California(73)

He finally forced himself to forget about it and try to focus on the oven. There was still work to do, and he’d do it well. It amazed him how much satisfaction there could be in that.

Once he’d settled into a rhythm, his back aching, the paste for the brick mortar clinging to his skin, Peter showed up.

“Can you come look at the garden irrigation system with me?” He spoke quietly, his gaze straight ahead, as though they were two undercover agents. “Your brother-in-law says you’re a gardening genius, that you have professional experience.”

Cal held up his hands, as if to say, Hey, sorry, man, I’m busy.

Peter took a rag out of his back pocket and offered it to Cal.

“It wipes off easily,” he said, and waited as Cal cleaned his hands.

It was strange how none of his comrades said anything as Cal left with Peter, not even Sheryl, who was normally such a pill about the rules. In fact, no one looked up as the two men walked away. Maybe he and Peter were undercover after all.

As they headed in the direction of the garden in silence, Cal felt as though he was in trouble and was being led to the gallows. Would Frida be there, too? He pictured Micah holding two ropes and the requisite black hoods. No pillowcases here. Cal wasn’t about to underestimate what the Land had access to.

He was being dramatic. If Micah had told Peter about Cal’s experience running gardens back in L.A., it meant they needed that kind of expertise, that they needed Cal. He wasn’t beholden to them; he had something to offer, too.

When they passed the garden, Peter not even slowing down, the dread that had been collecting at the bottom of Cal’s spine spilled down his legs.

“I thought we were going to the garden,” Cal said.

“Later,” Peter replied walking more briskly now. He was heading toward the woods, and Cal could do nothing but follow.

“Where are we going, then?”

“Micah wants to see you.”

“And you do his bidding?”

Peter didn’t respond. He couldn’t be goaded into anything, Cal realized. Peter was too mature to be embarrassed, too powerful to worry about what the new guy thought of him. He’d probably exuded this since childhood; he was a natural leader.

“Micah and I both want to talk to you,” Peter said, and that was it.

He led Cal into untamed forest at the northern edge of the Land. Cal and Frida had come from the west, and they hadn’t had a chance to explore the rest of the borders. Cal had seen this section of woods from afar and wondered about them. The Spikes rose on either side, waiting like armed guards, and he imagined there was a whole maze of them deeper in the forest.

“Can I take a look at the Forms sometime?” Cal asked.

“I suppose so,” Peter said, and pushed aside a mass of thorny branches. He gestured for Cal to walk ahead. “You’d probably be good at security. I can tell you’ve got that kind of mind: you’re the paranoid sort. Always assuming danger.”

Cal followed Peter’s lead and stepped over a rotting log. There was a path here, but it was tricky. “I want to know how the Forms are really a threat to outsiders,” he said. “I mean, come on.”

“They scared you, didn’t they?”

Peter kept walking, going around another rotted log and pushing aside tree branches. He stepped over what looked like a dead bird, covered in flies. “Watch out,” he called back, and Cal stepped over it, too, holding his breath.

Finally, Peter stopped at the trunk of an Oregon oak. He put his palm against it.

“Where are we?”

Peter pointed up, and Cal saw that there was a wooden platform built into it.

“A tree house? How quaint.”

A big laugh sounded from above. Micah. “Come on up!” he called.

“Go ahead,” Peter said when Cal looked at him.

Cal shinnied up the trunk without using the footholds. There’d been a plane tree on his father’s farm, great for climbing, and as a boy Cal had loved to hang upside down from its highest branch until he felt the skin of his face turn purple.

“Look at you, Tom Sawyer,” Micah said when Cal pulled himself onto the platform. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands loose on his knees, as if he’d been meditating.

“You’re in a good mood,” Cal said. Peter was coming up behind him.

Even though there were two camping chairs at the edge of the platform, Cal sat on the floor in front of Micah. Peter did the same.

“Does this mean I’m still in the cabal?” Cal said.

“‘Cabal’?”

“He means the meetings,” Peter said.

“I know what he means, Peter.” Micah had his eyes on Cal. “Do you see August here? Or even little itty-bitty Sailor?”

“Why pull me away from Morning Labor, then? We’re putting the finishing touches on the outdoor oven. I should be there.”

“Already so committed,” Peter said. To Micah he added, “I told you.”

“Told him what?”

“Jeez, Cal,” Micah said. “Take the venom out of your voice.”

Peter nodded. “All I said was that you’re good for this place.”

“Am I?” Cal flung his legs in front of him. “Are you ready to be an uncle, Micah?”

Cal wasn’t sure why he was being so cavalier.