The Survivor - Cristin Harber Page 0,71

somehow with her usual grace. “Halle?”

Amanda waited to hear, Yes, Dr. Hearst. Or something else oddly normal that would make no sense. Not one to be ignored, Mom grumbled and trudged toward Halle until they faced each other. “Young lady, what is this about?”

Mom and Halle danced around the situation, getting nowhere, and Amanda tried for a plan. Short of getting Halle’s weapon and shooting, nothing came to mind. Queasiness and lack of intel didn’t help.

“Enough questions. Time to take it inside.” Halle directed them with the barrel of her gun as though they’d been out for a nice hike that had gone wrong. “That way.”

Amanda locked arms with her mom and followed the directions that led them into the cabin lit by a handful of candles. Shadows danced on the exposed timber walls and bent over the ceiling beams. Old family photographs hung on the wall. Some frames and glass were cracked. Cobwebs hung over lamps. A pair of sneakers waited by the closet door.

Amanda pivoted and took in the small space: living room, dining table, and kitchen. A once blue-and-white checkered tablecloth had been dulled with a thick layer of dust. It must’ve been years since anyone had stepped foot in this cabin. “You lived here?”

“Not all of us grow up in the White House.”

Amanda shrunk back.

Mom stepped between them. “That’s not Amanda’s fault.”

Amanda pressed her hand to her throat. “Where are your parents?”

“In prison.”

Since when? Reality snapped, and Amanda realized nothing had been true. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” Amanda stepped forward.

“Because,” Halle snapped, “we believe nothing that you do.”

A shiver ran down her back. Billy had said those same words, filled with that same venom, during his trial. “Beliefs won’t put you in prison.”

Halle lifted her chin, proud of whatever had jailed her parents. “There’s no progress without sacrifice.”

Hadn’t Billy’s lawyer said similar things? Amanda wasn’t sure. She’d been recovering from burns, mourning, and hopelessly depressed. But she recalled the headlines that screamed: Homegrown terrorist. Nationalized extremist. Hate in the name of God. “You’re one of them?”

A photograph of Halle caught her eye. Dust and cobwebs had been wiped clean, and in the candlelight, Amanda could tell that the picture frame had been picked up and put down dozens of times.

She picked it up and stared at Billy and Halle. By the looks of this picture, they were far more than old friends … “I don’t understand.”

“You never will,” Halle snapped.

“Why are you doing this?” Amanda threaded a hand into her hair and pulled until it hurt. “Because of Billy?”

Halle pursed her lips. Her nostrils flared.

“He’s why? You did all this for him?” Amanda shook the frame and threw it onto the floor. “This isn’t progress or sacrifice. It’s insane.”

Glass crunched under Halle’s shoes. She crouched and lifted the frame. Glass shards fell, and her eyes glistened. “He has cancer.”

Amanda hadn’t known. What was she supposed to feel? Joy? Compassion? Her mind had gone numb, and she simply muttered the only thing she knew for certain, “He’s in prison.”

Halle’s anguish rolled in waves. A tear slid down Halle’s cheek. “And they won’t let him out.”

Mom moved to Amanda’s side. They watched Halle pick the broken glass from the photograph. She dropped the pieces to the floor.

“Halle,” Mom whispered.

Halle held up the photograph as if that were what Mom had asked for. Part of Amanda had always understood that Halle and Billy had a bond, but to see them so young, sitting hand-in-hand on a porch swing, and to know what they both believed… The truth clarified doubts that Amanda had tried to ignore from the first lunch in the cafeteria to the last night at the library. “You loved him?”

Halle swallowed hard. “He’s dying.”

“I know,” Mom said. “And, I’m so sorry that he brought it upon himself.”

“Shut up!” Halle said.

Amanda twisted to her mother at the same time. “What?”

“He has lung cancer.”

Halle shook her head like it wasn’t true. “We didn’t know the explosives would make him sick.”

“But you knew it could kill people,” Mom added softly. “And it did.”

Amanda trembled. “How do you know any of this?”

Mom took the picture frame from Halle then set it where it had been. She stared at the photograph and shook her head as if everything made sense. “Someone filed a compassionate release request on his behalf.”

Halle’s lips trembled. “It was denied.”

“No, honey,” Mom said, almost heartbreakingly sad. “Whoever made the anonymous request failed to include who they were and how to contact them.”

“So what …” Halle’s voice cracked.

“The warden