“You don’t think Will did that already? Or Chambers?”
Scarlett started piecing things together. “Chambers would have shown it to you if he knew about it. He would have asked you about it, since I was the one who said I was going to the leaving. He would have asked us about it yesterday.”
Tammy twisted her mouth to one side. “Suppose you’re right.”
Scarlett felt something inside her turn sour when she said, “It looks like in the book this is an advanced society that is aware of and in communication with intelligent life-forms on other planets.”
Tammy’s eyes turned beady.
Rightfully so.
Scarlett said, “I’ll go with you tonight, if you let me do this.”
Tammy picked up her lemonade and turned toward the hall. “You want to find someone like that. A writer. You go and you ask around in the bars.” From down the hall she called out, “The dive-ier the better.”
Scarlett turned to Lucas and almost laughed.
He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “It’s actually a really good idea. What’s tonight?”
“Long story,” she said. “Should we invite Kristen?”
Lucas seemed to stiffen when he said, “If you feel like you have to.”
Scarlett was shaking her head. “Not really.”
Had to trust this.
Trust him.
With everything.
Had to start now.
She said, “She told me she thinks she remembers not liking me.”
“I’ve been feeling like I’m not sure I like her,” he said. “So just us?”
She nodded. “Just us.”
The words felt familiar.
Just us.
Just them.
Against . . . the world?
What?
She said, “I have something inside me, Lucas. Something I swallowed but of course I don’t remember doing it. It’s metal and oval. Turned up on the MRI.”
He touched her arm softly. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“Are you in pain?” he asked.
“No.”
Had he even thought about kissing her?
“So you’re just . . . waiting?”
She nodded again.
“I have a tattoo,” he said. “It’s like a camera shutter.”
Click.
Say cheese.
Tried to picture what that would even look like, in ink.
/
/
/
/
/
/
“Where?”
He pointed.
Where he pointed.
Intimate.
All of this too intimate.
Showed her a picture on his phone.
Made her
stomach
flip.
“We’re going to figure this out,” he said. “So we’ll go in the morning?”
“Yes.”
They lingered there a moment, and then he said, “Can you take me somewhere now, actually? I don’t have a car and—”
“Of course.” Thinking anywhere. “Where?”
He said, “I want to buy a camera.”
Lucas
He left her reading in the car and went into a large electronics store. They hadn’t been able to find a proper camera shop close enough, so this would have to do.
He’d wanted her to come in with him.
He could tell her all about the book, already had.
But no, she wanted to read it herself, couldn’t wait. Because what if only she could make the connection?
The news was on a wall of televisions inside, and they were talking about The Leaving. Apparently nothing else was happening in the world, or at least in Florida.
“. . . explain the distrust?” the anchor was saying.
A man in a suit was saying,
“The whole community down here was a part of this thing, you know? You’d be hard-pressed to find someone who wasn’t deeply impacted by this when it happened.”
Lucas stopped for a moment, watched.
“People came from miles away to help with the search; there were vigils and there was a whole ribbon campaign if you recall, with people tying ribbons on trees and mailboxes.”
All too strange.
“Even years later, the turnout at those anniversary vigils at Opus 6 was huge. This was not a personal tragedy. So there are a lot of people who feel very emotional about this, and to have them come back . . . but not all of them. It leaves a sour taste.”
Lucas turned away from TVs to find cameras.
“People want the happy ending, they want answers, they want, mostly, someone to blame. And if we can’t blame the person responsible, there’s a tendency, yes, to blame the victim.”
There was a good-size selection—a long row of cameras loosely wired to the display shelf—but Lucas couldn’t spend a fortune, so he narrowed the choices quickly. Ryan had given him some cash to keep him going while they waited for their father’s estate to be settled, at which point Ryan guessed they’d have enough to live on for a year or so if they were lucky.
Lucas began handling the cameras in his price range to see how they felt. He liked the styling of some and not others and didn’t like snap and shoots, felt drawn to more elaborate machines with manual lenses. He held up a SONY he liked the feel of and peered through the view-finder, one eye closed.
“I see we have a shutterbug.” A saleswoman leaned on the display with a bony elbow.