S. Bodeen - The Compound

Phil did a few interviews, speaking officially for the company. He stated how emphatically joyful he was that we were all alive and how sad that Rex Yanakakis, brilliant founder of YK Industries, had not been found with us.

Lying dirtbag. He also took the opportunity to reiterate the intricacies of my father’s will, read six years before upon his “death,” which left control of the company to Phil until Eddy, the sole heir, turned twenty-five. I assumed that the rest of us turning up alive would put a few kinks in Phil’s plan, but that would remain to be seen.

Of course, the media involved weren’t all legitimate press. The tabloids had a field day with the available facts. One story had us abducted by aliens who kept us for six years, then let us all go except my dad. Some papers even took the angle that the rest of us had gone to live there without him and he’d been searching for us in the RV when he was killed. Crazy, what those rags came up with. And those were only the ones Els snuck into the house. Mom saw them and, despite still recovering from the ordeal, decided it was necessary to hold a press conference.

Dressed in a dark suit with her hair up, she looked beautiful, serene, and strong as she stood right out in the driveway and made a statement. Basically she told them to believe what they wanted to, but she and her children had lives to lead. She conceded that she would allow Phil to run the company for now, but anticipated that she and her two oldest sons would soon be major players in the world of YK Industries. She then stated the family would be taking an extended vacation, and alluded to us leaving for the Colorado house in a few days, where she graciously but firmly stated that she hoped the press would leave us alone.

And one of the private YK Industries jets did leave for Colorado that evening, but none of us were on it. We were on a chartered jet bound for the Big Island and Gram’s house. Luckily, through all the chaos, no pictures of us ever emerged, so people weren’t recognizing us on the street. We’d all changed too much. Gram had kept Eddy sheltered all those years, so his face, and mine, managed to be relatively anonymous as well.

Every passing day in the sunshine and salt water slightly dulls the fear. I don’t know if there’s enough blue sky or waves in the world to push me toward anything resembling forgiveness, let alone a feeling of security. But we plan to stay as long as the respite lasts. I suppose something will intrude eventually. Perhaps Phil? The company? The world?

Or perhaps my father.

A set of waves comes, and I ride the third nearly all the way before it bucks me, spilling me off my board and into the water. My head bursts above the water and I gasp in air. I grab my board, climb on, and paddle back out to try again.

EDDY AND I SPEND A LOT OF TIME THESE DAYS PLAYING WITH the little kids on the beach, watching Cocoa chase Lucas and Cara in and out of the waves as Quinn sits in the sand, throwing handfuls into the air and screeching.

And we find ourselves teaching them about the world. Small stuff, dumb stuff we would never even think needs to be taught. Like the postal service. Fire sirens. Litter. Lucas has appointed himself the official litter patrol, as every day at the beach, at least once, he’ll yell out “Litter!” before chasing after whatever happens to be blowing along the sand.

Eddy wondered why I didn’t know the little ones that well, and he was silent as I told him the reason. He doesn’t seem to judge any of us.

Another set of waves comes, but I stay where I am, letting them push me up before they slide on by.

Lexie and Terese spend most days with Gram’s horses. I think the animals provide something the rest of us can’t, but Lexie laughs easily now and then, and Terese hasn’t gone back to an English accent.

Life is okay. Good, actually.

The sun comes up farther, and the beach is awash with sun. A group of people, burdened by coolers and beach towels and sun umbrellas, slowly trudges onto the beach. The tallest one turns my way, drops his load, and waves both arms.

I ride the next wave in, then tuck my board under my arm and jog toward them.

Lucas waves, then frowns and points behind me.

“Litter!”

I motion for him to stay where he is, and reply, “I’ll get it.”

Grinning at his obsession, I turn and notice a small bit of white in the sand a few steps behind me. I bend over, pick it up, and take a quick glance.

My grin fades as I take a closer look.

A Tums wrapper.

More accurately, a half-empty roll, which was why it hadn’t blown away.

I shade my eyes and look behind me into the rising sun, where the stretch of beach is empty. Then I look back toward the others, where they are setting up, ready to enjoy another day of their new lives.

With a shaking hand, I stuff the Tums in my pocket and hurry to join my family.

This novel would not exist without the combined actions of the following:

My champion agent, Scott Mendel, and his astute comments on draft after draft as he waited for me to find the story. My fairy godmother of an editor, Liz Szabla, and her brilliant guidance as I traversed a new genre. My stalwart e-mail buddy, Sarah Van Dyke, and her bottomless support throughout the entire roller-coaster creation of this book. My forthright daughter, Bailey, for asking me, “This is really good, are you sure you wrote it?” My tenacious daughter, Tanzie, and her daily reminders that I am a mother who writes, not the other way around. My husband-of-the-year, Tim, and his patience with my incessant musings about plot and character. Those ingenious folks at NaNoWriMo and the annual opportunity they give all of us wannabe novelists a chance to prove we have it in us.

For everyone above, and all the other friends, family, and first readers who helped lead me to the end result, my Grandma Stuve would have said it best:

Thank you much.

An Imprint of Macmillan

THE COMPOUND. Copyright © 2008 by S. A. Bodeen. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address Feiwel and Friends, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Bodeen, S.A. (Stephanie A.), 1965–

The compound / S. A. Bodeen.—1st ed. p. cm.

ISBN-13: 978-0-312-37015-2 ISBN-10: 0-312-37015-6

[1. Survival—Fiction. 2. Deception—Fiction. 3. Psychopaths—Fiction. 4. Twins—Fiction. 5. Fathers—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.B63515Co 2008

[Fic]—dc22

2007036148

First Edition: May 2008

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