“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Better than staying here,” I mumble to myself.
“Let me help you, Gracie. Let me in.”
Jamie wants me to get better. He wants his kid sister to come back. He doesn’t quite know that his sister is dead — that she died the moment she murdered his mother and then, again, the moment she remembered.
“I love you, Jamie,” I say, and I mean it. I really do. I mean it far more than I can bring myself to say. “And I’m sorry.”
Then I hug my brother, who is so shocked that he lets me past him and out the gate without a word. Before he can quite realize what has happened, I am already gone.
I knew you’d come back.” Noah hops down off the stone ledge that runs around the German embassy. There’s a cocky bounce in his step as he tells me, “The ladies … they always come back.”
That is when Noah notices the new boy standing by the US gate, watching me through the wrought-iron fence. I know how it must look, my tall, handsome brother scowling after me, watching my every move.
For a second, Noah pauses. “New man in your life?”
“Not a man,” I tell him. “A brother.”
Instantly, Noah changes. “That’s the infamous Jamie? Come on. Introduce me.”
“No.”
When Noah stops cold, his expression is somewhere between amused and angry. I can’t read his tone when he asks, “Are you ashamed of me or ashamed of him?”
“Both,” I say, and start walking up the street.
A moment later, I feel Noah fall into step beside me. For a while, we walk along in silence.
“I will meet him eventually, you know.”
“I know.”
“He hasn’t seen you in months.”
“I know.”
“I’ve barely seen you in days.”
I stop. “You saw me a few hours ago.”
“You know what I mean. A week ago you disappeared into your room, and then today you finally came out and I saw you running toward the cliff like wild dogs were on your heels, so” — Noah pauses — “talk to me.”
When I stop and spin, I try to keep my voice calm, but the exasperation comes out anyway. “I don’t want to talk anymore, okay? My brother wants to talk. Ms. Chancellor wants to talk. My grandfather … well, he never wants to talk, but that doesn’t stop him from looking at me disapprovingly. So please don’t make me talk anymore. I’ll go to Lila’s stupid party as long as we don’t have to talk. Okay? Please, just one talk-free night — that’s all I’m asking. Please, Noah. Can you do that for me?”
“I was going to say that we’re walking the wrong direction.” Noah points both thumbs behind us and takes a step back. “Lila is branching out.”
As we start down the sloping street of Embassy Row, Noah is silent. He doesn’t ask me why Jamie’s here. He doesn’t even start to mention my mom. An easy, comfortable peace settles around us as we walk through the glow of the gaslights and under the arch of the city gates. We make our way outside the safety of Valancia’s wall, closer to the ocean.
I glance up at Noah’s strong profile. “Party on the beach?”
“Something like that.” Noah shoves his hands into his pockets. “So, Jamie …”
So much for peace …
“I said I don’t want to talk.”
“I know. I’m not asking about you and Jamie. I’m asking about Jamie. What’s his story?”
“He’s on break from West Point — that’s our big military academy for the army. It’s a big deal. He’s a big deal. He’s probably going to be a general someday. He might even be president. Everybody loves him.”
“Why is he here?”
“I told you. He’s on break, and —”
Noah stops. “Why is he here, Grace?”
For a split second, I actually want to tell him the truth. I want to pour out all the things I know or remember or would give anything to forget. But Noah doesn’t know what happened to my mother. When Noah looks at me he doesn’t see the girl I used to be or the monster I’ve become. He only sees a tiny bit of my crazy. And that’s more than enough.
“I was wrong, you know. About the Scarred Man. I was wrong for years, and Jamie knows it. He knows that finding out the truth has been hard on me. He’s worried about me.”
Noah takes a slow step back. There’s nothing but moonlight and the sound of the waves and this boy who could be at home almost anywhere on Embassy Row and yet has chosen to be here with me.
“Just so you know,” Noah says, “he’s not the only one.”
I’m just about to speak when Noah points to the darkness and I see a long pier. A tiny girl stands on the very end of it, her blond hair catching the light of the full moon that is rising over the city. She waves wildly in our direction. For a second, I think she might jump off the pier and swim toward us. As it is, she just runs.
“Grace! I haven’t seen you in ages!”
“I saw you a week ago,” I say, but Rosie barely registers the sound.
“But you missed my birthday! I’m a teenager now. Do I look like a teenager?” Rosie smiles and laughs, so happy she’s practically bouncing, and I’m suddenly reminded of the fact that she’s thirteen now.
The age I was when Mom died.