Epitaph Road Read Free Page A

Why?”
    â€œI want you to think about something,” she said, lowering her voice.
    â€œI’m already thinking about something.”
    â€œThis is more important than your travel plans, Kellen. What I want you to think about is your trials. Your life , in other words.”
    â€œTravel plans? You think I’m just interested in travel ? What I’m interested in is seeing Dad. I want to spend time with him. I want to see how he lives. I want to see how guys live.”
    â€œAnd what I want is for you to consider something really vital,” she said, plowing ahead. “I want you to consider seeking help if you get close to your exam date and don’t feel completely confident you can pass with flying colors.”
    â€œHelp studying, you mean?”
    â€œDr. Mack knows the chair of the regional trials board.”
    Dr. Mack. Rebecca Mack. Mom’s big boss. The head of PAC. She wouldn’t just know the chair of the PAC trials board, she probably had the final say on the woman’s appointment to the position. The chair, whoever she might be, was no doubt firmly under Rebecca Mack’s thumb. She would fold if Dr. Mack pressured her, even just a little.
    I fidgeted with my other sock. “What about Dad?”
    â€œI know this feels as if I’m stepping on your toes, Kellen, but I just want what’s best —”
    Her e-spond chimed. She got to her feet and moved to the window, eyes out on the gloom and splash. “Heather Dent,” she said into the mouthpiece, just loud enough for me to overhear. “I’m home,” she said. “I was just talking to Kellen. We’ve hardly had time —”
    A pause. “Nothing new,” she said after a long moment of listening.
    Another pause, then: “Four days. We may not hear from her again.”
    More listening. A glance at me. “It’s all in motion on this end. I’m monitoring everything.” She snuck another look at me. I tried to put on a bored expression. “And there?”
    She hesitated, listening. “If you need me,” she said. Then: “Let me check.” With her back half turned to me, she fingered her display, studied the feedback, and resumed her conversation. “The earliest flight will get me to San Diego about eight. I’ll be on it.”
    She returned to the couch but didn’t sit. “Give me a hug,” she ordered.
    A hug. Her cure for everything. “You’re leaving again?”
    â€œI have to. But Paige will be here.”
    Aunt Paige. Aunt Reliable. “How long this time?”
    â€œA few days. We’ll talk when I get back.”
    â€œSure.” I got up and let her put her arms around me. I let her stand on her tiptoes and kiss me on the cheek. Then she was off, hurrying across the room and angling for the stairs.
    An angry rat-a-tat-tat sound pulled my attention away from her and toward the window. Hail had replaced rain. While strong gusts of wind threw the hard white ice pellets against the glass, I stood and watched and wondered what was going on.

I longed for the cavernous ache to ease
    as frost bloomed white on the lawn and
    small schoolgirls trudged back and forth
    in their colorful coats,
    but night after night, still heartsick,
    I stood at the bedroom mirror and examined
    my naked belly,
    growing plump and tight and blue-veined
    with the startling bulk of our son, Jimmy,
    a treasured comfort now,
    but in those acutely empty days mostly a reminder
    of you and what might have been.
    â€” EPITAPH FOR J AMES C ABLE
    (S EPTEMBER 3, 2036–A UGUST 6, 2067),
    BY L AUREL C ABLE , HIS WIFE ,
    N OVEMBER 3, 2068
C HAPTER T WO
    J UNE 19, 2097
    I listened to the two new girls — Tia and Sunday — outside my bedroom door, giggling, talking loud, like spectators at the zoo waiting for feeding time. Besides their names and ages — fourteen, same as me — most of what I knew about them was that they were