I shake my head and, unable to hide my anger, I cast around for another subject to discuss. “Saying we get out of here alive, where has the clan decided to go?”
Dad looks down at the floor.
“What?” I ask.
He looks back up at me. “There have been several discussions. Some of the young considered splitting away from the clan. But the general consensus is that if you lead, the clan will follow you.”
I shake my head. “That’s not going to happen.”
Dad nods. He understands. “What do you want to do?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“I have,” he says. “If you decide that you’re done with the clan, I will leave them. With you. We can go off on our own somewhere and start a new life.”
“But, Dad—” I start. He holds a hand up to stop me.
“But if you don’t want to have anything to do with any of us, I will understand. It might be time for you to go off on your own. To discover who you are without us. What your purpose is on earth. If you decide to do that, then I will stay with the clan and go where they decide to go.” He reaches toward me and grasps my hand in his.
“It’s up to you, Juneau. You don’t owe the clan anything. You don’t owe me anything.” He sighs. “You alone are in control of your future.”
I put my arms around my dad, and we sit like that for a very long time, holding on to each other without speaking—because words aren’t necessary for what we are telling each other.
50
MILES
I PUSH OPEN THE DOOR TO THE TROPHY ROOM and see Juneau and her father in a corner with the guard sitting across from them, looking annoyed. I pick up a chair and gesture toward them. “May I?” I ask him. Not knowing what to expect any longer, he just rolls his eyes and nods.
I set the chair down next to Juneau. She raises her head from her father’s shoulder. “You left the mountain. You came,” she says. From her neutral expression, I can’t tell if she considers that a good or bad thing.
“Well, I would have felt pretty useless sitting around by myself in the woods,” I reply, unable to repress a grin. And although the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, Juneau gets her quirky half smile and leans forward to give me a hug. And let me tell you, that hug fills every inch of void inside of me left by the conversation with my dad. I don’t want to detach. But Walter is sitting there, so I squeeze her hard and then lean back.
“So you met my clan?” Juneau asks.
I nod, smiling. “I like Kenai. I can see why you guys are so close.”
“And Nome?”
I feel my face flush, and glance, embarrassed, at her dad. “Let me guess,” Juneau says, with a huge smile. “She hit on you.”
Now I’m blushing again. I nod, and look around the room to deflect attention from myself. Walter bursts out laughing. “She didn’t actually hit on me,” I scramble to explain. “She was just . . . complimenting me, I suppose . . .”
But before I can continue my feeble explanation, the sound of a gunshot comes from somewhere inside the house. The door at the end of the library flies open, and Avery steps in, gun in hands. He marches the length of the room, and out into the entryway, shouting to our guard, “Come back me up!”
“But, sir, what about the hostages?”
“I don’t give a flip about them, come back me up!” He yells the same thing to the guards in the office, and storms out onto the porch, gun raised.
Walter is on his feet in a second. “I’m going up to Holly. As soon as the coast is clear, I’ll get her and Badger out of here.” He disappears into the hallway, and Juneau and I are left alone.
“We should go,” she says, taking my hand.
“Just wait,” I say, “this is important.” And digging in my back pocket, I pull out two objects. The first is her opal necklace. “I’ve been keeping this for you since Salt Lake City. Didn’t think you needed it, but I wasn’t sure you wanted me to throw it away.”
Juneau turns the stone over in her hands, its colors glowing in the low light of the room. Without a word, she pockets it, and looks at me expectantly.
“And this is from Tallie,” I say and hand her the note.
“Dad said you had her come pick up the children and others.” She pauses and watches me, appraising. “Good move.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Although I would have preferred you’d said, ‘Good move, you extraordinary man. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.’”
“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Juneau says with a hint of a smile. “I’m not very effusive, am I?”
“‘Effusive’ isn’t the first word that comes to mind when I think of you,” I admit. “Which is fine. Effusiveness is totally overrated. I tend to dig the more restrained chicks myself.”