“Micah,” she said again. She yelled it.
This time, everyone heard her, and her brother emerged from the center of the crowd as if he’d been pushed forward.
Everyone had stopped talking.
“You okay, Frida?” Micah asked. “We usually hold an optional postvote analysis, if you want to contribute then.”
“Let’s wait,” Cal said, but not to everyone, only to her.
Frida sought out Anika’s face in the crowd, but before she found her, she saw Betty and then Lupe. And Rachel. Had all these women been mothers? Her eyes passed over Smolin. Had he been a father? If these people had been parents once, they still were. That role could never be taken away.
Her parents had grieved Micah’s death; their son was dead, but they were still his parents.
“I’m pregnant,” Frida said. She said it loudly, she made sure of that, but she repeated herself, just to be sure. “I’m pregnant.”
The lights huffed over the silence that Frida’s news had wrought. She looked immediately at Cal, who had let go of her hand. His eyes were on his lap.
“Excuse me?” Micah let out a harsh and sudden laugh that startled those nearest him; it was as if he’d punctured a balloon with a needle. “Did you just say you’re pregnant?”
His delivery was perfect.
Peter stepped forward, with the same innocent, confused expression as Micah’s. Frida couldn’t help but be impressed with his acting, too. These guys were good.
“I wanted to tell you all before,” Frida began. She realized she had no excuse that wouldn’t implicate Cal, who she’d promised was a good man. And she didn’t want to tell on her brother; if she did, the Land might not recover.
Cal stood up. “I asked her not to,” he said. He had taken her hand again. “I thought it would make it easier. I wanted you to consider just us first, before anything else.”
All at once, people began to murmur to one another. Frida felt them looking at her, as if scrutinizing her body for signs, for proof of her betrayal. She wanted to lay a hand across her belly, but she didn’t. That would be too much for them.
The volume kept rising. It was like the back draft of fire, enveloping them with a whoosh.
“I can’t believe this,” Micah said, somehow louder than the others, and the room fell quiet again. “Frida?”
“Oh, please,” Charles called out. “You expect us to buy that, Mikey? Your sister is pregnant, and you don’t know?”
“You know everything.” It was Sheryl’s voice, but she was behind the others, and Frida couldn’t see her. “You knew. You had to.”
Micah said nothing, only shook his head.
“What does this mean?” Fatima asked.
Charles nodded. “Yeah. We can’t just change everything we’ve come to stand for. What about our rules? Your rules?”
All at once, people began to walk away from the corner.
“Everyone, please remain calm,” Micah said.
“Where are they going?” Frida asked Cal.
“They’re voting us out…or they’re coming for us.” Cal was looking at Micah and Peter, whose heads were bent toward each other, whispering. August was headed to their huddle, and Sailor and Dave stood a few feet away, alert as bodyguards.
“Or maybe the conversation will continue,” Frida said. “Some of them might want it.”
She meant that they might want to talk further about what the future would look like if it had a child in it. But she also meant the child itself. Her baby. Would anyone be happy for her?
She looked back at the corner for Anika. She could only imagine what Anika must be thinking. Of Ogden, maybe. Babies are newborn for such a short period. Frida wanted to tell Anika that she would get that beautiful time, if not back, then again. They all would.
But Anika wasn’t standing in the corner. She’d left it. Something hooked into Frida’s gut, and she turned swiftly around. There was Anika, crowding the aisle with a group of others. The room had grown loud again, and Frida yelled Anika’s name. She didn’t care who heard.
Anika looked up, right at Frida. Her face was flushed with anger. Her eyes were hard and black, full of resentment and rage.
Anika turned away quickly. A forsaking. “I think Sheryl’s right,” she called out. She was standing again. “Micah had to have known.”
At that, Micah skipped onto the stage; Peter and the others had returned to the pews, except for Sailor, who stood by the door—with a gun, Frida saw with an intake of air. Cal had her arm now, and he leaned in to whisper, “I’ve got you.”
“I assure you, Anika,” Micah was saying loudly. “Had I known, there would have at least been a transparent discussion about the matter.”
“What’s there to discuss?” a woman called out; Frida could not bear to look to see who it was. “We believe in containment!”