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“I guess.” He looks conflicted. “There are people I’ll miss.”

I wonder if he means Amity. And just like that I’m thinking about her again, tall and tan and freckled, and the minty smell that clung to her.

“Maybe I’ll go back someday,” he says a little wistfully.

“Maybe.” I’m doubtful.

We reach the door to the community center and head inside. It’s crowded this time of evening, with people on exercise bikes in a windowed room to our right. A long table in another room shows a spirited discussion and a whiteboard, and there are steps down to a library that’s bustling with parents and children. They do have some nice resources out here.

We head to the kitchen where we’re picking up a food order that should get us across the border and most of the way through Canada. The big box is heavy with packaged meals and wrapped-up sandwiches. I don’t have to pay because that’s all been arranged ahead of time by the Forge.

A couple of people are working in the kitchen and a girl closes the fridge. She’s pretty, with long braids and a nice figure. My eyes rest on her while I’m thinking about the drive across Canada, but I guess she takes that as an invitation and gives me a flirty look, running her eyes up and down me.

I sigh and turn away. I’m on the clock, and frankly, there’s something about me that can’t get interested in someone I just met. My dad says when the Adamson men fall, they fall hard and forever.

I know he’ll be carrying a torch for my mom forever, even if he has women stay with him sometimes at the Forge. I don’t even go that far. It’s hard to trust people, and I don’t want a girl in my private room. The thought makes me nauseous, actually, although I’d never admit it.

I try not to show any disgust on my face, this girldoesn’t deserve that. I turn away and quickly herd the men back outside.

“Eat something, then we head to the border,” I grunt and grab a sandwich to eat at a picnic table. It’s still light out, but it’s getting later and I’m surprised how many people are out and about in town. When I see a mom and dad holding the hands of a little boy my chest feels tight, but I push it down.

It’s a sweet little Black boy with his parents enjoying the walk home from his piano lesson or whatever they were doing. His parents look down on him with so much pride, it’s like the three of them are in a bubble of happiness together. It feels so familiar.

I had that. That little boy was me ten years ago. Full of love, full of optimism. Heading into a future that would be better, safer, and more peaceful.

I know my mother worked so hard to leave me that legacy. Little did she know how wrong things would go, how her own organization and government would turn on her once she started to expose their hypocrisy. How dark my father would become without her.

I shiver and hope that boy stays in his bubble, and nothing ever comes to burst it.