Meeting adjourned. Cal used the footholds on the way down, and Peter told him he could find his own way back. Cal was flattered that Peter had that much confidence in his sense of direction. He was also smart enough to know that Peter was aware of this.
Before Cal left the woods, Peter told him to talk to Frida himself, and as soon as he could. “She should have no problem with keeping the secret,” he’d added, and smirked. Cal wanted to spit in his face for that, even though it seemed like Peter had been on his side in the tree house. He was probably the only reason Cal hadn’t pushed Micah out of the tree. And, anyway, Peter was right: Frida was having fun with her little secrets. Hopefully, for once, she would do what Cal asked and keep her mouth shut. She could be so selfish sometimes. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Peter said. “At our meeting.” He smiled. “You’re in the cabal, Mr. Paranoid. Get ready.”
There it was. Tomorrow morning he would head to the Church along with the influential men. The move would be noted by everyone else on the Land. After that, wasn’t voting just a formality? If the others wanted him and Frida to leave, wouldn’t Micah step in to veto their decision?
He would go to the meeting tomorrow because he wanted to understand how the machine worked. Micah had intuited that immediately. He’d give Cal what he wanted, but Cal would have to pay for it. Cal just had to figure out the price.
Working in the garden, Cal felt the foul mood that had threatened to take over all morning crouching in again. His hands were muddy, a blade of grass had dug itself into his thumbnail, and it seemed the woman he was working with, Rachel, knew next to nothing about…well, about anything, really. But that wasn’t any excuse for his being so rude. He was sighing like a sullen teenager every few minutes. Rachel didn’t deserve his crabbiness; after all, she had to sit in the dirt, too. At least the canal would be cleared soon, and then she could go sit at a table with someone more pleasant.
“That does it,” he said, and they both got to their feet.
“Thanks, Calvin,” she said.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Are you going to vote?”
She laughed. “Oh boy.”
“It’s none of my business, sorry.”
“It will be soon enough. The Vote is public. Didn’t anyone tell you that? You’ll see who wants you to stay.”
“And who doesn’t.”
“I wouldn’t worry.”
“You don’t even know what outcome I’m hoping for.”
“Oh, please.” Rachel raised an eyebrow. Cal thought he could see an old piercing there, the tiny hole abandoned; it had been left to close, but it was stubborn, it wouldn’t.
“Everyone knows you’re tight with Micah and them,” she said. “You’re in the meetings now, aren’t you?”
Cal was too stunned to answer. How did she know?
“I’ve gotta get some food in me,” Rachel said. “A sweet pancake maybe.” With that, she turned and left Cal alone in the mud.
Cal went to find Frida to tell her what Micah and Peter wanted. They were right; Frida couldn’t whisper news of her pregnancy to a soul. “I’m serious,” he’d say. He wanted to protect her, but he couldn’t say that: she’d laugh or, worse, be offended. She’d tell him she didn’t need his help, his strength, his useless male bravado. For all he knew, Frida was keeping secrets just to prove he couldn’t keep her safe. But this wasn’t a final paper in a women’s studies class; Frida needed him. He needed her, too.
If Frida could display a few symptoms, that would shut Micah and Peter up. Cal believed what he’d told them, that it was still too early in the pregnancy, but he couldn’t help but wish a little nausea on her, a fatigue that dragged her into a nap every other hour. When he went to find her in the Hotel dining room, Anika had said she was resting, tired after waking up so early to bake. Cal’s heart sped up. Maybe it had nothing to do with getting up early, maybe this was the beginning of the symptoms he had been hoping for. He’d ask her when they were alone.
It was funny to think that way now: when they were alone. Before, that’s all they ever were. He’d loved being the only two people around for miles; he understood that now. The life they’d created for themselves had been fragile and solid at once, and beautiful in those ways, too: the shell of an egg, the stone of a pillar. Now things felt wrong. These people had no idea what Frida was like, what she needed, what she called out for in the middle of the night when she was afraid, when her stomach hurt, when she just wanted dawn to come and ease the dark. She and Cal had been through so much. It was like Frida didn’t agree, like she didn’t care.
Cal found Frida in the outdoor lounge with Sailor and Dave. Dave had shaved, and without the scruff of hair covering his face he looked younger than before, and better looking; his beard had been hiding a strong jawline and a wide smile that made him look almost arrogant.