Page 145 of Under Story

Olive waited. There was something different about the way she communicated, something that Laurel could not identify at first. Eventually she realized that Olive never interrupted.

“Then I think: well, life isn’t over,” Laurel says. “Somehow, there’s still more.”

Olive twists her mouth the way she does while thinking. Then she says, “Dayenu.”

“Hm?”

“It’s a Hebrew word. It means ‘enough.’ ”

Laurel remembers it now—the title of a song she heard at Passover with the Rosens.

“It’s healthy to want more,” Olive says. “If we didn’t, we wouldn’t survive. But desire can also be distracting. It obscures what we already have. There are times when I want something badly, but when I get it, I don’t feel satisfied. I just start wanting something else.”

The Duoverse gave Laurel a second story, after she thought that there was only one. Bounty where she might have assumed meagerness. Possibility as ample as an orchard in full bloom. Can she choose to be satisfied now?

“Dayenu,” she says.

2005

On a Monday in August, Gloria pulled into the driveway and honked.

“Have everything you need?” Eli asked.

“Checking,” said Laurel. She pawed through items in the entryway: a tote bag with toiletries and clothes; a backpack for work supplies; a cooler; and a crate of outdoor gear, including a compact tent. She would be gone for three nights, until Friday.

Eli craned around on the couch. “Don’t tell me you’re still planning on camping.”

That month, thunderstorms had been relentless.

“It looks okay right now,” said Laurel.

“Yeah,” said Eli. “For an hour.”

“We’re going to stay at the motel tonight, anyway. Tomorrow, when we see the tree, we’ll reassess.”

Eli shook his head. They kissed, a peck, and Laurel left.

—

Laurel crammed her items in the trunk, between a box of ORBs and a folding ladder. Halfway to Michigan, they stopped at a gas station. Gloria volunteered to run inside for junk food.

“Swedish Fish, please,” said Tess. Gloria always bought the same thing: a blue raspberry Slurpee and White Cheddar Cheez-Its.

“I’m not very hungry,” said Laurel. “Can I just have some of your Cheez-Its?”

“No,” Gloria said. “If you would like Cheez-Its, you must get your own.”

Laurel rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. She had looked forward to this trip for months. In fact, she was happiest when driving to Cedar with Tess and Gloria, gossiping and bantering and bickering every so often, all of this suffused with anticipation. Gloria bounced to the gas station: her arthritis had resolved with age.

Tess’s hair was newly buzzed. She ran a hand against the grain and said, “You know what I’ve been thinking? This trip is the one.”

—

When they arrived at the motel, the wind was so fierce that rain seemed to fall horizontally. It would have been impossible to stay dry, and so they didn’t try, coming through the door wet and laughing, shoes soupy, hair plastered. They patched together dinner from the food in Laurel’s cooler. Afterward, Tess found a fearsome-looking horror movie called Brunch, and they watched in their pajamas while eating her Swedish Fish.

On Sunday morning, they brought equipment to the site. It was a beautiful day, balmy and clear. Wind blew through the forest in lavish waves.

When Laurel saw the tree, she gasped. Every rhizomorph had fallen. For the first time, the trunk and branches stood alone.