California(97)

Frida didn’t say anything.

“I didn’t talk back, I just wanted him to leave my room. But he didn’t. Instead he leaned close and whispered, ‘Ogden was yours, right?’ He began to describe my son: the color of his eyes, the birthmark on his left arm, the shirt he was wearing when August carried him onto the bus. I started to cry—how dare Micah threaten me like that? I’d already given him everything.”

Anika was crying now. She wiped her eyes with the back of her arms. “Then he turned and walked away. I had my eyes on his back. That’s when I saw the red peeking out of the back pocket of his jeans. It was just the edge of a bandanna, grazing the hem of his shirt, but as soon as I saw it, I felt that same jolt of fear, and I had to shut my eyes. I should have screamed. I don’t know why I didn’t. Micah had put the bandanna there, so I’d see it, I’m sure of it. He must have heard me gasp because he turned around once more. He actually smiled at me.

“He said Ogden would be safe. All I had to do was attend the meetings and get along with everyone else. With him.”

“And so you did?”

“First I tried to tell Peter what had happened. He said I was overreacting, that Micah was just trying to get me to cooperate. Peter didn’t understand. He said he missed Ogden but had always been afraid for him. Now he wasn’t. He thought I was mistaken about the red bandanna, but I wasn’t, I just couldn’t prove it. And then Micah announced to everyone that I’d be moving to a bedroom with a door and that I’d get to take over the kitchen. He was giving me special privileges like a bribe for good behavior.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Frida said. “Or maybe he was just trying to apologize and make things right after he scared you so badly.”

Anika pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes. When she removed them, her eyes were pink, her face drawn and tired. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Micah was being smart, and he knew it wouldn’t take much to bribe me into submission.” She shook her head. “Your brother, he swept in, over us all, and we couldn’t stop him.”



As they finished baking, Frida kept replaying Anika’s story about her brother and the children in her mind. There was no way Cal had any idea what Micah had done; if he had, he would have told her. He’d be too afraid for their own unborn child not to.

At dinner last night, Frida had noticed again how young Sailor looked. Dave, too. And Burke. And the guy she’d waved to on the way back from the shower, Doug. These men were barely out of childhood. The mothers on the Land must have sensed this and welcomed them happily.

Frida was probably the youngest woman on the Land. Fatima had to be in her midforties; Sheryl, too. Pregnancies could happen, but accidents wouldn’t be likely. Kids had been removed from the future.

Perhaps Anika had done the right thing and given Ogden a safe upbringing inside of Pines. And maybe it was easy to give up parenthood for the life Micah offered them. A life of regular meals, warm showers, leisurely afternoons, and a bed. Cookies when they behaved. Maybe the one thing that every parent wants is to be a child again, to be taken care of.

Micah had planned everything, Frida realized. He had foreseen every motivation.

She imagined her own child, small as a fig. He would be good. He would be necessary. Her brother would see that, and he would accept him.

He had to. If not, then what?

Frida wanted to believe that her brother had sent those kids to Pines because he thought they’d be better off. But there had to be more to it. Micah wasn’t selfless. He had to benefit in some way.

Frida was at the trough rinsing the baking sheets when she heard someone whisper hello at the front of the kitchen.

There was Fatima, waving. Anika turned to Frida with a tight smile.

“Good morning, ladies,” Fatima said. “Micah said I could join your baking lessons. He thought you might need some help.”





18



Sailor and Dave sometimes missed the meeting the morning after a patrol, and they told Cal he could sleep through it today, too. August had left, and only Peter and Micah remained. But once Cal got into bed, he was restless, and he couldn’t even close his eyes. He was thinking about Frida, about what he’d tell her about the night. He wanted to describe how the Forms shined in the moonlight, how magical they were, and how it felt to see the Land from way up high in the Towers. He thought, maybe, she might understand. She’d said it herself: she wanted to stay on the Land; there was no other choice. Maybe they weren’t fighting after all.

He couldn’t interrupt her in the kitchen, though, not without causing a scene. The last thing he and Frida needed was to draw attention to themselves. He might as well do as he normally did. He got out of bed and put his boots back on.



Inside the Church, Micah lay curled into a pew, his arms crossed, his chin to chest. He didn’t move when Cal walked in; he was asleep. Goose bumps had spread across Micah’s arms, and his legs looked tense, as if they were trying to kick off the cold.

“Micah,” Cal said, and he jerked awake.

He saw Cal and let out a little laugh, then sat up and yawned. His hair hung stringy across his shoulders.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Cal said.

“I was dreaming.”

“You sleep here?”

“Sometimes.”