The Evolution of Mara Dyer

9

I EDGED AWAY FROM THE DOOR AND WAITED FOR my parents’ footsteps to disappear. The way they talked about me—what they thought of me—

Especially my father. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said.

“I just don’t see what he’s getting out of this.”

He thought I had nothing to offer Noah. That he had no reason to want to be with me.

Even as I rebelled against the idea, a tiny, miserable part of me wondered if he might be right.

I eventually pulled myself together enough to stave off a good cry—at least until I was back in my room. But much to my surprise, it was already occupied.

Noah’s long legs straddled my white desk chair, and his chin rested lazily on his hand. He wasn’t smiling. He didn’t look anxious. He didn’t look anything. He just looked blank.

You are my girl, he had said at the courthouse.

Was it still true?

Noah arched an eyebrow. “You’re staring.”

I blushed. “So?”

“You’re staring warily.”

I didn’t know how to frame my thoughts, but something about Noah’s coolly indifferent tone and his languid posture kept me from moving closer. So I just closed the door and hung against the wall. “What are you doing here?”

“I was discussing Bakhtin and Benjamin and a thesis about de se and de re thoughts as relevant to notions of self with your older brother.”

“Sometimes, Noah, I feel an overwhelming urge to punch you in the face.”

An arrogant grin crept across his mouth.

“That doesn’t help.”

He glanced up at me through those unfairly long lashes, but didn’t move an inch. “Should I leave?”

Just tell me why you’re here, I wanted to say. I need to hear it.

“No,” was all I said.

“Why don’t you just tell me what it is that’s bothering you?”

Fine. “I didn’t expect to see you here after . . . I didn’t know if we were still . . .” My voice trailed off annoyingly, but it took several seconds for Noah to fill the silence.

“I see.”

My eyes narrowed. “You see?”

Noah unfolded himself and rose then, but didn’t approach. He backed up against the edge of my desk and leaned his palms against the glossy white surface. “You thought after hearing that someone who hurt you—someone who hurt you so badly that you tried to kill him—was alive, that I’d just leave you to deal with it on your own.” He was still calm, but his jaw had tightened just slightly. “That’s what you think.”

I swallowed hard. “You said at the courthouse—”

“I remember what I said.” Noah’s voice was toneless but a hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “I would say you’ll make a liar out of me, but I was one long before we met.”

I couldn’t wrap my mind around his words. “So, what, you just changed your mind?”

“The people we care about are always worth more to us than the people we don’t. No matter what anyone pretends.” And for the first time in what felt like a long time, Noah sounded real. He was still as he watched me. “I didn’t think you had to make the choice you said you made then. But if I did have to choose between someone I loved and a stranger, I would choose the one I love.”

I blinked. The choice I said I made?

I didn’t know if Noah was saying that he didn’t care about what I’d done, or if he no longer believed that I did it. Part of me was tempted to push him on this, and the other part—

The other part didn’t want to know.

Before I could decide, Noah spoke again. “But I don’t believe you have the power to remove someone’s free will. No matter how much you might want to.”

Ah. Noah thought that even if I did somehow put the gun in that woman’s hand, I didn’t make her pull the trigger. And so in his mind, I wasn’t responsible.

But what if he was wrong? What if I was responsible?

I felt unsteady, and pressed myself more tightly against the wall. “What if I could?”

What if I did?

I opened my eyes to find that Noah had taken a step toward me. “You can’t,” he said, his voice firm.

“How do you know?”

He took another step. “I don’t.”

“So how can you say that?”

Two more. “Because it doesn’t matter.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand—”

“I was more worried about what your choices would do to you than what the consequences would be for anyone else.”

One more step, and he’d be close enough to touch. “And now?” I asked.

Noah didn’t move, but his eyes searched mine. “Still worried.”

I looked away. “Well, I have bigger problems,” I said, echoing my mother’s words. I didn’t need to elaborate, apparently. One glance at Noah’s suddenly tense frame told me he knew what I meant.

“I won’t let Jude hurt you.”

My throat went dry when I heard his name. I remembered the frozen frame on the psych ward television, the blurred image of Jude on the screen. I remembered the watch on his wrist.

The watch.

“It’s not just me,” I said, as my heart began to pound. “He was wearing a watch, the same one you saw in your—in your—”

Vision, I thought. But I couldn’t quite say it out loud.

“He had the same watch as Lassiter,” I said instead. “The same one.” I met Noah’s eyes. “What are the chances?”

Noah was quiet for a moment. Then said, “You think he took Joseph.”

It wasn’t a question, but I nodded in assent.

Noah’s voice was low but strong. “I won’t let him hurt your family either, Mara.”

I inhaled slowly. “I can’t even tell my parents to be careful. They’ll think I’m just being paranoid like my grandmother.”

Noah’s brows knitted in confusion.

“She committed suicide,” I explained.

“What? When?”

“I was a baby,” I said. “My mom told me yesterday; she’s even more worried about me because we have a ‘family history of mental illness.’”

“I’m going to have some people watch your house.”

Noah seemed calm. Relaxed. Which only added to my frustration. “My parents would probably notice, don’t you think?”

“Not these men. They’re with a private security firm and they’re very, very good. My father uses them.”

“Why does your father need private security?”

“Death threats and such. The usual.”

It was my turn to be confused. “Doesn’t he work in biotech?”

A wry smile formed on Noah’s lips. “A euphemism for ‘playing God,’ according to the religious and environmental groups that hate his subsidiaries. And you’ve seen our house. He doesn’t exactly maintain a low profile.”

“Won’t he notice?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “They don’t all work for my father, so I doubt it. What’s more, he wouldn’t care.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “It’s amazing.”

“What?”

“Your freedom.” Even before everything happened—before the asylum, before Rachel died—my parents had to know everything about my life. Where I was going, who I was going with, when I was coming back. If I went shopping, my mom had to know what I bought and if I went to the movies, she insisted on talking about what I’d seen. But Noah floated in and out of his family’s palace like air. He could go to class, or not. He could spend money like water or obstinately refuse to drive a luxury car. He could do anything he wanted whenever he wanted, no questions asked.

“Your parents care about you,” Noah said then. His voice was soft, but there was a rawness to it that shut me up. Though he said nothing else and though his expression was still glass-smooth and unreadable, I heard the words he didn’t say: Be grateful you have them.

I wanted to smack myself. Noah’s mother had been murdered in front of him when he was just a kid; I knew better than to ever act like the grass was greener on the other side. I was grateful to have my parents, even though the hovering was out of control, even though they didn’t believe me when I told them the hardest truth there was to tell. It was a stupid thing to say and I wished I hadn’t said it. I looked up to reach for Noah, to whisper I was sorry against his skin, but he had pulled away.

He sprawled out on my bed and returned the subject to Jude. “If we can find out where he lives—”

I took Noah’s former place and leaned against my desk. “Wait, where is he living? He’s legally dead. It’s not like he could just get a job and rent an apartment.”

Noah raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“It’s Miami,” he said, as if it was obvious.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning there’s no shortage of methods by which to acquire money and housing without a social security number. But I do wonder. . . .”

“You wonder . . .?”

“Might he have gone back to his parents? After the collapse?” Noah stared at my ceiling.

“You think they know he’s alive?”

He shook his head. “If they did, they’d have told others by now, and we’d have heard.”

My voice turned quiet. “Daniel said his hands were cut off.”

“He told me.”

I gripped the edge of my desk. “It doesn’t make any sense. How did he survive? How is that possible?”

Noah bit his thumbnail as he leaned back against my pillow. “How is any of this possible?” he asked under his breath.

How was it possible? How could Noah heal? How could I kill?

The room had grown dark, and the subject made me uneasy. I peeled myself away from my desk and edged carefully onto my bed. Closer to Noah, but not quite touching.

I looked down at him. Not even a week ago, I was lying next to this disarmingly beautiful boy, feeling his heart beat against my cheek. I wanted to be there now, but I was afraid to move.

So I spoke instead. “You think he’s like us?”

“That, or the remains they found weren’t his.”

I shook my head. “Wouldn’t they do DNA testing?”

Noah’s eyes narrowed as he stared at nothing. “Only if they had reason to believe it wasn’t him. Regardless, records can be fabricated and lab rats can be bought.” There was an edge to his voice now, one that wasn’t there before.

“Who would—?”

My question was cut off by Daniel calling our names.

“Be right there!” I called back.

Noah swung his legs over my bed, carefully avoiding my body and my eyes as he rose. “I don’t know, but we aren’t going to find out in your bedroom.”

“And I’m not allowed to go anywhere without a babysitter.” I couldn’t help but sound bitter. “So you’re on your own.”

Noah shook his head and then, finally, looked at me. “I’m not leaving you any more than I have to.” He was on edge again. “Not like this.”

I wished it was because he didn’t want to be apart more than because he thought we had to stay together.

“So . . . how long are you staying?” My tone was more tentative than I intended. Much more.

But my favorite half-smile appeared on his mouth. I wanted to live in it. “How long do you want me?” he asked.

How long can I have you? I thought.

Before I could say anything, Daniel called us again.

“Alas,” Noah said, glancing at the door. “I’m afraid that’s my cue. Your father wanted to spend your first night back as a family.”

I might have sighed.

“But your mother knows all about my cold and empty home life, and she’s taken pity on the motherless urchin you see before you.”

“Well, you are quite pitiful,” I said, unable to help my smile.

“I told her that my enormous mansion will be terribly lonely this week in particular, so I expect I’ll be here quite a lot. Unless you object?”

“I don’t.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” Noah said, and moved to the door. “And I shall formulate a plan to work on your father as well.”

“My dad?”

Noah cracked a smile. “We bonded in the hospital a bit, but I think he enjoys playing the benighted father; ‘I was a teenage boy once too, I remember what it was like,’ et cetera.” But Noah spoke with affection.

“You like them,” I realized.

Noah’s eyebrows lifted in question.

“Like, as people.”

“As opposed to . . . furniture?”

“They’re my parents.”

“That is my understanding, yes.”

I made a face. “It’s weird.”

“What is, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to find the right words. “Knowing that you’ve, like, talked to them without me there?”

“Well, if you’re worried about your mother showing me your most embarrassing childhood pictures, don’t be.”

Thank God.

“I’ve already seen them.”

Damn it.

“I’m a particular fan of your fifth-grade haircut,” he deadpanned.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Grow up.”

“Never.” Noah’s grin turned devious, and I matched it despite myself. “They’ll relax, you know,” he said then. “They’ll get complacent. As long as you keep improving.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Is that your way of telling me to keep my shit together?”

At this, Noah closed the distance between us. He leaned down until his lips grazed my ear. My pulse raced at the contact and my eyes closed at the feel of his five o’clock shadow on my cheek.

“It’s my way of telling you that I can’t bear to look at my bed without seeing you in it,” he said, and his words made me shiver. “So do try to avoid a lockdown.”

I felt him withdraw, and I opened my eyes. “I’ll get right on that,” I breathed.

One final wicked smile. “You’d better.”