California(103)

“So what do you want?”

“I want to stay here. With my family. I’ll gladly be a shill.”

Micah said nothing, and Cal noted there was no sign of surprise on his face. Of course he knew what Cal wanted.

“Promise me,” Cal said.

“Promise you what?”

“That my child will be okay. That you’ll protect him and that you’ll look out for your sister.”

Micah said nothing at first, and then, “In some ways, Frida is all I have left.”

Cal waited. He needed more.

“You know I’ll keep her safe,” Micah said finally.

It was enough of a promise for Cal. For now.

Cal nodded to the bookcase. “I want to take the Kant to my bedroom. I’ll smuggle it under my shirt if I have to.”

Micah laughed in his face. “Hell, no.”

Cal laughed, too. He could picture the title page, a mimeograph of the original. He could smell the book’s interior: like almonds and wood chips, the glue sweet as warm milk. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined that scent. And then he thought of the Forms in the dark, how he’d understood them, how he had anticipated each one before he passed it, as if he’d known them all his life. He would need to keep himself here. He would need to help Micah, but not the way Micah wanted him to.

“Let’s figure out another plan, okay?” Cal said.

He wouldn’t tell Frida any of this, at least not until the plan had been perfected, and maybe not even then, not if keeping it a secret meant she would sleep soundly at night. She needed to rest for the baby. She would be happier not knowing, as long as he had her best interests in mind. As long as he kept demanding information from Micah and was being smart, she’d be satisfied. She could trust him to make decisions for their family.

Cal sat down on the couch again. “There’s got to be another way to return the Group to its pure beginning, to cause problems for the Communities.” Even as he said these words, their cheesy call to arms, their rah-rah-rah cheerleading, he felt their power. He did want to find a better way.

“I’m listening,” Micah said.

“I have no idea what that is yet. But there has to be something. There’s always another way to approach the text, isn’t there?”

“Oh, baby, talk nerdy to me,” Micah replied, but he was listening.

“There has to be a better plan,” Cal said.



Before they left the room, Micah went to the bookcase and pulled out the Kant.

“Stuff it into your jacket, and don’t let anyone see it. And I mean it, Cal, not anyone, not even Frida. If you do, I swear I will cut off your balls with a paring knife.”

Cal took the book, nodding. It was his victory, and both of them knew it.





19



Frida couldn’t tell if she’d overslept because it was always dark these days when she woke up. She’d fallen asleep to the sound of rain, imagining the Land turning soggy and slippery as she remained safe and dry inside the Hotel, but all was quiet now. It must have stopped. Good. Cal had spent the last few nights on security, and Frida didn’t want him getting soaked and sick.

Now that the boards had been nailed to their bedroom window, it was night all the time. The darkness and damp and the smell of people sleeping reminded Frida of the Millers’ house. On the coldest days, she and Cal used to crawl into bed, into that corner where the mattress fit perfectly, and force themselves to sleep as long as they could.

“We’re hibernating,” Cal would say, and reach for her.

She’d been so bored with that one-room house and the woods surrounding it. That grimy outdoor cooking pit of theirs, it would never get hot enough until it got too hot, and that same door to look at when she woke every morning. Sometimes even the sound of Cal’s voice, his stiff walk, how he held his mouth when he was being serious, had bugged her. She’d been so sick of their isolation. And now look at her, she was imagining that old life with something bordering on longing. Dada had always called her capricious. Maybe this was what he was talking about.

The first time they were alone after they argued in the Bath, he’d said, “I’m doing what you asked.” He had pulled her to him, and kissed her.

Whatever he meant by that, Frida felt comforted. She wanted it to be enough. It had to be. Cal was offering her the only solace available, and she took it because it helped push the gruesome images of her brother out of her mind: Micah using a large knife to behead the Pirate; threatening Anika with that bandanna; taking the Bee from Ogden. Did the baby wail out for the toy, refusing to let go, or was he asleep, and Micah nimble as a thief so as not to wake him?

“I found out what happened to the children,” Frida had said.

“So did I.”

“Micah told you?”

He nodded. “We have to remember that not everyone on the Land had children. And those who did knew they were giving their kids a better life. It wasn’t cruel, Frida. You see that, right?”

“What about the older children?” Frida asked. “They weren’t adopted. Did you find out about that?”

Cal didn’t say anything.

“Cal?”

“He won’t touch our baby,” he whispered. “Micah needs us here. He won’t let us be exiled.”