The Variables

“No,” she whispered. “Grant…”

“I can’t think about it too much…if I think about it too much…” he trailed off.

The elevator started to slow. Their destination approached.

“Why do you need Ethan?” Lucy asked next. She never broke her gaze from Grant. She held tightly on to his hand and refused to let go.

“Because I promised someone I’d deliver a letter. And honestly Lucy...I don’t know how many lives I have left.”

Ethan was right where the cameras had shown him to be—sitting and watching a screen imbedded into a bar-top. It was the World Series game seven between the Yankees and the Diamondbacks. Lucy wondered if Huck had managed to save any professional athletes. She hadn’t heard of anyone famous making Huck’s list. But maybe someday the Islands would boast competitive games with their own teams. Maybe when people grew tired of watching prerecorded history they would demand some sports of their own. The Island Games. It had a nice ring to it.

Ethan’s leg was stretched out to the side, and he glanced at Lucy and Grant as they entered the bar and pulled up the stools on either side of him. He took a sip of a beer and managed to say hello. Lucy and Ethan hadn’t seen much of each other in the past few days, and their brief encounters had left Lucy feeling wounded. But she didn’t feel like she had much time to dedicate to her brother’s moodiness, and so she let his frosty hello roll right off her back.

“Hey yourself,” Lucy said. “I didn’t know about this place. I’m learning about new places every day.”

“Nostalgia Sports,” Ethan replied, nodding toward the marquee outside. “Just another place to remind you of all the things that aren’t the same.” He took a drink.

“Ethan...” Lucy started. She picked up a napkin and began unfolding it, playing with the corners. “Grant...”

“Stop,” Ethan said. “I can tell that tone. You’re here for a favor?” Immediately, he took Lucy’s hand and placed it against the rough exterior of his fake leg. He held her hand there, his palm covering her hand entirely, and didn’t break eye contact, even after she started to squirm and pull away. “This happened to me. You want to hear about it?”

Lucy didn’t answer. She looked back at him, unblinking. He had never offered to tell her about his leg or his time in Portland without her; all of that had remained unspoken. She assumed that he had told Cass, but Lucy didn’t know for sure. While he seemed hostile, or maybe just drunk, Lucy didn’t want him to slip away; she could feel Grant’s impatience on her other side, and she felt torn.

“Of course,” Lucy answered. “But Grant needs...”

“There was a doctor...” he started talking over her. He looked off to the corner, and then shook off some floating memory and looked back to her. “She took my leg and just chopped it right off in the middle of the DiCarlo’s living room. You know them right?” Lucy nodded. “The leg is probably still there. My leg. And I didn’t have this contraption, so I was entirely dependent on these strangers to care for me. Which they did. The entire time.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No,” Ethan interrupted. He stared at the counter. “That’s just the thing, Lucy. You’re sorry for all the wrong reasons.”

Alfonso Soriano of the Yankees had hit a home run. Lucy watched him ru

“I screwed up, I know. You don’t know how truly sorry I am. Please. I’m not sorry for the wrong reasons...I’m sorry for everything,” Lucy said with sincerity. She took her free hand and put it on top of Ethan’s hand; it was cold and clammy. Grant stood by her side, unmoving. She could feel his arm against her back.

“They killed them, Lucy. Slaughtered the people who had done nothing but try and save me. They knew their lives were in danger, too. And I—” Ethan closed his eyes. “I should have run away where no one could find us. We all should have left. I was wrong...”

Grant’s leg was now bouncing up and down on the stool, he tapped his fingers on the counter and opened his mouth to say something, but then he changed his mind. His hand went to his pocket and he pulled out a folded up bag. Lucy looked at it, and turned back to Ethan.

“You don’t negotiate with these people, Lucy.”

“Grant has something for you...”

“Ethan,” Grant said, leaning across the counter.

“Our family isn’t the same,” Ethan replied to Lucy, ignoring Grant. “Some things you don’t get back. And it’s just...those people...who died...I cared about them.”

“I respect that this is a really tender brother-sister thing going on...” Grant continued, “and I’m sorry if this is rude...but Ethan, can you please listen to me?”

Lucy and Ethan turned to Grant, and Grant put the folded up airsickness bag on the counter and pushed his pointer finger down on the top, and slid it over to Ethan’s arm.

“From Ainsley,” Grant said quietly.

The bar went quiet. Or maybe it had been quiet before and none of them noticed. Someone at another table was watching a soccer game and the fans were chanting a series of oh oh oh ohs along with the heavy beat of a drum. The bartender, a dark man with a nametag that read EUS One: Chemist, ran a rag over a pint glass in slow, methodical circles.

“Oh,” Ethan whispered, his eyes narrowing. He took the bag and tucked it into his own pocket without reading it. “I...no...that’s not possible,” he mumbled. He kept his hand on his pocket, as if just feeling the note was enough.

“I didn’t read it,” Grant said quickly.

“Ainsley,” Lucy repeated. “Who’s Ainsley?”

“A girl,” Ethan said. He looked at Grant, “Is she—?”

Grant nodded once. And Ethan looked overcome with emotion. He popped himself up off the chair and wrapped his arms around Grant.

“Where?” was all Ethan whispered.

“The shore,” Grant replied. “With Darla...and my dad.”

Lucy’s mouth dropped open. “What?” She spun and looked between Grant and Ethan. “What? Are you serious? You waited to tell me all of that?”

“I’m sorry...” he replied, then he turned to Ethan. “Blair knows.”

Ethan stiffened. “Grant—”

“You can trust her. She wants to reunite Darla and Teddy. But...”

Several guards entered Nostalgia Sports, they sca

“Mr. King, Miss King,” they said. Then they turned to Grant. “Grant Trotter. Huck Truman has requested an audience with you in his office. Please follow us.”

“Is this optional?” Grant asked with a half-smile.

The men did not smile back.

“He doesn’t have to go with you,” Ethan replied and he crossed his arms.

“This is non-negotiable,” one of the guards said to Ethan. “Step aside, please.”

“No way. He’s not going,” Ethan said.

“Move aside.”

Ethan uncrossed his arms and took his pointer finger and poked it into the sternum of the guard closet to him. “I said he’s not going with you,” he hissed.

Without another word, the guard looked to his partner and then stepped back. Lucy gasped as the guard lifted his boot and took aim against Ethan’s prosthetic leg, kicking it squarely in the space just below where Ethan’s prosthetic began. The leg gave out underneath him and Ethan scrambled to hold on to something. He grabbed the upper part of the barstool and his limbs flew out around him.