurling my own cap into the air and laughing and screaming just like any other kid.

I might be older than a lot of them, but today I am just like any other kid. The thought takes my breath away.

Hugging and kissing and shaking hands, my classmates and I are gradually separated by the influx of family members hungry for their own hugs and kisses and photo ops. I’ve already arranged to skip that part of the festivities and just buy the professional photos; Dad is going to meet me at the entrance to the Court and walk with me to the reception at the Kresge Oval.

He’s there, grinning and damp with the nervous sweat he gets whenever he has to speak in public. I ignore that and hug him tightly. There’s the flash of cameras; not from paparazzi this time, but from my friends and their families. That’s okay.

Then we walk out of the court and down Massachusetts Avenue with the rest of my classmates to the reception.

I see them right away. Mom, looking beautiful and so much younger than she is; Annie, grinning like a girl; Maggie and Alex and Annabel, with Annabel’s little sister Jessamyn in Alex’s arms; Sandy and Alison, both of them waving like idiots; Mike Pritzger and Captain Rogers; Jesse and Jeff and Tai and Billy and Frankie; Brian, in this company looking uncomfortable for the first time since I’ve met him. When he sees me, though, a smile lights his handsome face. I grin back.

And then I’m walking over the sun-warmed grass toward them—no. Not toward them.

For five years, I dared not dream of him; these days my dreams are rarely without him. We’ve survived kidnappings and death and anger and sorrow and loss; months of separation and the pitiless light of publicity. David has been my anchor, my ballast, my north star. As he once promised, he has been with me the whole way, even while I was here at school and he thousands of miles away in his beloved mountains. He will be at my side when I leave for Stanford. He has been at my side through it all.

I walk across the grass in the sunlight, into his arms.

I am home.

About the Author

An unrepentant biblioholic,
R
OWAN
S
PEEDWELL
spends half her time pretending to be a law librarian, half her time pretending to be a database manager, half her time pretending to be a fifteenth-century Aragonese noblewoman, half her time… wait a minute… hmm. Well, one thing she doesn’t pretend to be is good at math. She is good at pretending, though.

In her copious spare time (hah) she does needlework, calligraphy and illumination, and makes jewelry. She has a master’s degree in history from the University of Chicago, is a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism, and lives in a Chicago suburb with the obligatory Writer’s Cat and way too many books.

Dramatic Romance from
D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS