Chapter 9
Logan
The moment the girl slips out of the room, Zoey starts in on me. “You shouldn’t have … made her go, Logan. I can help …. If there’s any trace of her family online … I can find it.”
I slide the window shut, cutting off the flow of moist, cool air, and turn to face her. “She wasn’t safe here.”
“She’s not safe out there!” Zoey bolts upright in bed, her expression fierce. “We could’ve … hidden her in the attic or something. She’s probably … living on the streets.”
Typical Zoey—always eager to save every homeless soul, mistreated individual, and orphaned chipmunk.
“I’m sure she’s got a place to stay.”
“Yeah, right.” Zoey rolls her eyes. “Like the Cascadian federal prison.”
“You need to calm down. It’s not good for you to get this excited.”
Her gaze narrows and her lips scrunch into a pucker. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that … before you kicked Piper out.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Do you want me to tell Dad about her?” I ask, giving her my best big brother glare.
If Zoey could breathe fire, I’d be a pile of ash. But she doesn’t seem to realize I’m bluffing, and she settles against the pillows. “This isn’t over, Logan.”
I’m sure it’s not. If I know my little sister, the second I leave, she’ll be on her computer, sending a message to Piper Hall.
I go to my room to start my homework, but I can’t get the girl out of my head. Her sad and desperate eyes, so dark brown they look black, still cut into me. Common sense dictates I should believe the emergency alert, but instinct tells me she wasn’t lying, that she really did live in this house up until a little while ago. And that’s what’s so disturbing. If someone’s snatching people out of their homes, the rumors I’ve heard are true. And maybe not just the ones about poor people being displaced.
I try to concentrate on trigonometry, but the numbers merge into an indecipherable jumble of sines and cosines. Did Dad lie to me? Is it possible he bought our way into Cascadia? I can’t imagine that. He’s so honest that when he works on his friends’ computers, he claims the income on his taxes.
There must be some other explanation for what happened to Piper. Maybe it’s a coincidence. After all, they wouldn’t have orientation videos for new citizens if there wasn’t a legitimate immigration policy, would they?
I’ve almost got myself convinced of this when I realize Piper’s story solves a mystery that’s nagged at me since we left home. If her family was deported, and she escaped, one less person left Cascadia than should have. Is that why Mom had to stay behind?
I click the Net icon on my laptop, bring up Google, and type in “Piper Hall.” Each of the dozen hits repeats the story I already know, adding only that Piper’s mother, brother, and grandfather recently moved to California and weren’t available to comment. This last part immediately raises my suspicion. What parent wouldn’t have something to say about an accusation like the one leveled against Piper? I enter her mother’s name into the search box. Plenty of links come up, but nothing connected with California. Further research fails to reveal records of address, utility usage, or place of employment for Piper’s mom or grandfather. Neither are registered to vote, and the younger brother, Nick, isn’t enrolled in school. I know it’s only been eleven days since they allegedly moved, but there should be something. What does this mean?
There’s only one person who might have an answer, and he’s not home. But maybe there’s another way to learn something.
I tell Denise, who’s in her basement room absorbed in an online soap, that I’m going for a jog. After changing into sweats and running shoes, I head out into the mist.
At the end of the driveway, I stop to tighten a shoelace, discreetly glancing up and down the block. Whoever took Piper’s family must still be watching the house, hoping she’ll come back. That’s what I’d be doing.
It’s not as simple as spotting a sinister black surveillance van with tinted windows. I’m just hoping to see something that looks out of place. The street is lined with parked cars and trucks, all innocuous-seeming. I haven’t been paying much attention, so I’m not sure which ones belong in the neighborhood.
Chances are, whoever’s watching will be across the street where they’ll have a better view, so I jog to that side and start down the sidewalk. All the vehicles I run past are empty, and none look unusual. Could they be monitoring the place remotely? I suppose it’s a possibility, but it wouldn’t be practical. If Piper showed up, they’d want someone on site to apprehend her. She must be smart to have snuck in and out of the house without being noticed.
With the fresh, sweet scent of blooming things drifting from people’s yards, I jog down the block, enjoying my workout. This is the first real exercise I’ve had since we left Chicago. I’ve missed the fluid feeling of my muscles warming up and working together. As I round the corner, I pour on the speed, letting my worries fuel me.
The block we live on is as long as four regular ones, but for whatever reason, the numbered avenues don’t bisect it. It takes me a few minutes to circle back around to our street. And then, as I’m closing in on the house, I see it. A non-descript silver Ford sedan. The lightly tinted windows barely allow me to discern a figure in the front seat. I note the model and plate number. This could just be some random person, sitting in his car for a moment after returning from an errand, but at least now I know what to watch for.
The run feels good, and Dad won’t be home for a while, so I take a few more laps. The light rain soothes the heat from my face and arms. Back in Illinois, jogging anytime after the end of March was not for the faint of heart. I think I’m going to like this country—if I can just figure out what to do about my future.
Each time I pass the silver Ford, the man is still behind the wheel. It looks like my suspicions might play out. I’ll have Zoey run a check on the plate number to see if she can learn anything.
As I go inside and resume my homework, I leave my bedroom door open so I’ll know when Dad comes in. My head is clearer now. I make it through trig and English with no trouble. And then the front door creaks open.
A sick feeling wells up in me. I’m going to have to confront him. I thought I was ready, but I’m not. Despite the difficulty I’ve had winning my father’s approval, I’d much rather go on being a disappointment than learn he’s not who I’ve always thought he was. But I can’t hide from the truth.
The short trip down the hallway feels longer than all the blocks I just jogged. I want to believe Dad will have a logical explanation, but deep down, I know he won’t.
He pulls off his rain-slicked windbreaker and hangs it on a peg by the door. “Hey, Logan,” he says, tossing me a perfunctory look that makes it clear he isn’t really seeing me. “How’s your sister? I got a message from the school and another from Denise. She said everything’s okay, but she doesn’t know Zoey the way we do.”
“Zoey’s fine.”
Dad has those creases in his forehead that tell me he’s worried. Usually, I’d go out of my way to reassure him, but this time, I don’t care.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “She’s not scheduled for her first appointment at Doernbecher until next week, but if there’s a problem, maybe they can get her in sooner.”
“It’s not an emergency. She just had to go on her PVAD, same as the last half dozen times. She’ll feel better tomorrow.” I can’t keep the annoyance out of my voice.
“Then what’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”
For once, I have his full attention, but it only makes my resolve falter and my tongue freeze. I swallow, calling up the focus I learned on the football field. It doesn’t matter how badly a botched play rattles you, you can’t let yourself get flustered.
I clear my throat and stand up straighter. “Today I found out Piper Hall, the girl who’s been in the news, used to live in this house.” It takes all my willpower to keep my eyes l
ocked on his.
“Is that so?” Dad glances beyond me toward the hallway.
“Yes. Up until a couple of weeks ago, in fact.” Though the statement isn’t quite an accusation, my pulse thuds in my ears.
“Interesting.” He fidgets with his phone, twisting it on his wrist.
“Do you know anything about that?”
Dad tenses almost imperceptibly, his fingers going still. “Of course not.”
I hate what I’m about to do, but there’s no getting around it. Drawing a deep breath, I steel myself against the knowledge that my next question will change everything.
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“What?” His eyes snap up to bore into mine. “Just who do you think you’re talking to?”
The evasion tells me what I need to know. “I thought I was talking to my father, the man who raised me to be honest and ethical. Maybe I’m wrong.”
Dad’s face flushes. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” he hedges, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I can say one thing. I’m not going to put up with this attitude.”
I should be angry that even though he’s the one at fault, he’s trying to shift the blame to me. Yet the only thing I feel is disappointment. A deep, overwhelming sense of loss. All my life, I’ve looked up to my father. I’m not ready for that to change.
Calling up every bit of my courage, I venture the incriminating words. “I don’t believe what you said about that headhunter recruiting you. Or why Mom had to stay behind.” My nerve falters, but I force myself to press on. “I think you bought our way into Cascadia.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” My voice sticks in my throat, a jagged lump that feels like it might tear a hole through me. I’m not sure what upsets me more, that he did something so dishonorable, or that he lied about it. “Just tell me the truth.”
He shifts his weight, eyes focusing somewhere around my knees. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Logan. I did what I had to for your sister.”
“What the hell, Dad?” Despite my suspicions, the confession hits with the force of a grenade.
“You’d have done the same damn thing, so lay off,” he barks, shouldering past me toward the kitchen.
And now I have my answer.
The question is, what am I going to do about it? Even if I had the courage to turn my father in, how could I? He’s right. Zoey’s better off in Cascadia, and I can’t throw away the one chance she has.
But there is something I can do to counterbalance this injustice.
I have to help Piper Hall find her family.
End of Episode 1.1. The story continues with Episode 1.2, Revelation.
* * *
Author’s note: Those of you who live in the Portland area will know that the Rose Garden has been renamed after a company I don’t choose to advertise in this book. This deal happened before publication, and I could have made an adjustment, but I elected not to. Fifty years from now, it’s unlikely this company will still have a contract with the Rose Garden owner’s successor. I choose to believe sentimentality will prevail and the original name will be restored.