She shook her head. “Can I?”
It was the worst thing she could say, and they both knew it. She didn’t trust him.
“Micah doesn’t seem concerned with whatever used to go on here,” he said. “That’s in the past.”
“It is? You sound like someone else, Cal. Are you changing that fast?”
“What did Anika tell you?”
Even before he asked the question, Cal felt himself bifurcate: there was the Cal who wanted to whisper Frida’s name into her hair until it was like he wasn’t saying anything at all. And there was this new second self. He wanted to hear what Frida had to say, and he would weigh what her story meant, both for their family and for the Land. The other men seemed suspicious of Anika, and maybe they were right to be. What was she telling his wife?
Frida hadn’t answered. She was squinting at him, as if trying to see something far away. Maybe she’d seen that he’d broken into two.
“I know you miss Plank,” she said, “but you can’t pretend like you’re back there. This isn’t college, Cal. It’s not about harvesting vegetables and reading boring books all day.”
“I know that,” he said. “That’s like me telling you this isn’t the Ellis Family Christmas.”
“Fuck you,” she said.
“That’s nice. Thanks.”
“Cal, my brother chopped off a man’s head.”
“What? Whose?” His insides spun.
“A Pirate’s. He killed a Pirate and chopped off his head in front of the children.”
“What children?”
Frida let out a little moan, like she was imagining the worst and couldn’t bear it.
“Frida? You okay?”
She shook her head. “I want to stay here, too, Cal. What other choice do we have? But we need to know everything. Find out, okay? Find out everything.” She paused. “Even if you can’t tell me, just find out.”
“Next time you’re scared, come to me.”
Frida laughed. “Sure, okay. If you let me.”
“Don’t be like that.” And then he said, “You find out everything, too. No more secrets.”
Frida didn’t agree or disagree. Instead she said, “Don’t get lost in the dark tonight,” and stepped out of the Bath, leaving without a goodbye.
*
After his nap, Cal had done his best to avoid Frida before his security duty. He hoped that by the time he was scheduled to return from his shift, she might already be with Anika, baking dinner rolls or pumpernickel or some elaborate tiered cake. He didn’t want to see her because he didn’t know if she was angry with him, or still upset, or what, and he’d never been so confused about his own wife. He certainly didn’t want to rehash their conversation from earlier.
Sailor and Dave were waiting for him on the porch of the Hotel. Other men were on the detail, Dave explained, but at various locations: on the second lookout Tower, patrolling the Forms, and so on. Frida wasn’t entirely correct—a couple of women did participate, but never in the Towers or the Forms and never with a weapon; they sat on porches or walked the center path. If they fell asleep, no one cared; the other morning Micah had actually said, “If a lady dozes off, let her.” If Frida knew her brother had made such a comment, she’d be livid.
But, no, Cal thought, he wouldn’t let Frida into his mind. He’d focus on security. It was a welcome distraction.
Cal followed the boys toward the Bath.
“Our job is to watch for anything out of the ordinary,” Sailor said. “It rarely happens—in the whole time I’ve been here, only a few people have ventured into the Forms. And they quickly turn back if we exert enough pressure.”
“What do you mean by ‘pressure’?”
“If you see something,” Dave said, “we want you to blow your whistle. Whoever’s been designated the muscle will go investigate. The rest of us wait as backup.”
Sailor smiled. “I was the muscle the day you and Frida got here.”
“We’ll spend some time in the western Tower,” Dave said, “and then we’ll separate for an hour or two.”
“We need to show you the lay of the land first,” Sailor said.
There were a few people walking the main path and sitting out on porches, bundled in heavy coats and blankets. The Hotel and the Bath anchored each end of this path, and it reminded Cal of a promenade. From across the field, right by the barn, smoke rose from one of the two nightly campfires where people congregated to play music and tell stories. Peter told Cal that he made it a point of attending at least twice a week: “Just because we’re in charge, doesn’t mean we should live separately,” he’d explained.
The houses had all been winterized, their windows giving away nothing. Cal wondered which rooms were filled with people, and which were still empty. Right now somebody must be pulling up the covers and blowing out a candle.
It was cold out tonight. His breath would be visible by midnight, but with a hat on, and his sweatshirt, Cal would be comfortable. The sky was obscene with stars.