I start back up the hill, toward the US flag and my mother’s bed and a building full of people who would never spend a day helping me, even if they didn’t think it was a wild-goose chase.
“We’ll find him!” Noah yells through the fence, watching me walk away. “He’s out there somewhere. And we’ll find him.”
I have to smile. He’s such a dork. But I’m starting to realize the one good thing that’s happened: He’s my dork.
The wind is strong, blowing off the sea, and, overhead, the flags all stand like soldiers in their spotlights, cracking and popping in the breeze. I think about what Noah is saying. We’re not looking for a man. We’re looking for a needle in an international haystack.
“We’ll find him!” Noah yells again.
I laugh and turn and wave. I’m sure he cannot hear me when I say, “No. We won’t.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I’m not sure how long I wander through the city. I’m not trying to get lost. I don’t want to get in trouble. But even though I know the shortest route back, I cannot bring myself to take it.
So I turn down shady alleys and wide promenades lined with darkened shops. I climb so high up a windy street that I can see over the wall and watch the sea. The moon is so bright here — I’d forgotten how much bigger it always seemed, like a spotlight shining down from Heaven. I wish it would shine upon the Scarred Man, but he doesn’t cross my path. The moon cannot lead me to him no matter how far I’m willing to go.
When the bells of the national cathedral chime midnight, I make sure I’m already on the other side of the embassy fence. The marine on duty raises his eyebrows — he knows I’m cutting it close. But I’m pretty sure the marines all like me. I’m a military kid. A member of their tribe. Besides, at the very least, my presence here has the potential to break up the monotony of their days.
I’m through the residence’s entrance and halfway across the black-and-white floor when Ms. Chancellor’s voice catches me off guard.
“Not quite so fast.”
I freeze, turn. Ms. Chancellor is still in her suit and heels, and I can’t help imagining her sneaking downstairs for a midnight snack. In heels. Skiing down the Alps. In heels. Skydiving. In heels.
“I’m in,” I say, forcing a grin. “Midnight curfew observed.”
“Grace, if I could have a word, please?” She asks it like a question but doesn’t wait for an answer. She just trusts me to follow her up the stairs.
“I get it, okay?” I’m saying. “I’m here. I’m shutting up. I’m going to bed like a good little girl.”
“Oh, sweetie.”
I don’t know what’s more concerning, Ms. Chancellor’s words or the look on her face. When she stops at the top of the stairs, I’m seriously worried that she might try to hug me.
So I take a step back. “I’m nobody’s sweetie.”
She takes off her glasses and tilts her head. “Do you really believe that’s true, Grace?”
“What are you talking about?”
Then Ms. Chancellor eases away. She must know I’m on the verge of jumping onto the railing and sliding away, bursting through the doors, and never, ever coming back.
I’d rather live in a war zone with my father than with people who call me sweetie.
“Did you know I knew your mother?” Ms. Chancellor asks, sinking down to sit on the top step. It’s oddly casual. It doesn’t suit her. “Oh, I know that you and I never had much reason to interact when you came here as a girl, but I joined your grandfather’s staff not long after your grandmother died. Your mother was about your age at the time. And she and I became very close. We stayed quite close.”
“So?” I say.
“So I was there the day your mother met your father. And I was there when your father asked your grandfather if he could marry her — that took some time to sink in, needless to say. I was with your grandfather when he learned that Jamie had been born. And when you were born. And, so, Grace … I know that you were her sweetie. And I know that now — even though she’s gone — you are not alone.”
“Okay. Whatever. Fine.”
It’s dark, but I can feel Ms. Chancellor staring at me — I feel it like a physical touch, and the sensation is almost too much. I’m tired of having so many emotions coursing through me. My nerves are raw and bleeding.
“You’ve been busy today.” Ms. Chancellor fiddles with her eyeglasses and I wonder if she knows that we were on her computer. Did Megan run and blab? But it isn’t like that, I remember. She doesn’t have to know what I’ve done — what Noah and I are still doing. She just has to know me.
I climb the final step and come inches from her. My voice is a whisper as I lean down and say, “You can’t change what I saw.”
“I know that,” Ms. Chancellor tells me. “But I can help you to deal with it.”
I start past her. “You had your chance to help.”
“You lost your mother, Grace!” Ms. Chancellor calls after me. I can feel my anger growing, rising even as Ms. Chancellor’s voice stays cool. “You lost her in a terrible and horrific way. And that is why your grandfather and I have decided that perhaps you should talk to someone here. Like you did after the accident.”
“Someone like a shrink?” I ask.
“Someone who can help you to come to terms with what happened. Put it behind you. Move on.”
She’s not asking me if I want to do this — if I think it is a good idea. She’s already made up her mind. Or, worse, she’s already made up his mind.
“I want to see my grandfather,” I say, starting down the hall.
“He’s not in his room.”
I stop, spin on her. “Then where is he?”
“At the moment, I’m afraid he’s —”
“Let me guess.” I cock an eyebrow. “Busy?”
“He has guests, Grace.”
I have to laugh. “It’s after midnight. What kinds of guests does he have after midnight?”
Ms. Chancellor doesn’t answer. She just glances down almost involuntarily at the closed doors of the large formal sitting room that is on the opposite side of the foyer.
I don’t wait to hear more.
“Grace!” Ms. Chancellor yells as she struggles to her feet, but she doesn’t have a prayer of catching me as I race down the stairs. The marines couldn’t stop me. Not a battalion of Sherman tanks.