Working methodically, Adeline, Elliott, and Hiro shut down the Absolom labs in Nevada. The employees were given generous severances. Ceasing development on the Absolom technology made the government inquest about the unauthorized Absolom departures easier to get rid of.
At home, Adeline faced a far greater challenge.
After school on Tuesday afternoon, she led Ryan into the family room, where he sat on the couch and Adeline perched on the edge of a club chair.
“I told you that Adeline went back to college.”
Ryan nodded, eying her, concern deepening by the second.
“I know she hasn’t responded to your texts or emails.”
“How did you—”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
He swallowed but didn’t look away.
“It’s something I said to you a few months ago. And twenty years ago.”
Ryan bunched his eyebrows.
“It’s over and we’re going home and Dad is waiting there for us.”
“He is? Wait. What?”
Adeline pressed on. She knew the words that would convince him, knew she had to get through them—the quicker the better.
“When you were eight, I was volunteering at Noah’s House, a non-profit shelter for kids who had been removed from their homes by social services. There was this big box of LEGOs in the garage. They were yours. I thought you didn’t want them anymore. You hadn’t played with them in years. I donated them to Noah’s House. When you found out I got rid of them, you lost it. You were so angry with me. Screaming and balling up your fists. And then when I told you who I had donated them to, you didn’t say another word. You were really conflicted. Still so angry, but you knew you weren’t playing with them anymore. And that they were doing more good at the shelter. You got a truck load of LEGOs that Christmas. They were stacked around the tree so high you could barely see the other presents.”
Ryan opened his mouth to speak. Adeline kept going.
“When you were six, you broke your leg and sprained your other ankle really badly. You were in a wheelchair for a month—until your ankle healed enough for crutches. I was pushing you in the street, but I didn’t realize how much speed we were gathering. Finally, I couldn’t even run fast enough to keep up. The wheelchair was pulling away, and I was losing control. I’ve never been that scared in my entire life.”
Even recounting the memory of it shot a bolt of fear through Adeline.
Ryan’s voice was just above a whisper. “What is this? What are you doing?”
“I knew I had to stop you before you got hit by a car. I lunged and pulled on the right handle of the wheelchair to steer it toward the ditch. I stood there in the street, panting, doubled over with my hands on my knees, watching as you crashed into that shallow ravine. Those seconds were probably the scariest of my entire life. Even scarier than watching Dad disappear in Absolom.”
The color drained from Ryan’s face.
“The yell that came out of you shattered me. I was terrified and winded, but I turned and ran back to the house. I thought my heart was going to explode inside my chest. I threw the door open and screamed for Dad, telling him you were hurt—and hurt badly and maybe dying—and I ran to my room and slammed the door and locked it and buried my head in a pillow and cried and cried until I had a headache and felt sick.”
Ryan swallowed hard. “Impossible.”
“I heard you crying when Dad carried you back into the house. I stayed in my room. Even through dinner. That night, Dad had to break open my door—it ripped out part of the frame. He made me come out and showed me that you were okay and that everything was fine. I felt terrible. But you forgave me—just like the LEGOs.”
“How—”
“Two days after Mom died, I skipped school and went over to Caroline Marshal’s house and got the drunkest I’ve ever been in my life. I think it all finally caught up with me, and I was regretting not spending more time with her. I stumbled home. I don’t remember it all, but I remember throwing up all over the living room. And in the hall going to my bedroom. I passed out. When I woke up, I was still drunk. I threw up again in the toilet, and when I left my room, someone had cleaned up the mess in the living room. It was you. It had to be. Dad was somewhere—I can’t remember where—but you never said a word. To him. Or to me.”
“How is this possible?”
“Ryan, I know this is going to be hard to hear—”
“Just tell me.”
“I’m your sister.”
“What happened to Daniele?”
“I’m also Daniele. I always have been. I sent myself back in time using Absolom.”
Ryan sat back against the couch cushion and breathed out. “No way.”
“It’s true.”
“To when?”
“2008.”
“Why then?”
“I don’t know exactly. There’s something about that time—about the loop. It sort of all started then, right before my birth.”
“And you… you became Daniele? How did you know to do that?”
“Some of the things I said to myself—that Daniele had found herself alone, with very little money, and had made good investments to support herself. And then there was the obvious clue: I sent myself back in time with an Absolom intern ID around my neck. But under that ink was a California driver’s license for Daniele Danneros. When I saw it, I realized the truth—what was going on and what I had to do. I knew history couldn’t be changed. When I saw the ID, I knew I had sent myself to the past to ensure things occurred the way they had to happen.”
“But where did the ID come from in the first place?”
“It’s a mystery of space and time—the same kind of mystery as the universe itself. Where did it come from? What was it before? No one knows the answer to that.”
Ryan shook his head. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
“I know.”
“Wait. You said Dad’s at home?”
“He is. But not the home you know. We’re moving, little brother.”
*
A month later, Adeline was standing on the deck of the ship she had chartered to Absolom Island. It was another calm day on the sea, and she knew that around sunset, they’d sight land.
At lunch, Ryan said, “Will there be other kids?”
“Not initially,” Adeline said. “But soon there will be. Kids and teachers, and people from all walks of life, from all around the world and across time. The island will be the ultimate melting pot.”
*
When she was finished eating, Adeline prepared a lunch tray for Constance and made her way belowdecks, to her friend’s stateroom. She found Constance lying on the bed, reading a book. Her eyelids were heavy, and her skin was ashen.
When they had set sail, Adeline hadn’t been sure the woman would live long enough to see them arrive at Absolom Island. For that reason, Adeline had been coming down to check on her several times a day.
Constance smiled. “Are we there yet?”
Adeline set the tray on the side table and sat on the bed. “Almost.”
“Did I tell you? I found the last one.”
Constance had told her—a few days ago—but Adeline knew her memory was slipping. And she didn’t want Constance to focus on that. She used one of the skills her very strange life had bestowed upon her, one that would likely come in handy when rescuing people in the past.
“No,” she lied.
“When I found him, I thought, that’s the last thread.” Constance took a few deep breaths. “Maybe that’s what the end of a life is: tying together those last few threads.”
Adeline thought about her mother, and the photomosaic quilts they had sewn together, and she thought Constance was right.
When she left, Constance was sleeping.
In her own stateroom, Adeline slipped beneath one of the mosaic quilts. She couldn’t remember her life ever feeling so complete. But as full as it was, she was still missing one piece. A very important one.