Micah’s pretend ignorance made Cal throw down his spoon. “Don’t act like you don’t owe us answers,” he said.
Micah took another mouthful of soup. His eyes shot left and right as he did so, and Cal could tell he was trying to gauge the tension, the interest, in the room. He didn’t want the visitors to cause a scene. Cal was willing to do a lot more, if it got Micah talking.
“Mikey?” Cal said. “Tell us what the hell is going on here.”
Micah didn’t answer, just sat there, silent. Cal made to stand up, but then Frida’s hand was on his.
“Later,” she said. She nodded to her bowl of soup, and to his. “Let’s wait, okay?”
“Yes, she’s right,” Micah said. “It’s dinner, and we should just enjoy it.”
Frida brought her spoon to her mouth and ate. He hated how content she seemed, that happiness she couldn’t conceal.
The next morning, when they were alone, Frida changing into the clothes Fatima had dropped off for her the night before, Cal tried to talk about the turkey baster.
“Why didn’t you tell me we had that?”
She shrugged, but he waited. She couldn’t play mute for good.
“Tell me. Frida?”
“It was fun to have a secret,” she said. “And I didn’t want you to take it from me.”
“Why would I take it from you?”
“To use.”
“I don’t mind if you give it to Micah,” he replied.
“Don’t be jealous.”
He grunted. “I’ll try not to be.”
She didn’t reply.
“Just think about it, babe. These people have batteries and razors—sharp ones. Last night Sailor was carrying one of those glow sticks they used to use at raves, lighting his way. They’re not desperate for things, not like we are.”
“I’m glad you can finally admit it. We’re desperate.”
“You think the baster will impress him, but it won’t.”
She looked at him like he was the lowest human being.
“I’m not interested in impressing him.”
She straightened her shirt, which fit her loosely. He was reminded of the first time she’d worn Sandy’s clothes. He’d never told her how much it upset him.
“Did you hear what I said last night? In the Church?”
She looked up, waiting.
“There aren’t any kids here. No babies, either.”
She didn’t answer, but her face said: Don’t ruin this for me.
“It’s not as if they were in day care, Frida.”
“What do you want me to say? You think we’re in one of those fantasy novels you read when you were little because you didn’t have any friends?”
“No, Frida, please. I’m not talking about some impossible future world. I mean something perfectly logical…”
“Like what? That the tribe can’t get pregnant? Like the world is seriously ending? Please.”
“It just worries me.”
“Stop worrying, okay? Just for a while.”
He didn’t reply.
In the next moment, Micah was calling their names from the hallway.
Freeeeda. Californeeea.
“Your leader is calling,” Cal said, and stepped aside so she could pass.
11
Morning Labor wasn’t as bad as Frida had expected. The name itself had scared her, but in reality, it was just a list of chores that the Land members had to complete before noon. These positions were assigned by a committee, and they rotated monthly unless someone was particularly skilled at a task and wished to continue doing it permanently. She and Cal were supposed to choose from a number of assignments: kitchen, garden, construction, butchery, security, animals, laundry, or housekeeping. Per regulation, they were told they could not pick the same job. Couples separated before noon to encourage socialization and independence.
When Sailor had explained the system to them after dinner the night before, she’d thought immediately of Plank. Of the jobs Micah had complained about in his letters, and of Cal’s stories, told in such detail that she could trick herself into believing that she’d gone to the school herself. The Plankers, she knew, had alternated positions in the same way they did on the Land, and they took them just as seriously.
As Sailor continued, Cal had leaned over and whispered to her, “This is exactly like—”
“I know,” Frida said. It would have been unkind to pretend she didn’t notice the similarities.
Now, their first morning here, Micah stood with Sailor in the hallway. They were both wearing thick sweaters, and Micah had on a beanie.
“Good morning,” her brother said.
“Labor’s about to begin,” Sailor said. “You should get there early.”
“Have you chosen an assignment yet?” Micah asked.
Frida picked kitchen because of her baking experience. “And Cal…”
He was just stepping out of the bedroom, not even trying to hide his scowl.
“What’ll it be?” Micah asked him.
“Whatever,” Cal said. And then, after a moment, he added, “Security.”
Micah shook his head. “You aren’t familiar enough with the Land for that position.”
“How about construction?” Sailor asked, looking to Micah. Her brother nodded.