California: A Novel

by Edan Lepucki

  Peter stood, maybe to break the mood. He leaned against the railing. “Let’s stay on topic, guys. Cal, has Frida been exhibiting any symptoms?”

  Micah laughed again. “‘Exhibiting.’ Nice one, doctor.”

  Peter shot Cal a look that meant Don’t mind him, he’s just showing off. Cal couldn’t help but feel relieved; here was an ally.

  “Is she nauseated?” Peter asked. “Tired?”

  Cal shook his head. “Not that I know of. But it could be too early.”

  “There you have it,” Micah said. “There’s nothing definitive.”

  “But—”

  Peter held up a hand. “You know he’s right, Cal. And if he is, then things are a lot less complicated.”

  “I realize her pregnancy is a complication for you,” Cal said. “But not for me.”

  “We both know that’s not true,” Micah said. “Frida wants to stay, and I think you do, too, if you’d just allow yourself to admit it.” He’d moved to a kneeling position and was fiddling with a nail in one of the wood planks. He would not look at Cal. “Tell you what. Let’s keep this supposed pregnancy quiet.”

  Peter was nodding.

  “What about the Vote? It’s supposed to happen next week.”

  “Since nothing is conclusive,” Micah said, “we want to keep it out of the decision.”

  “But what happens if it is conclusive? What if she’s pregnant?”

  Peter said nothing.

  Micah continued to fiddle with the nail, his fingers poised clawlike, and he bit his lower lip in concentration.

  “Micah? I asked you a question.”

  He looked up. “There are options.”

  “What does that mean? Do you guys have an abortion clinic set up here? Or do you send women to a Community to take care of it?”

  Peter sighed. “Most Communities don’t allow abortions. Didn’t you know that? Those fucking Christians.”

  “So what if Frida’s pregnant? What then? Will you guys just bring out the wire hangers?”

  “Stop it,” Peter said. “You’re being paranoid, once again.”

  “Options is a generic term,” Micah said. “Your response is a bit of a Rorschach test, no?”

  “Fuck off, Micah. Why don’t you just tell me the whole story? Why aren’t kids allowed here? Sailor told me the party line about containment. But that doesn’t really explain it.”

  “It doesn’t?” Micah said. “It seems perfectly logical to me.”

  “It’s a long story,” Peter said.

  “So tell it. Where else do I have to be?”

  “The Land has to stay contained, Cal,” Micah said, “so that word of this outpost doesn’t grow. I’m supposed to be dead, remember?”

  “Forget about that,” Peter said. “Have you ever thought about how hard it would be to raise a kid out here?”

  Cal heard something sorrowful in Peter’s voice, and he thought of Jane and Garrett. Burying them. He stood, and his knees cracked. It sounded like a branch breaking.

  “Listen, Cal,” Peter said. “This is in your best interest. We want you to work with us. And if Frida is pregnant, then we’ll discuss it when the time comes. I’m just not convinced she is.”

  “But why risk it?”

  “Because,” Micah said. “There are options.”

  “We want the baby.”

  No one said anything. Why did Cal feel like Micah didn’t believe him?

  “I still don’t get why you want me and Frida here. It seems like all we’re doing is causing you all a lot of trouble.”

  Peter smiled at Micah. “That’s what I kept asking.”

  “‘Kept’? Why did you stop?”

  Peter nodded at Micah.

  “My sister,” Micah said. “She’s here.”

  “So you’re human after all,” Cal said. “Is that it?”

  Peter actually laughed. It was such a clear, pure thing. Cal could see the man respected him. “This is why we need you in our morning meetings! To put Mikey in his place.”

  Micah practically growled. “I realize you and Frida are a package deal, whether I like it or not. If you’re here, we might as well use that noggin of yours. Our garden isn’t doing well— the irrigation system is clogged. Go make yourself useful.”

  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.

  Did he want to impress Frida? Dave had been so rude when they’d arrived—the suspicious glances, the rough way he’d handled their things—but maybe by now he’d cooled off. And Frida was the new girl in town. The first and last, supposedly.

  When Cal was a little boy, his mother had told him that someday his true love would seem different from everyone else in the world. “Like a bright red car in a sea of jalopies,” she’d said. It struck him that, although his mother had not been in love with his father, nor with her various long-term boyfriends, she’d been right. This was exactly how Cal felt, looking at his wife. His red car.

  Dave saw Cal first. He waved, and Frida turned.

  Though she smiled and called his name, Cal thought he detected a microsecond of disappointment on her face. It reminded him of how she used to act after spending the day with Micah. It was as if she’d gotten so used to her brother’s inflections and cynicism, and the way he could make her laugh, that returning to Cal jarred her. He wondered sometimes if Micah made fun of him to his sister, so that when Frida saw Cal again, she had the urge to laugh and had to force herself not to.

  “Hi, babe,” he said now, and bent down to kiss her on the mouth.

  “Hi,” she said.

  What was it that had fled so suddenly from her face? Was it that she’d been sitting with two attentive men she didn’t know very well, their lives mysteries she could mine for years, and Cal had barged in to interrupt the moment? She’d been so happy just seconds ago, as giddy as she’d been when she first met Sandy Miller by the creek. But now that Cal was here, breaking up playtime, she looked, if not unhappy, then concerned. Perhaps she was worried about what he’d say.

  “Nice face,” Cal said to Dave, and Frida giggled.

  “He’s a looker, isn’t he?” she said, her hands clasped under her chin like a cartoon animal in love. “Sailor’s jealous.”

  “Am not,” he said, pouting.

  “Poor baby,” Frida said. She was laughing again.

  “I heard about your fancy pancake,” Cal said.

  “It was amazing!” Sailor said, and Frida fake-protested.

  “It was,” Dave said. “Did you try it?”

  Cal shook his head. “Everyone else got a taste but me.”

  This time, Frida didn’t laugh.

  “How come you didn’t get any?” she asked. “What were you doing?”

  He told her about helping Rachel in the garden. “She told me the Vote is public,” he said. “Did you know that?”

  Frida seemed to think about this. “I guess so. I assumed it would be.”

  “Really?” Cal raised an eyebrow at Sailor. “Even at Plank, the controversial topics were voted by secret ballot.”

  Dave looked stunned, and Sailor gave him an appeasing look.

  “We wouldn’t know,” Sailor said. “During our tenure, there was never a controversy we had a say in.” He paused. “The school closing was never up for debate.”

  “I didn’t know you guys went to Plank,” Frida said. She turned to Cal, as if to say, Why didn’t you tell me? She didn’t look angry, just surprised.

  “You’re such a fucking big mouth,” Dave said to Sailor, who grinned.

  “Keep thinking that, my friend,” he said.

  “Is it a secret?” Cal asked.

  Sailor frowned. “The recruiter said no one would care where we came from. And that’s turned out to be sort of true.”

  “Until now,” Frida said, and reached out to push a lock of hair out of Cal’s eyes.

  Cal turned to Dave. “So if a bunch of you are Plankers, why not do things the Plank way and allow everyone to cast their decision privately?”

  “Why?” Dave asked, eyebrows raised. “Are you assuming it’s a controversial topic?”

  “Yeah,” Frida said, turning to Cal. “You think too highly of us, babe.”

  When they were alone on their walk back to the Hotel, far from anyone who might hear them, Cal told her to keep her pregnancy a secret. “Micah asked us to,” he said.

  He was surprised that Frida didn’t protest, though he didn’t say so. Instead, he began to tell her about his trip to the tree house. He waited for her to say that she’d been there, too, but she didn’t. She didn’t speak at all. It seemed so easy for her, to not tell him things.

  He asked her if she felt different, now that she was pregnant. She just shook her head.

  “Peter and Micah are looking for confirmation, I guess.”

  “So you want me to start barfing?”

  He shook his head, and then nodded. She laughed, and relief moved like sunlight across his body. “You seem really happy today,” he said finally. “Just now, when I saw you there, with Sailor.”

  “Anika knew Jane,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Sandy had Jane on the Land.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Frida nodded. “It’s happened before, Cal. There’s been a baby here.”

  She took Cal’s hand and squeezed it three times, as if she were sending him a message.

  “If it happened once,” she said, “that means it can happen again, don’t you think? Maybe that’s what Micah and Peter were getting at. We just have to wait until we’re fully accepted here.”

  They had almost reached the Hotel, where people were milling about. On the porch, a man was strumming a guitar with only two strings; Cal had learned his name yesterday but had already forgotten it.

  “Frida,” Cal whispered. “Be careful.”

  “Of what? Smolin, with his ballads?” She nodded at the man with the guitar.

  Cal couldn’t believe Frida was being so blind, but he didn’t want to worry her or crush her hope. It was probably keeping her spirits up. He couldn’t say what he wanted to say, which was that she might be wrong. Even if Anika was telling the truth, it didn’t necessarily bode well for him and Frida. Sandy Miller might have had Jane on the Land, but Jane wasn’t raised here. And what about Garrett? The Millers had left this place: that was the point. Now Cal and Frida needed to find out whether they had done so by choice.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. After a moment she added, “Are you really joining Micah in the mornings now?”

  “How does everyone know? This is why we can’t tell anyone you’re pregnant.”

  “It’s true, then?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be on the inside, Frida.”

  “Try to hide your boner.”

  He ignored her. “I’ll find out what happened to the Millers.”

  “Sure you will,” she said, and raised an eyebrow.

  They were almost to the porch, and Frida was waving at one person and then another, like a beauty queen on a parade float.

  “You must be happy about the Plank contingent,” she said.

  “It ki
nd of weirds me out, actually. What did they think they were coming out here to do?”

  15

  The cold weather had snuck up on her. Frost lay on the field every morning, and one night, hard rain pinged off the Hotel roof. The next day, the construction team had nailed boards across all the glassless windows on the Land. Now the Hotel was dank and fortresslike, Frida and Cal’s room simultaneously stuffy and cozy, especially when they were falling asleep. “At least it’s not freezing in here,” Cal said.

  Frida preferred the Hotel kitchen to anywhere else. Not only was it the warmest place on the Land, but she could also still look out the windows and watch the sky turn lighter and lighter as she worked. Once the sun rose, they had to stop baking and start Morning Labor, but she didn’t mind. She was just happy to be able to walk down the Hotel stairs in the morning before anyone else did, pondering the tasks ahead and wondering if what she made would taste as good as what she’d served the day before. She had a reputation to uphold. After the first morning with the clafoutis, Anika had given in and allowed her to bake bread.

  “I guess we need something to soak up all the soup,” Frida had joked.

  Anika didn’t laugh. “We need bread for sustenance. Desserts are frivolous, but they help every once in a while to keep up morale.”

  Anika always had the oven lit by the time Frida met her in the kitchen. She’d be standing by it for warmth, and when Frida entered the room, Anika would lift one hand in greeting before bringing it back to the flames. More than once Frida had expected to see Anika plunge her whole arm into the oven with barely a wince; she seemed indomitable like that. Or just crazy.

  Anika could be a little scary, but beneath her swagger was a softness. The more time Frida spent with her, the more it seemed that Anika longed to reveal this side of herself, exchanging history for history, secret for secret. She wanted to share things like old friends did, or maybe like a mother would, carrying her newborn through the house, naming all the objects around them. The lesson being: This is how the world works. This is how we make order.