“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.
“That’s why you’re here,” Micah said icily. “To discuss the matter.”
“I guess I’ve given you a lot to think about,” Cal said.
Micah leaned back on his hands and hung his head back so that all Cal could see of his face was his beard. A few crumbs were stuck there like flies in a spider’s web.
“Do you like the tree house as much as Frida did?” Micah asked.
“She’s been up here?”
Cal immediately wished he hadn’t said it. This was where she must have talked to Micah. Why had she left out that detail? His face felt hot; he might as well have been hanging upside down from one of the tree branches. Damn it, Frida. He thought they were done with secrets. Soon everyone would think he didn’t know his wife. Maybe they’d be right.
Micah lifted his head up. He was smiling. “My sister sure is secretive, isn’t she?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Guys, knock it off.”
“Knock off what?” Micah said. “I guess your news has stayed with me, California.”
“As I suspected.”
“For one, how are you sure that Frida’s with child?”
“You know how the female body works,” Cal said. “She’s late.”
“That doesn’t confirm a pregnancy,” Micah said. “Not these days.”
“She might have missed it for a number of reasons,” Peter said. “Poor nutrition, for one. Micah says she used to be heavier.”
“She’s lost some weight over the years, yeah,” Cal said. “The grocery stores in L.A. weren’t exactly well stocked by the end. And out here, just the two of us, it’s not easy.”
“There’s also early menopause,” Peter said. “It’s been known to happen.”
“Stop it,” Cal said. “Look, guys, Frida says she’s pregnant. She says she’s sure, okay?”
Micah laughed. “Fuck me! Frida, feeling the pull of the moon? We can’t be talking about the same person here, Cal. My sister used to throw out a pair of panties every month because her period always, as she put it, surprised her.”
“Jesus Christ, Micah.” Cal didn’t know what was worse: Micah talking about Frida’s body, or that he was right. When she and Cal had first started dating, Frida had to buy new underwear on a regular basis. “Oops,” she’d like to say, coming out of the bathroom.
Later, when the department stores went out of business, and they lost their Internet connection for good, and they had hardly a dollar to spare, especially on clothing, Frida committed herself to being a little more “organized.” That’s when she realized she had a perfectly predictable cycle. “I’m textbook,” she’d cried, delighted.
Before then, Frida’s relationship to her own body had puzzled Cal. It was funny, even charming, how ignorant she was of it. But from another angle, it seemed pitiful. Or just weird: how could she not be obsessed with a body like hers? In the beginning, Cal had thought of it all the time. He remembered one time at work in L.A., planting tomatoes and thinking of Frida’s smooth back and her pillowy ass, which he loved to spread apart.
Peter cleared his throat, and Cal realized no one had said anything for a moment.
“Micah,” Peter said, “that really is repugnant.”
“What?”
“I had a sister.”
Past tense, Cal noted.
“And I stayed far away from her, and her…period. It’s weird to talk about it.”
“Don’t be a child, Peter. You misunderstand me. You both do.” He turned to Cal. “I bet all these years, you thought Frida was just being absentminded about her body.”