ANTITYPE

JUNE ~ NOAH

Bubbles dance up the other side of the tank’s glass and pop at the top. I’ve lost count of how many have passed while I wait. I debate giving the tropical fish—born and raised inside these portable nine-foot tanks—crazy names, like Lionface and Blowcheeks. I may as well be an owner by now.

I walk away from the aquarium, fists jammed in my front pockets, blowing out a breath. Two young boys run around my legs, clipping my knees and laughing. In pursuit, a mother yells their names and is careful not to bump too hard into the strolling cluster of men. Every time the light of an overhead lamp shines in her eyes, rising panic is visible then disappears again when she reaches a patch of shadow.

I frown after the boys. My younger brother, Gabriel, and I used to run away from our stepmother Becky, too. And Rachel after her. Probably Paula after her. Or was Paula after Freda? Who can track Dad’s wives? I can barely track my half brothers, three of whom are off in boarding schools, and two at university becoming men our father can be proud of. The youngest brother is only three and still living at home.

Unlike us boys, my four half sisters live in Richmond’s local WTC. Good ol’ James, doing his civic duty. The proud father of at least one fertile woman so far—Hannah, who’s younger than me by eight years and will “graduate” in September. The other three girls are too young yet to know their fertility status.

Choosing to meet here was a bad idea. The carnival is a big attraction, yes, and we won’t draw unwanted attention, but I could run into just about anyone I know. Why Lieutenant Colonel Nathan Updike couldn’t wait until the caravan landed in New York City next week, I don’t know.

I sit on a long bench, alone except for an old man people watching from the opposite end. He smiles at every passing child. At first glance, this appears voyeuristic and unsettling, but I understand. He’s nostalgic. The old man was genuinely happy once. I wonder if he still is or if his bubble has popped at the top of a full tank.

“Noah.”

The man calling my name stops across from me to lean on the gold handrail outside the aquarium wall. He is tall, balding, and muscled under a tight-fitting black T-shirt. He’s old enough to be my father but puts my fitness regimen to shame. Stark white hair rings the sides and back of his head.

I wade through the crowd to meet him. He squints into the water. The reflection dances on his bald skull.

“You’re late,” I say.

“Couldn’t be helped.”

I put my back to the glass and lean on the rail, folding my arms. Stare at the passersby and into the copse of trees behind the benches without really seeing the details. “What’s this about?”

“You missed your last check-in.”

“So Tanner sent you to check on me?”

“He suspects you’ve finally made a decision.” He straightens. “Is he right?”

So that’s what this is about. Jesus. Every time I turn around, someone’s in my face trying to force their version of my future on me.

Across the short walkway, the old man stares at us.

I push off the railing. “Let’s walk.”

Updike follows me past the aquarium section and into an area where food tents line either side of the walkway. Children act out for fun-house mirrors. The interactive glass contorts their reflections, and they laugh when their images rocket from pudgy masses of goo to thin poles. Squeals erupt when the images then stretch them out. Balloons in every color imaginable hover over bobbing heads. Sweet scents mingle with grease, sweat, and kicked-up dust.