The government announced that never again will this country allow such “a lapse in humanity to poison us and strip people of their basic human rights.” Everybody looks back and wonders how we allowed it to happen in the first place. It all seems so simple now.
As for F.A.B. children, all those children who had been taken from their homes or torn from their mothers at birth, have the right to return to their rightful homes if they so wish. And as for those who grew up without their parents, those who are no longer children, whose parents are aged or no longer living, who were told and believed all their lives that their parents were monsters, or that they weren’t loved or wanted, they face having to come to terms with the reality that their parents went to their graves without justice or apology for their suffering. Enya Sleepwell has appointed Alpha to the F.A.B. Rights Alliance to help assist with this enormous mess.
So what does all that really mean for any of us?
For Crevan, he still walks the streets a free man, awaiting trial for his part in my sixth branding, for which he will receive a short prison sentence, no doubt. His reputation has been tarnished: He will not lead a life of power as he did before. People recognize him on the streets: They stare; they shout abuse; they judge. I know what he faces on a daily basis, I’ve been there. Thousands of us have been there.
For Art, he moved away from this country to study, to set up a new life where he can escape the shadow of his father. He will study science at college in September as he planned. He promises to stay in touch, and even though our bond has dissolved, it doesn’t mean it has disappeared, it is still there somewhere, probably for the rest of our lives, just not visible to the human eye, not in the same form as it was.
As for me, my future is more uncertain. I have been invited back to my school to complete the exams they would not let me sit for in their halls only months ago. I won’t return, but I will study, I will finish my exams. Enya Sleepwell calls continuously for my involvement in the Vital Party, as do various media outlets for my opinion on every daily occurrence. Professor Lambert has a job with my name on it, he says.
For once, I won’t plan, I won’t have any expectations. I will take things step by step, save the leaps for the times of necessity. I will enjoy the sun on my skin, the wind on my face, the feel of Carrick against my body, the sound of my family’s voices, and the effects of their love, and value the loyalty of my new friends. The simple things, some say, but that depends on where you live and what laws control you, because there was nothing simple about any of us achieving this.
I pick a strawberry and drop it into the pot, feeling like a child again. As I look down, I see a weed growing in the beds and automatically bend to pull it out. But I stop myself. I leave it there and smile conspiratorially. Just our little secret.
Before I make my way back to the others, I can’t help it—the strawberries are too tempting and, just for old time’s sake, for the memory of me and Juniper as children picking our own strawberries, I reach down into the bucket and place one in my mouth. I can smell its sweetness, and, as I’m used to happening this year, expect nothing more. But as I bite into it, my eyes pop open. My mouth doesn’t know what to do with the sensation.
I scream, a high-pitched shriek. The talking and laughter stop immediately. I run from the strawberry beds.
When I reach my family and friends, they’re all standing, watching out for me, alert, worried, ready to attack, looking for predators and intruders because we’ve had our fair share of them.
Carrick drops his shovel and marches away from the cooking pit that he’s working on with Granddad, Dad, and Adam, and hurries toward me, eyes black.
“What’s wrong?”
I drop the tin bucket of strawberries and run to him. I leap up and he catches me, my legs wrapped around his body, clinging to him, my hands on his stunned face.
I ignore the fact that everyone is looking, that Kelly is looking at us dreamily, that Juniper is whooping, that Dad is uncomfortable and Mom is laughing at him, that Ewan is pretending to vomit, that Raphael Angelo’s kids have replicated the very same move and are now swinging out of one another, making smoochy kissing sounds, that Mona, Lennox, Fergus, and Lorcan are cheering us on. Granddad cheers, which annoys my dad even more, and Pia Wang giggles, with her husband and two children beside her.
Or at least I pretend to ignore them, but I feel them with me, every single molecule of their energy, with happiness.
I gaze into Carrick’s eyes. Green as can be. I press my lips to his, and I finally taste his kiss.
EIGHTY-FOUR
THERE’S THE PERSON you think you should be and there’s the person you really are. I’m not sure who I should be, but I now know who I am.
And that, I say, is the perfect place to start again.