When they stopped and the doors opened, Lucy gazed at the hallway stretching out before her, and she looked at Gordy.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to travel down creepy hallways under the ocean with strangers,” Lucy said. She pressed herself further back against the glass.
“Come on,” Gordy said. “I don’t bite.”
“That’s up for debate,” Lucy replied quickly. His face shifted, softened--it was vaguely feline in nature, as though Lucy was nothing more than a toy to bat at.
Extending his hand, which Lucy ignored, Gordy tried again. “My dad built this place. It’s called the Remembering Room. I think you should see it, and then you can be on your way. Go up to the 6th floor for a massage or the 40th to visit the library. Take an aptitude test and apply for a job. You’ll settle in here, Lucy. No doubt.” He exited the elevator, and then he turned back to wait for her disembark.
But Lucy pushed the close button several times and willed the door to shut faster.
“No thanks,” she mumbled, not wanting to appear too rude. “I have...a plan...a date. I’m meeting someone.” The door shut and Gordy disappeared. Without another plan, Lucy pushed the button for the 40th floor and shuddered.
She didn’t trust him. Couldn’t trust him. But he made himself so likeable, so engaging. He spoke to her like she mattered, like he knew her, and like he cared for her wellbeing. It was a trait he had inherited from his father. And it made him very, very dangerous.
The library was well stocked, and the books came from a variety of places—the Library of Congress, the New York and the Boston Public Libraries, the Codrington Library of Oxford, the British Library, the Abbey Library of St. Gallen, and others from around the world: Russia, China, Canada, and Germany. The lights were dimmed and people milled about in reverence for the new collections displayed at Kymberlin. A sign outside the thick mahogany doors, which were no doubt lifted from some place of cultural and social significance, claimed that library tours of the other Islands would begin after the move-in phase was completed. For now, everyone was isolated to their own Islands. Kymberlin would hold her captive.
Still, the library was breathtaking both in scope and majesty. She knew now that everything here had been brought to this place in the last month by Huck’s stealthy army. Wearing suits to protect them from cholera, dysentery, the gelatinous slime of the rapidly decaying bodies, the men and women moved like ghosts through the empty cities. Anything of value was saved and everything else would be left to the elements. Over time nature would take back the earth, while humans lived on inside their manmade quarantine.
Lucy looked for the quietest section of the library and settled into a chair that had a small plaque on the arm boasting that it originated from the “Former Vatican of Vatican City.” She hadn’t wanted to read Grant’s letter while moving from one place to another, she hadn’t wanted to give him flyby attention. Grant deserved every second of her undivided devotion; he deserved respect. When she was certain that no one else was around, Lucy dug her finger under the lip of the sealed envelope and pulled Grant’s letter free.
Dear Lucy, he had written: I don’t know what to say right now. Nothing sounds right. And you know I’m not very good with things like this...because I’ll probably just turn it into a joke. Not like a stupid joke, like that one I told you in Cass’s skylight room, when your hair smelled like lemon and I thought if I didn’t make you laugh then I was going to lose you. (Do you remember that joke?) She remembered the punchline: call him anything you want because he won’t be able to hear you. She only remembered it because of the way Grant giggled when he told her, and how she felt simultaneously embarrassed for him and more in love with him. His single dimple had been so deep that she had to resist an urge to stick her finger into the divot.
I know, I know. You think that’s me being all exaggeratory. I don’t think that’s a real word. I’m sorry I’m not good with words. If it IS a real word, then see? I’m smarter than you give me credit for.
Before I get to the real reason for this letter, I want to tell you all the things about you that I think are wonderful. Isn’t that a good idea?
I love the way you blush when you’re embarrassed. She blushed. And I love how you give whatever you have to the people you love. And you’re not afraid to sacrifice everything for someone...or stand up for them. Someone like me.
And you’re funny. Your little sarcastic moments make me smile.
You’re the strongest person I know. You never waver. You’re stronger than I am. It’s a fault of mine that I want to please people. When I think about how determined you are, it makes me want to be the man that you deserve. A fighter. You deserve a fighter.
So, Lula, it comes down to this. I don’t think I’ll ever be safe in this world, and it scares me. I think I’ll spend my entire life being looked at as some outsider who conned his way into the future by the fortune of some happy accident. (You are the happy accident, btw.) So, when you leave me down here, I can’t help but be afraid...I won’t be able to help thinking that every time you aren’t here to save me, my hours are numbered. You know all those damsel in distress stories you hate? I hate to break it to you, but I think I’m the damsel in distress. Doh. Plot twist: role reversal. And the truth is, I don’t think I’m capable of saving myself. That’s the sad part.
How many times will other people save me before I will feel safe? Is it bad that you are what makes me feel the most secure? A life with you is all I want. It’s all I need. I can’t wait to see you again on the Islands. It has to be soon, Lula. It will be soon.
Okay. I didn’t want this letter to be sad. That’s why I wanted to tell you all the reasons why I loved you. (I remembered another one. Your realness. Honesty. The way you roll your eyes when you get annoyed.) But this thing is too damn gloomy. It’s just because I’m going to be stuck without you for a long time and any life without you is a life absent of hope and laughter. And you make me feel like there is a future for us. Maybe a real one. With kids.
She took the letter and put it down for a second. Leave it to Grant to say something so tender and so ridiculous in one breath. She had to wait until her excitement and annoyance passed before she could keep reading. He wasn’t allowed to wax romantic about a future that couldn’t happen. How could he not see it? In the same breath as writing that he would never feel safe, he discussed wanting to start a family? He wanted to tell her that she was brave while communicating that he would never be brave enough? Grant wasn’t dumb; he was wise and fair. It was what attracted her to him to begin with—he wasn’t like all the other guys. But his wisdom had a blind spot when it came to discussing the future. He looked at their time on the Islands as the start of a new chapter, a new adventure. Lucy didn’t have those misconceptions.
After a long second, she picked the letter up and continued.
I love you, Lucy. That’s not hard to say. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever had to say. You’re easy to love. But here’s the thing...you have to decide what loving me will cost you. You see, you may think it’s stupid, but I just want you to be happy. I know that you see yourself as someone standing up against the powers that be, and I would never ask to take that away from you. If you want to leave, I already told you that I would leave, too. I’ll follow you anywhere. But if it takes me a long time to get to you? If Copia keeps me and you can’t get to me...if they keep us apart? Do what you need to do Lucy, take every opportunity, and leave the Islands without me. You don’t need my permission…I can be an eighteen-year-old kid who recognizes that his girlfriend doesn’t need his permission for anything she wants to do. But even though you don’t need my permission or even my blessing…you just need to know that you can. That I’ll understand. Leave if you need to. I would never hold it against you.