The Leaving(37)

She turned and grabbed a magazine and a glass of lemonade she’d already poured and said, “I’ll be out back. Back to the grind tomorrow so better get some sun.”

Yes.

Better do that.

Now Scarlett waited on the front steps, studying the front yard for ghosts of her childhood self. She tried to conjure an apparition of herself blowing bubbles or skipping rope, but couldn’t.

What had ever happened to that pink flamingo, anyway? She’d have to ask Tammy later.

Lucas appeared on a bike and came to an awkward, almost-crash stop out front on the sand. He leaned the bike against a palm tree and walked with purpose toward her. She half thought he was going to grab her and kiss her, from the look of intensity on his face, and she felt her whole body perk up at the idea of it.


A tingling in her lips.


And other places.


All over.





He held out a book to her. “I found this in my dad’s stuff.”

She took it from him and read the title, and he said, “It was written before we were taken,” and felt like she was back on that cliff of her life.


This time, her existence was . . .


. . . an



A B Y S S



“Hey,” he said.

Catching her.

She flipped to the back and read.


Futuristic . . .

Eliminate childhood . . .



Memory-wiping . . .





Countdown . . .





“Where did he get this?” She felt her whole body wake up in a new way, all those lights going back on at once. “What does it mean?”


I’m going on a trip.


To the leaving.


Had she seen this book—read this book?


When she was five?


“I don’t know,” Lucas said. “I don’t know how he even heard about it or where he found it. There’s hardly anything about it on the web. And of course everything about us comes up first. But the author lives in Florida.”



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“We can’t possibly have been in pods this whole time,” Scarlett said.


Pods on Earth was arguably a worse theory than alien pods.

“Not literally, no,” Lucas said. “I don’t think so. It’s really only the concept that’s the same. They start with six kids as test subjects before the whole thing goes wide.”

“And they don’t remember anything when they come back?” Scarlett asked.

“No, they remember. But they remember an awesome childhood. An entirely fake childhood. And there are sort of hints that these new types of kids—ones who’ve been to The Leaving—when they come back, they just can’t cope with reality, even though they seem like they have it all together. So the book is about how if you sanitize childhood, society will implode. Oh and the kids all know they’re going; they know before that it’s happening.”



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“Like I did.”



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She wanted to call for Tammy, but wasn’t allowed to call her Tammy. She had completely mastered avoidance of the direct address.

“Come with me.”

She went out to the backyard where Tammy was sitting on a folding chair with her feet in an inflatable kiddie pool shaped like a fish. “Have you ever seen this?” Scarlett held the book out.

“No,” Tammy said. “Why?” She spied Lucas and sat upright.

Took her sunglasses off.

“It’s really you,” she said.

“It’s really me,” he said.

Tammy stood and went to hug him. “I still can’t believe it,” she said. “That you’re back. That Will’s gone.”

Lucas seemed receptive to the hug, and Scarlett hated to ruin the moment but . . .

“Have you ever seen this?” She held the book out again, more firmly.

Really wanting an explanation.

Needing something to shift and make sense.

She said, “It’s a book about a society where kids are sent away for their childhoods.”

“There were a bunch of books written about it.” Tammy finally let go of Lucas.

Scarlett felt her breathing change and deepen. Had she been jealous? Of the hug? Of contact? She said, “This was written before it happened.”

“My father had it,” Lucas said.

“In that old RV?” Tammy returned to her chair and pulled her sunglasses back down. “Did he talk to the police about it?”

“I don’t know,” Lucas said.

Scarlett looked at Lucas pointedly. “Let’s go in and do that.”

Back in the house, she stood at the kitchen aisle. “Where in Florida does he live? Were you able to find his address?”

“No, but I found the town. Tarpon Springs. We could go there, maybe. Ask around? My dad was e-mailing with his son a few years ago, but the e-mail I sent bounced.”

“So we stop people in the street?” She had no idea what their next steps should be but for some reason felt that it shouldn’t be calling the police. “What would we even ask him?”