Page 143 of Under Story

It was wonderful, cathartic, to cry in water: tears flowed away as soon as they appeared. Afterward, he took the bar of soap and cleaned her everywhere. His hands ran over her neck, her breasts, her armpits, each foot. Then she took the bar and did the same for him. It was late morning; there was nothing to hide behind; and though clouds muted the sun, pearly light flowed through them.

Eli climbed out of the shower first. He dried himself and opened a towel for her. When she stepped inside, he bundled Laurel the way they used to bundle Silas. It came to her in a burst: what happened was his unconception. Silas’s embryo was gone, split into something else.

They looked at each other. What Laurel thought was: We did it. She scrolled all the way back to McMurdo—God, it seemed so long ago—seeing the Arc, dreaming of the basin, convincing Eli to join her. They learned to dive and found the octopus, rose back up into this world. Then came the waiting years, the learning years, feeling their way here like children. They drove to Cedar eating their unsatisfying Culver’s. They were terrified and distant; how could they imagine what lay ahead? The water. Finding Silas there. Spitting and gasping until they reached land. They taught Silas to walk. They taught him to eat, crawl, run, count, talk. They gave him the best life they could—over now.

But Silas had not been a half-life.

He had had two.

They had been lucky.

May 1999

At the Center, every new member is apprenticed to another, though Laurel didn’t know that when she arrived. In the summer of 2003, she drove the hour from Madison in a state of agitation. Twice, she drifted over the median, and Clare shouted “Laurel!” to keep her on their side.

Winding along county roads, she almost missed the first sign.

“What was that?” Clare asked, and Laurel reversed.

An engraved piece of wood had been staked in wild, climbing grapes. The text read: Keep going.

The second sign appeared around the next bend, this one beside a spruce tree. Laurel slowed.

Almost there.

Laurel began to feel calmer. She parked in the grass at the edge of Big Meadow. It was an overcast evening in August, the sun a ragged white hole amid gray. Clare walked with her to the Hub. A third sign was affixed to the door.

You made it.

Laurel knocked but heard nothing. The handle was unlocked. She opened it and stepped inside, Clare following cautiously. Hung high on the wall, below the intersection of two beams, was a symbol made of twigs. It looked like a wheel, or maybe a web: a circle with sixteen spokes.

Members milled in the Longhall for dinner. No one would notice if Laurel turned back around.

“You know I’d love to have you in the farmhouse,” said Clare. “There’s too much space for just me, and plenty to do in the orchard.”

“I know.” Laurel’s eyes smarted. She couldn’t explain why she felt compelled to join this group of strangers. She only knew that living in Madison without Eli seemed intolerable. “Do you think I’m nuts?”

“No.” Clare tucked a strand of hair behind Laurel’s ear and smiled. “You just need some time on your own.”

Esther caught sight of Laurel while walking back from the dessert table.

“We have a new one!” she cried, and women turned, murmuring, curious. Esther and Nell bustled over to the door.

“Welcome,” Nell said.

“What’s your name?” asked Esther.

By bedtime, Laurel had been given a cot, topped by Susie’s old yellow quilt.

She felt woozy at her change in circumstances. Once again, she had entered a new world. The next day, Laurel met with the leadership circle.

“Everyone has a different role here,” Bev explained. “Is there something you feel drawn to?”

Laurel felt paralyzed by the question, which reminded her that she was starting over.

“No matter,” said Bev. “Take some time to get acclimated. The right answer will come to you.”

After working as a steward, Laurel defaulted to the kitchen. But Rox had a surplus of dishwashers, and the pod that needed help most—carpentry—was not Laurel’s skill set. She spent the next week helping to build a new cottage. Her task was to assemble wall framing, but she couldn’t nail the studs as marked: they slipped to one side or twisted out of place.