Altered(2)

“Get the board,” he finally said, and I smiled as I turned away.

I grabbed what we needed and pulled my desk chair over. He did the same on his side. I set up the small folding table and the board, putting the black pieces on Sam’s side, the white on mine.

“Ready?” I asked and he nodded. I moved my knight to F3.

He examined the board, elbows on his knees. “Rook. D-five.” I moved his piece to the correct square. We ran through a few more plays, focused only on the game, until Sam asked, “What was the weather like today?”

“Cold. Biting.” I moved my next piece. When he didn’t immediately counter, I looked up and met his eyes.

An unremarkable green, like river water, his eyes were nothing to look at, but they were something else to be watched with. Sam’s gaze, at quiet moments like this, made my insides shudder.

“What?” I said.

“The sky—what color would you use to draw it?”

“Azure. The kind of blue you can almost taste.”

For some reason, everything I said and did around Sam felt weightier. As if merely his presence could shake my soul, make me feel. He savored every detail I gave him, as if I was his last link to the outside word. I guess in some ways I was.

“Sometimes,” he said, “I wonder what the sun used to feel like.”

“You’ll feel it again. Someday.”

“Maybe.”

I wanted to say, You will, I promise you will, even if I have to break you out myself. I tried to imagine what it would be like to punch in the codes and let them all go. I could do it. Maybe even get away with it. There were no cameras down here, no recording devices.

“Anna?” Sam said.

I blinked, stared at the chessboard in front of me. Had he told me his next play? “Sorry, I was—”

“Somewhere else.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s late. Let’s finish tomorrow?”

I started to protest, but a yawn snuck up on me before I could hide it. “All right. It will give me more time to work on my strategy.”

He made a sound that fell somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “You do that.”

I moved the table to the far corner and took a step toward the hallway. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The light shining from his bathroom caught his dark, close-cropped hair, turning it silver for a second before he drew back. “Good night, Anna.”

“G’night.” I waved as the lab door slid shut behind me and that empty feeling settled back in.

I didn’t belong in the boys’ world. Not that I belonged in the real world, either. I was too afraid that if I let someone in, they’d figure out my secrets about the lab and the boys. I didn’t want to be the reason the Branch moved the program. Mostly, I didn’t want to risk losing Sam. Because even though our relationship was based solely on testing and the lab and my sketches and midnight chess games, I couldn’t picture my life without him.





2


EVERY WEDNESDAY MORNING, MY DAD made a pitcher of lemonade—fresh-squeezed, lots of sugar—and I made cookies. It was our tradition, and we had always been short on traditions.

The ice clinked against the glass as Dad handed it to me. “Thanks,” I said, taking a sip. “Perfect.”

He slid the pitcher into the refrigerator. “Good. Good.”

I shifted at the kitchen table, looking out the window to the forest beyond the backyard, struggling to think of something else to say. Something to keep Dad here just a minute longer. Dad and I weren’t good with small talk. Lately, the only thing that seemed to connect us was the lab.

“Did you see the paper this morning?” I asked, even though I knew he had. “Mr. Hirsch bought the drugstore.”

“Yeah, I saw that.” Dad set the measuring cup in the sink before running a hand over the back of his head, smoothing his quickly graying hair. He did that a lot when he was worried.

I sat forward. “What is it?”

The wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he put his hands on the edge of the farmhouse sink. I thought he might reveal whatever it was that was bothering him, but he just shook his head and said, “Nothing. I have a lot of stuff to get through today, so I think I’ll go downstairs. You’ll come down later? Nick’s blood sample should be drawn.”

Dad wasn’t the type to talk about how bad his day was, so even though I wanted to push him, I didn’t. “Sure. I’ll be down in a little bit.”

“All right.” He nodded before disappearing from the kitchen, his footsteps audible on the basement stairs. And just like that, my time was up. Dad was endlessly consumed by his work, and I’d accepted that a long time ago. I’d never get used to it, though.