Blaze

25. After Party

Once we've returned to the forest, the Captain thinks something at Alaina. She stops in her tracks, stiffens, and pulls me forward on a zigzag path.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"You said you wanted to be happy." Her voice is deep and empty. I wonder why she speaks aloud. "That's what you said."

The other Raiders, the ones who started settling in their tents, come out to look at us as we walk past them.

"Yes," I say, "I said that. But I also said I didn't want the bread."

She laughs, and I die with every single note. With every face that turns to stare.

You are going to be happy, she tells me. You are going to be happy.

---

Stay here.

This part of the forest is lonely, nondescript. When Alaina walks off, I feel cold and watched.

---

You want to be happy.

"I don't—"

"Would seeing your father make you happy?" I jump. The Captain stands in front of me, a human tree, frigid-eyed but speaking warmly. "He's the reason you're here, after all. That's what I think."

All I can see is Austin, jumping up and down with excitement. Crying tears of happiness. And for some reason, for whatever reason, Mother—Mom—walking. I know she can't—not ever again. But when Dad was there last, she would greet him at a run (she told us this, during one of her low, much-earlier moments of missing the past). If he comes back, maybe it'll be the jolt she needs to get back on her feet. (Maybe not.) The idea of it, the image of it, at least, I can't shake. Austin crying. Mother walking. Jackie—where is Jackie? She's watching from the street. She's going through the threshold to join them.

Maybe I can do it. Maybe I can really do it.

Maybe I can bring him back.

"Yes," I say. I've forgotten everything. I've forgotten where I am, and what happened to me last, and how I'll most likely end up dead here. I've forgotten that even if he is here, I can't bring him back.

It's close to the feeling when Mother returned in the van. I'm happy, so happy I know I shouldn't be, but I can't help it. Not anymore. I'm a child about to open up his Christmas gifts (my only memories of Christmas are too far away to read; the only clear images I know of come from learning cubes), and set the ornament on top of a glittering tree, all at once. But this Christmas only comes once every fourteen years.

"Yes," I say. "Yes, that would make me happy. That would make me very happy. Yes."

He smiles. "Come with me."

---

There's a table laid out in the middle of the forest. There's a cloth set over it, and plates of food—it's been so long since I've seen such a vast array of food!—line it in two neat rows. It looks to have been just set up—and with a lot of attention to detail. I wonder briefly if the Captain can claim credit.