California(65)

“What about her?”

“This is a boys’ club, I gather.”

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it. We’re the ones charged with keeping the Land safe—we’re the most physically capable. And mentally, too.” He paused. “If you want in, you need to follow our rules, keep our discussions private.”

Cal nodded. “Sure, okay.”

“He’s serious, Cal,” Peter said. “Don’t tell anyone what we talk about.”

This speech, Cal realized, was directed at Sailor as well.

“No spousal privilege,” Micah said.

“You don’t want Frida to know what we discuss?”

Peter shook his head. “Only who’s present. The others have learned not to ask.”

“It’s no big deal, Cal,” August said. “Most of it will be summarized during the Big Meeting later on.”

“‘Most of it’?” He couldn’t help himself.

“Cal,” Micah said. He stepped forward and put out his hand.

August and Sailor were watching them, waiting.

Cal hesitated.

“What is it, California?” Micah had put his hand down.

“Things will really change,” Cal began, “and in just a few months.”

“They’re changing already,” Micah said. He crossed his arms.

Cal nodded. “It won’t just be the two of us anymore.”

“Yeah, there will actually be others around,” Micah said. “Imagine that.” His eyes were hard, but there was also a blankness there. He didn’t get it.

“Didn’t August tell you?” Cal said.

Everyone looked at August, who had put his sunglasses back on. “Tell them what?”

“That Frida’s pregnant.”

No one said anything. Someone walked by outside, dragging what sounded like a shovel along the dirt. Scrape…scrape.

“Is that right?” Peter said. His eyes were on Micah.

Scrape…scrape.

Micah didn’t say anything. Sailor, for once, wasn’t talking.

Cal waited, brushing his hand along the seat of the pew. His fingers came up dusty.

He had let himself be so stupid. Micah had said he was smart, but he wasn’t. He was an idiot. He’d assumed that Frida had told August she was pregnant, and that August had told Micah, and that when Micah invited them to stay on the Land, he was inviting three people, not two.

But, of course, Frida hadn’t mentioned the pregnancy to August. She hadn’t told him about her baby, but about her baby brother.

“In her defense,” August explained, “she was high as a kite when she told me about Mikey and his suicide.” He smiled. “I gave her a Vicodin.”

“Ah, Frida,” Micah said, and snorted. “She always loved getting f*cked up.”

Cal was hardly paying attention. Frida had lied to him, and now these men knew it. He looked like an ass, keeping a secret without even knowing he was doing so.

“How far along is she?” Peter asked him.

Cal admitted he didn’t know. “Not very far.” He paused. “But she’s happy about it, and so am I.”

Again, no one said anything.

Cal stood up, the words get out, get out ringing in his mind. He was so upset with Frida, with her betrayal, he needed to be alone. “I have to go,” he mumbled.

Without looking at Sailor, Peter said, “Help him with his bag.”

Cal stepped across the aisle to retrieve it. Sailor grabbed one of the handles, and they both carried it out of the Church.

The bag was heavy. What possessions did August think they needed? Cal and Sailor carried the duffel toward the Hotel, where Cal expected they’d haul it onto the bed and unzip it—to find what, exactly? Cinder blocks and sneakers, maybe; a heartless joke, and here he’d been, despite his protests, lusting briefly for his gray sweatshirt and his khaki shorts that Frida had mended beautifully a few months back, so that they felt almost new. There was no way August knew what things they’d been longing for.

It was a short walk, but the main street felt endless when your arms hurt; Cal had learned this recently, carrying all those damn bricks. Apparently, the two wheelbarrows were in use elsewhere on the Land. “It’s meditative to carry the bricks with our hands,” someone from his team had claimed. From then on, no one had complained. It felt like such a Plank thing, to take one’s sweet time constructing something new and to value the hours ticking by. Cal had been annoyed; it fetishized the inefficient.

When he and Sailor finally got to the room, they dropped the bag on the floor. Sailor lingered in the doorway.

“I doubt you need my help unpacking.”

“I guess not. There’s no place to put things, anyway.”

Sailor didn’t move.

“Congratulations, man.”

“Oh, thanks.” Cal paused. “Should you be saying that?”

“There’s no protocol for this kind of thing.”

Cal waited. Sailor wanted to talk; Cal knew it. He wanted to introduce this world to an outsider, and if Cal waited long enough, Sailor might tell him everything.

“No one’s had a baby here for a long time,” Sailor said. “I’ve never seen it happen.”