Page 21 of Mayflower

“I have no intention of cornering you, Candy. I’m simply not interested in whatever you have to offer. If you are hesitant, you don’t have to accept this. But when time comes, I might need your help. You just never know. So, make a decision.”

She nodded. “They will be ready tomorrow.”

Truth is, her friend wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last one to ask for favors. There were many people back on the mainland that Mac helped with the trusts and funds I set up for him. You gotta believe in the butterfly effect. Or karma. Or the Golden Rule. If Mac didn’t pick me up that night in his backyard, I wouldn’t have been where I am right now. Who knows if I would still be alive.

You see, it’s a certain chain of events that lead us to where we are. What Mac does is, well, wishful kindness.

“Ready?” Ali asks, his voice very close.

I don’t need to open my eyes.

I just nod.

And there’s the image of my beautiful girl, carrying me through the sharp pain of the needle piercing my flesh.

M. Maddy. Manage.

8

MADDY

The IT team might not have found anything interesting on Rave’s phone, but I do. It’s another piece that connects me to him.

His screen saver is a picture of Little. My heart warms at the sight. The picture is taken from behind. Little stands on the edge of a cliff, his feet in a wide stance, his fists in the air in triumph. In front of him is the vast azure ocean, the waves crashing against the rocks and splashing. It’s a powerful picture.

I study the phonebook next, the way Raven writes names, first and last, no variations, except “Mac.” I find mine. “Mayflower.”

The word resonates with a pang in my heart. But I can’t cry anymore. I won’t. He’ll come back to me.

I open the picture folder on his phone.

Among many pictures of shipments, labels, guards, and contracts, the ones I’m interested in are pictures of him and Little. There are Little’s selfies, of course. Little is obsessed with technology. But there are also pictures of Rave taken by Little. And those are haunting. They are taken in the moments Raven is not looking, some without focus. Some of Raven smiling. Raven smoking by the ocean. Raven and Little on a cliff. Raven and me in the kitchen, him studying me while I set up the table.

There’s a picture of me sleeping. I know that picture. I fell asleep on the couch, Little at my feet.

I never noticed how Raven looks at me when I’m not paying attention. But there’s one picture, taken by Little, where I sit on the couch and laugh at the camera. Raven is sitting several feet away from me. He’s barely smiling, but he looks like he forgot himself. He’s transfixed on me. There’s no mistake. No mistake that he… He’s in love with me. The usual coldness on his face is gone, his harsh features somehow soft. Raven possesses somewhat brutal beauty. But in this picture, when his eyes are on me, that beauty is soft and approachable. He is mesmerized, and I’m in awe by how peaceful he looks.

There are more pictures in the download folder. College students, though I don’t recognize the uniforms. Some type of community meetings with slogans about minorities and rights. In the background, I see barbed wire. This must be current and from one of the “contamination zones” on the mainland. There’s a picture of a tall black man in his sixties, perhaps seventies, with a loudspeaker, addressing a massive crowd. There’s another picture of several adults with volunteer jackets, all name tags, that same man among them.

Malcolm Wright, says his name tag.

So, that’s Mac…

I pick up Raven’s phone, find Mac’s number, and dial it.

The voice that answers is low and important but somehow soft and trusting. Authoritative.

“Hello, Mr. Wright,” I say nervously to the man who raised my perfect man. “My name is Maddy. I’m calling from Zion.”

“Hi, Maddy.”

“I hope you don’t mind me calling from Raven’s phone. Mathew’s,” I correct. “Mathew Levi,” I repeat, remembering that Mac was the only person who called Raven by his name. “I… I wanted to talk to you. I…”

I stall, not knowing if the man on the line even wants to talk to some random stranger.

“Talk to me, Maddy,” he says after a moment of my silence. “But only if you call me Mac.”

I chuckle nervously. “Mac, sure. Mathew and I, we were?—”

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