Requiem (Delirium Series Book 3) by Lauren Oliver

Author:Lauren Oliver [Oliver, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

Hana

On Saturday morning I make my visit to Deering Highlands. It is becoming almost routine. I’m happy that I manage to avoid seeing Grace—the streets are still, silent, wrapped in an early-morning mist—and happy, too, that the shelves of the underground room are looking fuller already.

Back at home, I shower in too-hot water, until my skin is pink. I scrub carefully, under my fingernails even, as though the smell of the Highlands, and all the people living there, might have clung to me. But I can’t be too careful. If Cassie was invalidated because she caught the disease, or because Fred suspected her of it, I can only imagine what he will do to me and to my family if he discovers that the cure did not work perfectly.

I need to know—for good, for sure—what happened to Cassandra.

Fred is spending the day golfing with several dozen campaign donors and supporters, including my father. My mother is meeting Mrs. Hargrove at the club for lunch. I wave good-bye to my parents cheerfully and then kill time for a half hour, too antsy to watch TV or do anything but pace.

When a sufficient amount of time has elapsed, I gather up the final guest list and seating chart for the wedding, shuffling them roughly into a folder. There’s no point in being secretive about where I’m going, so I call Rick, Tony’s brother, and wait on the front porch for him to pull up the car.

“To the Hargroves’, please,” I say brightly as I slide into the backseat.

I try not to fidget too much. I don’t want Rick to know that I’m nervous. I don’t want any questions. But he doesn’t pay any attention to me at all. He keeps his eyes on the road. His bald head, nestled in his shirt collar, reminds me of a swollen pink egg.

At the Hargroves’ house, all three cars are missing from the circular driveway. So far, so good.

“Wait here,” I say to Rick. “I won’t be long.”

A girl I recognize as a member of the household staff opens the door. She can’t be more than a few years older than I am and has a permanent look of dull suspicion, like a dog kicked too many times in the head.

“Oh!” she says when she sees me, and hesitates, clearly uncertain about whether to let me in.

I start talking immediately. “I ran over here as fast as I could. Can you believe after all that, my mom forgot to bring the plans to lunch? Mrs. Hargrove needs approval over the seating chart, of course.”

“Oh!” the girl says again. She frowns. “But Mrs. Hargrove isn’t here. She’s at the club.”

I let out a groan, making a big show of surprise. “When my mom said they were having lunch, I just assumed . . .”

“They’re at the club,” she repeats nervously. She’s clinging to that piece of information like a lifeline.

“So stupid of me,” I say. “And of course I don’t have time to run to the club now.

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