He smiled and gave me a soft but chaste kiss.
Sighing, I hooked my hand through his arm. “I don’t want time to myself. Let’s go to work.”
* * *
Murphy and I managed to put Peter behind us and put in a full day together.
In assessing the needs of the camp, we discovered Blake had everyone organized and working efficiently, so there was really nothing to be done but make sure they kept getting the supplies they needed. Apparently there was a stash of money in New Seattle, in an account managed by the woman Ian had met. No one seemed to know where the money had come from, nor could we find the answer in any of Blake’s records. But at the moment it was the least of our worries.
We spent most of the day working on detachment—educating the others in camp and assessing potential difficulties. In the process we experimented with our new empathic tools. The ethics of this were a little dubious. But we couldn’t actually read anyone’s thoughts, and gauging their emotions helped us to ask the right questions.
When the sun had slipped down behind the western wall, we stretched out by the river to relax before dinner. We’d only been there a few minutes when Peter joined us.
He introduced us to Emily, his young cousin. I remembered him telling me once that she had died of a brain tumor when she was eleven. He had only been nine at the time, and it had made a deep impression on him. Now he was almost twenty years her elder.
After the introductions, Peter’s gaze settled on me. “Do you have some time to talk now, Rose?”
It was impossible not to react to the sound of his voice. Impossible not to react to the use of this nickname, which recalled all of our years of intimacy into the present moment.
There was really no point in putting this off. I glanced at Murphy, and he lifted his eyebrows slightly, as if to say, “You don’t need my approval.” Which of course was true. But still.
He stood up, and I said, “See you at home.”
He winked at me, but went off looking uneasy.
Peter asked Emily to wait for him downriver, and when she’d gone he scooted into Murphy’s spot. We sat quietly for a minute or two, listening to the chickadees in the willow branches. I had spent the day outside my own head, and it had been exactly what I’d needed to order the confusion Peter’s sudden arrival had caused. I knew what I wanted to say to him. But getting started was hard.
I decided to ease into it. “How did you find me, Peter?”
He smiled. “That was a lucky break. I knew from Mitchell’s message that you were taken to the institute, and my original plan was to follow you there. But one day in a counseling session in New Seattle I overheard one of the shrinks say that you and Murphy had escaped. So I started researching possible hiding places. I’d caught a whiff of a rumor about a resistance group, and once I’d pulled that thread I didn’t find the rest too hard to unravel. I was honest with Blake about my background—told him I wanted to embed there, so I could document his story. Hard for a man like him to resist.”
“That doesn’t sound like luck to me,” I said with a laugh. “More like your typical resourcefulness.”
“The lucky part was I didn’t know I’d find you here. I just figured it was a good place to start.” He met my gaze. “You’re looking well. Something here agrees with you.”
Indeed. “So are you, Peter. I’m glad to see you.”
Peter worked as a journalist—more accurate to say he lived as a journalist—and at this point he began asking questions, one by one, methodical and thorough. By the end of it I had told him our whole story, omitting only the more personal details—the progress of my relationship with Murphy, and my pregnancy. I’m not sure why I shied away from the latter. Everyone in camp knew, and it was better he heard it from me. But I wasn’t ready to discuss it with him.
“So you’ve forgiven him for turning his back on you like that,” observed Peter. “I don’t think I would have been able to let it go.”
“I could forgive him because I understood him. Our roles on Ardagh 1 were the same. Or they would have been if I hadn’t died.”
Peter shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t have been able to do it. Your heart’s too big. Always has been.”
“I don’t know about that. Hardly anyone questions it here. It’s become their way of life.”
“It’s fucking criminal. I don’t know how these people live with themselves.”
I couldn’t suppress a fond smile. “You always were a sucker for the downtrodden.”
Peter’s life would have driven most people to suicide. He gravitated toward stories of abuse and oppression. Starvation and disease.
“I could write a whole series on your experiences and discoveries alone,” he said. “I promise you I’m going to make the people on Earth pay attention to what’s going on here.” He reached up and brushed my cheek with his fingers. “We’d make a great team, Rose.”
I dropped my gaze, rubbing my arms for warmth, but more to give myself time to figure out how to answer him without hurting him. But I miscalculated.
“You don’t have a jacket.” He slipped an arm around me, pulling me against him and resting his chin on my head.
“Peter—”
“Sorry,” he muttered, dropping his arm. “Listen, I know you didn’t expect this. You’ve been through hell, and you’ve moved on with your life. I understand that. But I need you to tell me—now that I’m here, will you give me a chance?”
I shook my head, my throat tightening.
“You’re sure? We’ve taken breaks from each other before, and you’ve always come back to me. Could this be like that?”
“No.” Simple, honest, direct. Don’t give him false hope.
“So you think you love this guy more than you love me.”
I looked at him squarely. “This thing that you did—I still can’t believe it, Peter. Coming here to help me. Not knowing whether you’d find me, or what I’d be like if you did. I’m never going to forget it. I’ll always be grateful to you. And I do love you.”
He nodded slowly. “Now comes the ‘but.’”
I reached for his hand, hoping to soften the blow of what was coming. “At the same time, it’s so us.”
He gave me a sharp look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I broke up with you—broke our engagement.” I remembered Murphy’s phrase. “I crossed a universe to stop myself from running back to you.”
Peter stared at me, his frown deepening. “That message you sent—”
“Was a mistake. I wrote it, but then I smashed the display. It was sent by accident. I’m sorry.”
He dismissed this with a shake of his head. “Something made you write it. You were hurt, and you were scared, and you thought of me. That’s the way it should be, Rose.”
“That’s the way it’s always been. It’s a continuation of our age-old dysfunction.”
He pulled his hand from mine, and I could see he wanted me to stop. But I didn’t.
“Peter, I can’t help but wonder if what you really came here looking for was a Rose who’d had everything stripped away from her. A Rose who would depend on you, and be grateful you could still want her. A Rose who wouldn’t leave you.”
He stood up abruptly. “I don’t deserve this from you.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to blame you. I blame myself. I should have ended it long before I did. But it is over. I’m not going to run from you, and I’m not going to send you away. I hope you and Emily will stay here with us, because you’re like family to me. But if you don’t think you can live with my decision, you have to go.”
* * *
Peter left me without another word, and I sat there in the grass, chilled, letting the darkness settle around me. I listened to the rustling of the willow branches. The chuckle of water under the bridge.
The moon was a brittle, silvery crescent in a field of a million bright stars.
I felt a tickling at my ankle and jumped up, imagining what kinds of th
ings might be on the move at this time of night. In my earlier agitation I had plucked away at the grass, and there was a bare patch where my legs had just been resting. In the center of the patch, something was taking shape—a widening, irregular dark spot. A breeze parted the branches of the willow tree, allowing starlight to wash over the ground.
Clover was growing, fast enough to see, right where I’d been sitting. I knelt and stirred it with my fingers. The long stem of a thimble-sized clover flower wrapped around my pinky. Strangely, I didn’t find it creepy at all. But it made me think of Murphy sitting alone in our apartment. I watched as the clover filled the bare spot and came to rest.
I recalled Ian’s idea about subconscious interaction with the planet. Could it work on a conscious level too?
“How about some daisies?” I said, trembling a little.
I laughed at myself when nothing happened, and I passed my hand once more over the top of the clover.
I stood up and walked back to the overhang.
A delicious smell assaulted me as I walked in the door. “What is that?”
Murphy, sitting on the sofa with the flat-reader, glanced up at me. “Leftover chicken.”
“Hmm, I’ll believe that when I see it.”
A single plate rested on the stove, covered with a pot lid. I lifted the lid to reveal some kind of chicken/mushroom concoction—one generous serving. “Did you eat already?”
“I did, yeah. I hope you don’t mind.” He didn’t even look up. No foreplay for me tonight.
“Of course not.” I carried the plate to the table. “What are you working on?”
“Just reviewing some recent journal articles on symbiogenesis. I’m almost finished.”
“Okay.” I ate a few bites in silence. “This is really good, Murphy.”
He gave me a fleeting smile.
I set down my fork. “Are you angry with me?”
“Not at all.”
Not at all. I scowled at my plate.
I finished my dinner and washed my dishes.
After spending a few minutes in the bathroom washing up, I parted the waves of lavender and stretched out on the bed. I assessed the day’s growth and decided there really wasn’t much more than there had been this morning. I hoped it would slow down, because I really hated to cut it. They were almost like our children.
My hand drifted down to my belly. Hi, you.
I turned my head toward Murphy in time to catch him glancing back to the flat-reader. With a shiver I flashed back to New Seattle—the early days, when we weren’t talking.
Sighing, I settled back and stared up at the ceiling.
* * *
I woke alone in the dark. But the night was bright, and even under the ledge some indirect starlight made its way through the kitchen window.
I rolled over and saw Murphy sleeping on the pallet, chest bare and gleaming in the low light. Back to New Seattle again, remembering how I’d longed to touch that beautiful body—to wake him with my lips against his skin. I’d been afraid and uncertain.
How much had changed since then. Yet how much had not.
I slipped out of bed. Crouching over him, knees on the hard floor, I did now what I had so wanted to do then. I planted a single kiss on his warm stomach.
Air rushed into him as he took a surprised breath.
I moved up to the well beneath his breastbone and kissed him again. His whole body shivered, his hands coming to my shoulders.
Easing higher, I kissed him between the sloping muscles of his chest.
He folded his arms around me, raising me so he could look into my face. He gave me a sleepy smile, and my own chest filled with a breath of relief.
“What are you doing down here?” he murmured.
“That’s just what I came to ask you. Is this some kind of test, to see if I can take it? Because I can’t. I’ve cracked completely. I’ll beg. I’ll seduce you. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Jesus, Elizabeth,” he breathed, clasping me again to his chest. Trembling as he held me. “I’m sorry. I’m not playing with you, love. I just—I want you to wait until you’re sure. I don’t want you to feel any obligation to me. You have a long history with him, and I respect that. I respect him for having the courage to see you’re the same woman he loved on Earth.” He kissed my forehead. “I don’t want to lose you, Elizabeth, God knows. But I’m not going to be satisfied with half of your heart.”
“Oh, Murphy.” It came out a cross between a laugh and a sob. “Do you remember what I said last night about why I kept leaving him? About the thing that seemed missing that I never could define?”
“Very clearly.”
“For years I thought I was using it as an excuse not to commit to him. I thought maybe what we had was as good as I could expect. I mean, it was pretty good. I kept going back to it. But I knew it would be wrong to marry him if I wasn’t sure. I came here thinking that if I didn’t get over him, and if he was still waiting when I went back, then I would marry him. It never occurred to me he might follow me.”
“But he has,” Murphy said.
“Yes, but everything’s changed now.”
“How so?”
“I found the thing I couldn’t define. I found it the first time you kissed me.”
His hand caressed my cheek. “Then why did you push me away after that?”
“Because it scared me, Murphy. What if it wasn’t real? What if it was just another aspect of my dependence on you?”
Murphy laughed quietly. “Your dependence on me was a technicality. You defied me at every turn.”
I gaped at him. “Not true!”
“True. But I’m not going to argue with you. Ever again, if I can help it.” He raised his hand and tucked a stray curl behind my ear.
“Part of me is always going to love Peter. We shared so much of our lives, and I thought I’d never see him again. I was astonished by him appearing like he did, and I was overwhelmed by the sacrifice he’d made to be with me.” Murphy was nodding, and I stopped his head with my hand. “But it never—for even a second—changed the fact that I want to be with you, Murphy, with all of my heart.”
“Is that so,” he said, so softly it brought tears to my eyes.
“That’s so, love.” I leaned forward and kissed him, holding his face in my hands. He rolled with me onto his side, parting his lips, his tongue meeting mine. He touched my face and hair. Rubbed the back of my neck. Stroked his hand down between my shoulder blades to my hip, then lower.
“What was it you were saying earlier about begging and seducing?”
Smiling, I untangled myself from him and stood up, peeling off my clothes and letting them fall to the floor. I reached for his hand and pulled him to his feet. He gathered me against him, my breasts pressing into his chest.
I brought his ear down to my mouth. “Come back to our bed. I need to feel you inside me.”
“Ah,” he replied, lifting me in his arms, “that’s a happy coincidence.”
News
“Okay, Rose, we’re recording,” said Peter, glancing down at the window of his camera.
Peter had not run away. He had taken a deep interest in our plan to use the camp as an experiment in detachment and ghost/host symbiosis. Within three weeks he had established himself so firmly it was hard to imagine life without him.
We agreed he would document our efforts with the intention of eventually going public with our story, and somehow I had been nominated as the camp’s spokesperson. Peter had insisted news audiences most easily connected with cheerful young women—doubly important considering the grim notions people on Earth had about ghosts.
I cleared my throat and looked into the camera. “It’s day twenty-two since we began soil assessment in preparation for our new plantings. You can see over here we have mature carrots and potatoes.” Peter panned right, following my hand. “And we’ve been harvesting sugar peas and lettuce for more than two weeks now.”
“How much of this have you actually p
lanted?” asked Peter.
“Nothing. Not a seed. This is all spontaneous.”
“Can you explain what you mean by ‘spontaneous’?”
“This garden is a result of what we’ve been calling ‘pair bond phenomena.’ One of our biology experts and his wife—who share a strong symbiont/host bond—prepared the soil. They drew up the plans for the planting, and before our seeds had even arrived, the plants began to grow.”
“How is that possible?”
I smiled at the camera. “That’s a good question. We’re still trying to understand it ourselves. The planet’s systems appear to be responsive to our needs.”
“Can you give us other examples of pair bond phenomena?”
I glanced back at the plants, which had sprouted up in precisely the haphazard formation planned by Ian and Julia to ensure the garden wouldn’t be noticed by anyone passing overhead.
“This is definitely the most extreme. If you watch closely you can actually see them growing. But we’ve observed accelerated growth everywhere. We have a crop of new saplings filling in the boneyard—that’s the ring of forest that burned to the ground a few months ago. There are more fish moving through this river than we can eat.” I pushed a wisp of hair back from my face as I turned again to the camera. “We’ve observed a significant increase in fertility in our chicken population. Half of our hens only lay eggs with double yolks.”
“And how are you progressing with detachment?”
“Very well. We hit sixty percent today. That’s more than thirty symbionts released from the host proximity requirement in the last three weeks.”
“Okay,” said Peter, lowering the camera and smiling at me. “Beautiful, Rose.”
I felt arms coiling around my waist. Lips against my earlobe. “Yes, very.”
“Christ,” Peter muttered. “As if we didn’t have enough footage of that.” He turned and stalked off.
“Murphy!” I scolded, turning in his arms. “That wasn’t very gracious.”
He pulled my lips to his, kissing me until I came up gasping for air.
“Gracious doesn’t pay with this guy. Do you know what he said the other day, when I told him I was glad he and Emily had decided to stay on with us? He said he intended to hang around as long as it takes for me to fuck up with you.”
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