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Gran peered over her glasses. “Hmm, I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”

“When I was packing, I found a piece of paper with her name on it. I never met anyone she knew named Rita.”

Gran pulled on her lower lip for a minute. Finally, she said, “The only Rita I recall was a high school friend of Ginnie’s. She was a couple of years older than your mom and dad were. I think she was related to ...” She stopped to pick a piece of lint from her sleeve. “Nope, can’t remember the name. Seems like she was another of Ginnie and Alan’s friends’ sister. As I recall, she was in one of the early groups of girls chosen when the FeLS program started some thirty-odd years ago. Strangest thing, if it’s the same girl I’m thinking of, she disappeared on the way out to O’Hare to catch the space station shuttle for FeLS training. Never seen or heard from again.” Gran shook her head. “Some thought it was her plan all along to get out of going, but I think she was kidnapped, plain and simple. She wasn’t the only one of your father’s acquaintances to drop out of sight over the next several years.”

Ginnie never told me anything like that—friends disappearing. I was sure Gran knew more stories about my father and Ginnie that I’d never heard. I stopped myself from telling her about the book and my father being alive. I needed to look at Dee’s baby book more closely first and make sure this was real. No sense in getting Gran’s hopes up if all of this was the result of some medically caused hallucination.

“There’s something else, Gran. Your name was on that same piece of paper, along with a note about my FeLS contract.”

“Ah yes, Ginnie bought it out, dear, and sent it to me for safekeeping. She was worried that Ed might get his hands on it. He has quotas to make, and I’m not sure she trusted that he would leave you alone if he was short Chosens.”

“Or if he was mad at her,” I muttered.

Gran gave me a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“Last summer, Ed told Dee that he was going to move us to the tier-five flats on the west side of Cementville. She was so excited. We all were. Then one night Ginnie came home with bruises all over her arms. Next day, Ed told Dee that because of her mother we’d be staying right where we belonged, in low-tier mods. She was crushed.”

Gran scowled. “There’s something seriously wrong with that man. Who would do such a thing? And to his own daughter. I hope he doesn’t come around here wanting to see her. Although, he very well might. He’s got his rights.” Her scowl turned to a frown.

My stomach knotted. “What if he wanted Dee as a Cinderella girl?”

“Ginnie made sure that if anything happened to her, your grandfather and I would become your legal guardians. He can’t touch Dee.” She gave my arm a squeeze. “No sense in borrowing tomorrow’s troubles, dear. Let’s focus on getting this house in order.” She bent down and took a few knickknacks out of the box I’d been unpacking. “Put these over there.”

I arranged things under Gran’s direction and the knot in my stomach loosened a bit. I didn’t trust Ed, but with Gran and Pops as Dee’s legal guardians, he wouldn’t be able to take her away. At least not without a fight.

But still, I was 99 percent sure that it had been Ed at the hospital. Which made me think he knew what had happened to Ginnie before it hit the news. I wondered if I would ever know what really happened to her. Anger surged through me. I wanted whoever killed her caught.

Gran’s PAV beeped. “Oh, that’s Harriet. I’d better make sure she’s all right. She’s not been well since they took Johnny away. You tell your sister it’s time for you both to get ready for bed.”

Lying on my new bed, an inflato-mat Gran had borrowed from Harriet, I stared out the window. Dee was across the room, asleep on Pops’s old army cot. The rhythm of her breathing was occasionally interrupted by a catch—she’d been crying herself to sleep every night, still. The only crying I’d done was after the B.O.S.S. agents left. Since then, I’d willed every tear to stay inside me. Dee needed me to be strong. And so I was.

Squeezed between the buildings across the way, the night sky provided a backdrop for a pale quarter moon. I wondered if somewhere in Chicago my father, Alan Oberon, was looking at that same moon.

All these years he’d been alive, but he’d never tried to see me or contact me. How could he do that? Even harder to comprehend was the reality that Ginnie had known the truth, but let me believe a lie. She always said that he had been her one true love. I couldn’t imagine he didn’t still love her, too. Was it because of me that he wasn’t there? Did he not want me? I had so many questions and no answers.

I knew I had to find him and give him that book. Not for him, not for me, but for Ginnie.

I tossed from one side to the other, willing sleep to come. Just as I’d dozed off, Dee’s PAV beeped. I jumped out of bed and grabbed her receiver before she woke up.

“Hello?” I whispered.

A click and then silence.

Ed.

Next morning I got up at the same time as Gran. She was in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by moving boxes, her back to me.

I’d made up my mind to tell her what I knew. But she looked so frail and vulnerable, my knees trembled and my heart began fluttering. Before I could give in to my doubts, I blurted out, “Ginnie told me my father is still alive.”

“Really?” She picked a coffee cup out of the box nearest her, unwrapped it, and rinsed it off in the sink. She usually made her own coffee in an ancient electric pot, but that morning she used the cook center. “I wonder why she would say a thing like that?”

Hardly the reaction I’d expected after telling her that her only son, my father, was alive—instead of being dead for nearly sixteen years.

“I believed her. She was dying. Why would she lie to me?”

Gran filled up her cup and pushed a button on the chiller. White liquid swirled under the surface of the coffee.

“She said that he was alive and probably right here in Chicago.” I looked hopefully at Gran. Maybe she knew already. Maybe she’d been keeping this same secret. But why?

“Nina, dear.” She took a sip of her coffee. “He drowned on the way home from the hospital the night you were born. A transport forced him off the bridge by Wacker and Michigan. His body was never found.”

The same story I’d heard a thousand times. No variation, no change. Except Ginnie had said different.

Gran continued: “She was most certainly under the influence of that Infinity contraption. I don’t know much about it, and still can’t believe they used it on anyone besides a top-tier. Even then”—she looked off in the distance, her brow furrowed—“it’s rarely used. Just in extreme cases where there are permissions to be given or a will to be authenticated or something. Unless they were waiting for some low-tier to come in practically dead so they could run an experiment.” She took another sip of coffee, making a face like it tasted bad.

“Gran. She said he was alive.”

“Nina, they were so very much in love. Sometimes, when people are dying, they seem to see their loved ones who have gone before them. I’m sure she believed what she was saying was true. He probably seemed alive to her at the moment.”

“Eh?” Pops queried from the doorway, where he had hobbled on his crutch. “Who believed what? Who’s alive? Besides me.”

“Nothing, old man.” Gran scowled at the empty space that should have been his prosthesis. “How many times do I have to tell you to put your leg on before you get up? Your thumping around on that crutch is bound to make us popular with the new neighbors downstairs.” Even as she complained, she was unpacking another cup.

“Ginnie said that my father’s still alive.” I ignored Gran’s disapproving glance. I didn’t believe her explanations—and I needed someone to validate me. I only hoped Pops was stronger than he appeared. Ginnie’d had a good reason for keeping my father’s life a secret. And I was determined to discover what that reason was.

Gran harrumphed and went back to unpacking the box of dishes.

“Alan alive? Wouldn’t surprise me one little bit, Little Bit.” Pops chuckled to himself. He took a sip of the coffee Gran handed him and attempted to pat her on the fanny with his crutch as she walked by. Except he lost his balance and nearly fell over. I suppressed a snort.

She turned back around and Pops, smiling innocently, held his cup in the air. “Best java in the world.”

“It’s cook center coffee, not mine,” she retorted, but a smile danced at the corners of her mouth. Then she frowned. “Now, don’t you be telling Nina that Alan’s still alive.” Her voice thinned. “You know as well as I do that he’s gone.”

Pops sat his cup and himself down. “I know what they told us, Edith. And I also know that he had everything to live for—Nina, for example.” He patted my hand. “And I know that he could swim.” Pops’s tone became strident. “I don’t believe anything the government says. It’s all lies.” His eyes flashed. “Just look at me.” He slapped his stump for emphasis. “They took care of me good, just like they promised, didn’t they?”

“The ravings of an old lunatic.” Gran ran her hand across her forehead. “They should’ve replaced your brain while they were at it.” She started rummaging through the boxes. “Since the cook center’s not set up for food yet, I’ll make us a real breakfast.”

“Flapjacks? Syrup and butter on top?” Pops sounded like a little kid asking for cake.

“Coming up.” She dug around for the ingredients, stacking them on the counter one by one. “I’ve got everything except baking powder. Here, dear.” She handed me her card. “Run to the store and get a box. Make it quick, I can’t start until get you back.”

I grabbed my sweater from the hook by the door and ran out. The elport took forever, but soon I was on the ground floor. I rushed out of the lobby into the crisp fall morning.

I hurried the two blocks to the nearest Foodland. At the closest self-service kiosk I tapped in baking powder. I slid Gran’s card through the scanner, and a second later, the register dinged. I removed the box from the delivery chute, not bothering to bag it. The kiosk voice said, “
Please confirm receipt of all your items. Remove your card, and thank you for shopping at Foodland.
”

“You, too.” I was glad the store was empty, so no one heard me conversing with robo machines. I was almost to the “out” door when I noticed Sal coming through the “in” door.

“Nina,” he called out. “Wait up.”

I hadn’t seen him since the day at the zoo ... the day Ginnie’d been killed. It was hard to believe that was only five days ago. It felt like forever. He’d called, but I’d ignored his calls. I didn’t want to talk to him then, either, but still I stopped. Sometimes I was too nice for my own good.

“I tried calling.” He rounded the counter. “Mike told me about your mother.”

“He did?” I made a mental note to yell at Mike the next time I saw him.

“Yeah, I was checking to make sure I had your number right and he told me about the, uh ...”

“Murder?” I glared at him. “You can say it. It’s what happened. Somebody murdered my mother, okay?”

He was studying my face, trying to size up my emotional state, I supposed. “I’m really sorry. I know how hard it is.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” I didn’t want sympathy from him, and I didn’t want him prying into my life. “I’m in a hurry, okay?” I started out the door, but he reached for my arm.

“What?” I yelled, jerking away from him. The lone store attendant peered through the side of her therma-glass cubicle. I gave her a halfhearted wave. Last thing I wanted was for her to call the cops. She frowned before going back to her AV game.

“What do you want?” I hissed.

“To get to know you a little better. Okay?”

“I’ve gotta run. Gran’s waiting.”

“Can we talk later?”

“Fine, whatever.” No way would I answer that call.

I’d finally gotten all Gran’s recipe chips loaded into the cook center and was busy cleaning the containers and filling them with ingredients.

Ginnie hadn’t been great in the kitchen. Lots of times she brought food home from the cafeteria where she worked. I’d have given anything to be eating some of that institutional garbage right then, to be laughing with her at the counter.

Ginnie’d never told me the real reason she quit her tier-five job in Chicago to take that tier-two in Cementville. She said it was to be closer to Ed, but I’d always thought there had to be another reason. I guess I’ll never know the answer.

It had been so hard moving from our nice apartment in the Wrightwood Arms to that horrid modular. Living next door to Sandy was the only thing that wasn’t awful about Cementville. I’d learned to deal with cheap clothes and school lunches and snubs from higher-tiers. Ginnie’d managed to find the credits to get me into art classes, thankfully. I don’t know what I would have done without those. Usually only tier-fives or higher took art, so they could get a Creatives’ designation. Ginnie wanted me to have that opportunity, too. But when the kids in the class found out my mom was a tier-two cashier, most of them quit talking to me. I didn’t let it get to me too much—when we were tier-five, I never talked to tier-twos. Besides, I get so caught up in my drawings that I’d have probably ignored Van Stacy if he’d walked in the room.