Death by Denim Page 14

  “But she—”

  “I know.” Mom cut me off. “She sent you to Varese against my wishes. I was none too pleased with her about that. But the minute she found out Lévêque had been leaking information to The Mole, she told me everything. She called Ryan and tried to stop you and when she couldn’t—”

  “Wait. Lévêque?” My stomach flipped upside down. “He was working for The Mole?” The world I thought I knew was suddenly thrown into negative images—black gone white, and white, black. Nothing made sense anymore. I shook my head. “But … he’s dead.”

  “An unfortunate result of his association.”

  “But … why? Why would they kill one of their own?”

  Mom shook her head. “These kind of people, life holds no value to them. Lévêque must have outlived his usefulness.”

  I sank back into the pillows. Lévêque deserved what he got, didn’t he? So why did it make me feel so sad?

  “What about Ryan? Did he get out? Is he—”

  “Don’t worry. He sustained some burns and a nasty concussion, but he’ll recover.”

  “And The Mole? Did you find him? Did he—”

  She nodded gravely. “He’s dead.”

  “So it’s over,” I breathed.

  She stroked my hair back with the tips of her fingers. “Yes, Aphra. It’s finally over.”

  “Scusate, signora.” A nurse in colorful scrubs stood in the doorway. “There is a phone call for you.”

  Mom stood. “I’ll be back.” She bent to kiss my forehead before she left the room, just like she used to do when I was a little girl. “Rest now,” she said. A lump rose in my throat and I didn’t trust myself to say anything, so I just listened as the clack, clack, clack of her heels against the hospital tiles faded away.

  I must have slept because when I opened my eyes, the pink curtains had been pulled back and sunlight flooded the room. I moaned and slammed my eyes shut again.

  “Hello.”

  I bolted wide awake. Ryan sat at the side of my bed in a wheelchair, watching me. I was suddenly overcome by a very strong urge to pull the blankets up to cover my hideously ugly hospital gown. Not that he looked much better, head and hands wrapped like a mummy’s, the gauze splotched and yellow in spots. What skin I could see on his face was an angry red and greasy with ointment. His eyelashes were completely gone. At least he was dressed, though, wearing a loose, white shirt and pull-on slacks. “Going somewhere?” I asked.

  He tried to grin, but winced when the skin around his mouth wouldn’t let him. “I gotta get back to work. I’m still on the clock.”

  “No, seriously. Are you okay to be discharged? You’re looking kinda green.”

  “Ah. That.” With effort, he shrugged. “They aren’t … authorized to give me certain pain medications in here. Don’t know what secrets I might divulge.”

  “But you’re …” I gestured to his bandaged state.

  “I’ll be fine. I’m being transferred to a military hospital where they will give me plenty of lovely drugs. In fact”—he gestured gingerly with his head—“Mario and Luigi out there are waiting to deliver me right now.”

  I glanced to the hallway where a couple of burly men in sharply pressed white uniforms stood like twin Roman statues glowering at us, caps tucked under their respective hairy arms. “You sure they’re not hauling you into some prison somewhere?”

  “Have you ever seen a military hospital?” He tried again to smile.

  “So you’re really okay? The last I saw you—” I closed my eyes. I didn’t even want to think about it.

  “I’m good,” he said quickly, and then leaned forward in his wheelchair, the fake leather seat squeaking beneath his weight. “Listen, I just wanted to tell you that you did a great job.”

  “But I got it wrong.”

  He shrugged—as much as he could, anyway. “So did I. But the important thing is that we got it right in the end.”

  “I didn’t, though. I would have—”

  “There’s no going back, Aphra, only forward. Don’t worry about what might have been. What’s important is what is. You helped to bring down a dangerous organization. You should be proud of that.”

  I pleated the sheet between my fingers, trying to think of the appropriate response since I thought he was completely wrong.

  “I was serious in Seattle when I said you should consider following in your mom’s footsteps. You’d make a good operative.”

  “Oh, no. I—”

  “Just think about it. Let me know if you ever change your mind.”

  “I won’t,” I said.

  Someone tapped on the door. I glanced up and went all warm inside. Seth stood there, hands dug deep into the pockets of his jeans.

  Ryan nodded to him. “Mulo.”

  Seth nodded back. “Anderson.” He took a couple of tentative steps into the room and looked past Ryan to where I lay. “I just … came to say good-bye,” he said.

  Ryan backed his wheelchair away from the side of my bed, gesturing for Seth to take his place. “Sure. I gotta take off, anyway.” He reached out a bandaged hand, and Seth shook it carefully. “Good luck to you, Mulo.”

  Seth gave him one of those tough-guy raise-the-chin-to-acknowledge-the-statement things. “See you around.”

  With one last glance at me, Ryan rolled out of the room. Seth stood watching me for a moment and then approached the bed warily, almost shyly. “How’s the leg?” he asked. “Your foot?”

  But I didn’t care about those things. “Where are you going?” I blurted.

  He perched on the edge of the mattress and picked up my hand. His fingers were warm and rough against mine. “We’re going home,” he said. He pasted on a smile, but it couldn’t mask the sadness in his eyes.

  I almost didn’t dare ask. Given their past experience, I could imagine—now that the Mulos were free to come and go as they pleased—that the last people they would want to know their whereabouts would be the Agency. Or the offspring of the Agency. But I had to know. “Where’s home?”

  He looked into my eyes for a long time and then touched his free hand to my chest. “For me, it will always be right here.” Then he looked away, as if he was embarrassed by what he’d said. The light from the window lit him from behind, giving him an almost ethereal appearance—unearthly and beautiful … and impossible to hold on to. When he raised his blue eyes to mine, I wanted to cry.

  “My parents miss their families,” he said softly. “They haven’t seen them for over twenty years… .”

  “How long will you be there?” My voice sounded small, pathetic.

  “I don’t know how long they’ll stay.” He cleared his throat. “I plan to start college as soon as I can.”

  “Where?” I whispered.

  He lifted one shoulder, watching me from under his dark lashes. “Depends on where I get in. I don’t exactly have regular transcripts to offer.”

  I laughed to hold back the tears. “Yeah, I can see the admissions board now, reviewing your extracurricular activities …”

  “They wouldn’t be able to see them.” He grinned. “The file would be sealed.”

  “Even better.” I laughed at the thought. “You’d be a man of mystery.”

  “James Bond!”

  “Ha! Maxwell Smart.” My smile quickly faded and I closed my fingers around his. “I’ll miss you.”

  He raised my hand to his lips. His breath was hot on my skin. “I’ll miss you, too.”

  I couldn’t hold it back anymore. A single hot tear escaped and rolled down my cheek.

  “Hey. What’s this?” Seth cupped my face in his hand and wiped it away with his thumb. “Your meds must be getting to you.”

  If I could have sat up, I might have held him close and hidden the rest of my tears on his shoulder, but with my leg strung up in the air, the most I could accomplish was to reach out for him, sobbing like a baby.

  He gathered me in his arms and curled around me like a leaf. “You know,” he said in a husky voic
e, “guys hate it when girls cry.”

  “I’m sorry,” I sniffled.

  “No. That’s not what I meant to—” He held me away from him. “I was just trying …” He growled in frustration. “Look, you’re not getting rid of me this easily, all right? I’ll be back. I just don’t know when.”

  I could only nod and grab handfuls of his shirt to pull him close to me once more. I closed my eyes, wanting to capture that moment in my memory forever, to tuck it close like a photograph so that I could take it out and relive it again and again and again.

  Mr. Mulo came to the door and cleared his throat. I held Seth tighter.

  “I’m so glad to see you’re doing well, Aphra,” Elena Mulo’s voice said.

  I released my stranglehold on Seth and looked up at her. Well? I was dying inside. “Thank you,” I murmured.

  “It’s time to go now, Seth,” she said softly.

  I reached up to touch his face one last time. He held my hand against his cheek and turned his head to kiss my palm.

  “Don’t worry; I’ll see you sooner than you think.” He laid the kiss in my hand flat on my chest, over my heart. He didn’t have to say the words.

  “I’ll be waiting,” I whispered. And then he was gone.

  Mom and I flew back to the island together. I wasn’t sure how Dad would be, seeing her again. I think he felt just as hurt and abandoned as I did when Mom stayed with her job instead of coming with us when we moved to the resort. But when he understands what she went through to protect us, maybe he can forgive her. And maybe if he knows how much I just wanted our family to be together again, he can forgive me for lying to him, for disappearing. I’ve learned that if you love someone enough, you can figure a way to deal with almost any situation.

  I talked to Caraday before we left Italy. If she figured out that I had thought she was a traitor, she never let on. She got a medal of commendation from the Agency for what she did in Varese. I hope that makes her feel better about the scars she will carry for the rest of her life.

  Me, I’m working hard on my homeschool packets. If I complete enough of them, I might be able to start sending in college apps this summer. I don’t know yet where Seth will be going, but I figure if my grades are good enough, I can be accepted anywhere.

  I guess that’s one good thing my mom taught me through this thing: Be prepared for whatever may come.

  epilogue

  I sit on the beach, watching the whitecaps curl toward the shore. It feels good to be back home, but I would kill to be able to dive into the water, to swim down and down and leave everything else behind.

  The doctors say I can get the cast off in three more weeks. That’s three more weeks of torture.

  I close my eyes and turn my face to the warmth of the sun. I taste the salt in the air and listen to the steady shush, shush, shush of the ocean. My ocean. My island. My home. And yet …

  There are times I feel like the island can’t contain me anymore. Mom and Dad have a long road ahead of them. Five years apart is a long span to bridge, and sometimes I feel that I’m just in the way.

  My fingers curl around the envelope in my hand. It’s a note from Ryan. There is an assignment he thinks I could help with. He wishes I’d reconsider.

  I don’t know.

  I just might… .