The Inner Circle - Brad Meltzer [109]
With a baritone tunk, the thick steel door on our left pops open, and we head inside to the heart of the building. Barely two steps in, we come to another steel door. This one’s closed. It’s the same system they have in prisons—a sally port—the next door won’t open until the previous one is shut. That way, the patients can’t escape.
Behind us, the first door clamps shut. I’m barely half a step behind Clementine. All I see is the back of her head, and a black beauty mark on the curve of her neck. But you don’t have to be fluent in body language to see the way she’s not moving. This is harder than yesterday. She knows what she’s about to face.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper.
She doesn’t look back.
“Clemmi, I’m serious,” I add. “If you want, just wait here.”
“How come you haven’t asked me about last night?” she blurts.
“Wait. Are we fighting now? Is this about the kiss?”
“Forget the kiss. Last night. What you saw with Nan… why haven’t you asked me about it?”
“I did ask you. You said you didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, now I do. Especially as I’m starting to hyperventilate in this tiny metal box.”
Another metal tunk makes us both jump—the next door unlocks—and there’s another long lime green hallway with an elevator at the far end. Clementine doesn’t move, though it looks like she’s trying to. In the past few days, I’ve seen her be both strong and weak, fearless and terrified, and also kind and protective. There are so many Clementines in that body. But when it comes to her family—especially her father—the girl who used to be prepared for anything reminds me that the number one thing she’s not prepared for are her own insecurities.
“Y’know I don’t judge you based on how you’re treated by your grandmother,” I tell her.
“I know you don’t. But it’s not just about how she treats me. It’s about how I let her treat me. You saw it yesterday—I’m not… when she…” She presses her lips together. “I’m not my best with her.”
I stand there, pretending I didn’t see exactly that last night. “Sometimes you’re so strong, I forget you can be hurt.”
She shakes her head. “We can all be hurt.”
I nod, thinking about the fact that Iris’s bicycle is still sitting in my garage from where she accidentally left it. Iris loves that bicycle. But she still won’t come pick it up.
As I study the single beauty mark on the back of Clementine’s neck, it reminds me that there’s nothing more intimate in life than simply being understood. And understanding someone else.
“How long’ve you been taking care of your grandma?” I finally ask.
“Four years. Ever since my mom died. And yes, I know it’s good to take care of the elderly, but… living with a nasty old woman… having no job… which, also yes, I should’ve told you… and then finding out that Nico is my… y’know… I’m not saying I needed my life to be a symphony—I just never thought it’d turn out to be a country song.”
“Yeah, well… it’s better than realizing that your life is elevator music.”
“Some people like elevator music,” she counters.
I look over at her. She stands her ground, fearlessly locking eyes and reminding me exactly why her reappearance has slapped me out of the safe hibernation that’s become my life. Even when she’s afraid, this girl isn’t afraid of anything. Or at least she’s not afraid of me.
As she studies me, I want to kiss her again. I want to kiss her like last night—and I know this is my chance, a true second chance in every sense. A golden moment where the earth stops spinning, and the clouds roll away, and I get the opportunity to say the perfect words and prove that I can actually change my life.
“So… buh… your grandmother…” I stutter. “Her cancer’s really bad, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s bad,” Clementine says, heading up the hallway. “Though mark my words, Nan’s got eighteen lives. She