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She hits send. Daniel’s response appears within half a minute.
At the very least, you should have left the baby home. I don’t trust this friend at all.
Jesus. Lenna blows out her cheeks.Don’t be ridiculous, she writes back.
It was ridiculous. There’s the fact that she’s still nursing, the fact that Jacobwantsto nurse, the fact that he needs her, loves her,andthe fact that Daniel is totally and completely incapable.
The shared bathroom door is unlocked. Lenna brings the baby inside, closes the door again, and sets him on a towel on the floor to step into a quick shower. Jacob squirms and cries, but he settles when the room starts to steam. The hot water smells slightly sulfuric. Her brain feels jangled, too awake; at the same time, she feels mentally flattened. It’s the combination of being thrilled to spend time with Rhiannon…but also feeling so on edge.
And it’s not just about how she left Daniel so hastily, with no explanation. Something else needles at her, too.HadRhiannon told her that she wouldn’t be able to call Daniel while she was here? Lenna can’t believe that she would have been so willing to come if she’d known about that rule in advance. Or was she so determined to spend time with Rhiannon that she didn’t listen?
As Lenna dries her hair, the sound of bongos drifts from outside. She peers out a small bathroom window. The sun is lower. Older kids race through the dirt, playing tag. A long, farmhouse-style table has been set. Some of the adult residents are already outside, too. Lenna spies Marjorie, Amy, and either Melissa or Naomi, though she can’t tell which. Someone’s laugh spirals.
She dresses again and returns to her room to put a fresh diaper on the baby. She’s depleted her stores in the diaper bag, but she brought plenty in her suitcase. But when she turns to it in the corner, she notices the zipper is halfway open.
She frowns. She’s had no reason to delve into the massive suitcase yet. Bending down, she unzips it the rest of the way and assesses the stacks of clothes. When she feels inside one of the pockets for the package of diapers, it isn’t there. But that makes no sense. There’s no way she would have forgotten diapers. Lying in bed next to Daniel last night, she’d mentally gone over everything she needed for the baby…had they fallen out on the plane, maybe? Had she left them in that bathroom in the airport? She’d been frazzled, but…no, that doesn’t make sense. She hadn’t gone into her suitcase at all.
She removes everything from the suitcase. Still no diapers. Her thoughts drift back to the way she’d found her bag, the zipper halfway undone. And then something else hits her: Lenna’s suitcase has a four-digit passcode lock—Jacob’s birthday. The dread chokes her now, makes her heart pound.
She has no choice but to leave Jacob in a dirty diaper temporarily and head out to see the others for this dinner they’ve arranged. At least she knows why he’s crying. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmurs to Jacob as she walks down the hall. “We’ll get you sorted.”
Outside, the kids laugh as they bang on the drums. The waythe land is situated, the sound is amplified off the mountains. Everything echoes, actually. Marjorie and a few of the others laugh near an unlit fire pit, and their laughter reverberates on and on and on. It’s eerie, kind of. Like the laughter keeps going even after their lips stop moving.
Marjorie probably hears the baby before she even sees Jacob and Lenna. She’s already turned toward the door when Lenna comes out. Her brow crinkles when she sees Lenna’s look of concern. “Everything okay?”
“I’m so sorry, but it seems I’ve misplaced my package of diapers,” Lenna blurts. “Do you know if someone might have…put them somewhere?”
“Diapers?” Marjorie squints, confused. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s just that my bag was unzipped, and…” Lenna trails off. Maybe it’s unwise, accusing someone of rifling through her bag. “Never mind. I probably just forgot them. I hate to ask, but do you have any I can use?”
Marjorie nods. “Although—they’re cloth.” Her gaze goes to Jacob, and maybe Lenna is seeing things, but she seems to wrinkle her nose at the little plastic strip of his disposable diaper showing through his onesie. “Just put it in the laundry when it’s time for a new one. I’ll give you a whole stack.” She gives Lenna a meaningful look. “Cloth reallyisbest.”
“Watch it with your indoctrinating, Marjorie!” a voice interrupts, and it’s Naomi—definitely Naomi, because she has that same sly look on her face—playfully wagging a finger. “No judgment, no shame!”
“I’m not indoctrinating!” Marjorie cries. “It’s Halcyon policy. That’s all.”
Lenna’s cheeks blaze. “I didn’t know. But I appreciate it. Thank you.”
Behind her, someone snorts. Lenna turns and there’s someone sitting in the shadows. Lenna squints. It’s that quiet, refined woman—Gia. She’s watching them like she’s some sort of anthropologist. She thinks about what Rhiannon said:Gia’s okay. But I’d leave that situation alone.
After Marjorie sorts Lenna out with a stack of cloth diapers and shows her how to use them, they’re all back outside again. Lenna feels significantly more rattled—her palm hurts for how much she’s squeezed it with her nails, and the color yellow isn’t quite as soothing here as it is at home. If only she could just retreat to her room for the night with a tray of food. She isn’t even sure she wants to get to know these women. She isn’t even sure how long she’ll be here. Jacob seems happier, which she supposes is a blessing. Maybe that’s all it would take. Cloth diapers. Less stressing. Done.
Rhiannon emerges, freshly showered, hand in hand with her son. She spies Lenna and loops her arm around her elbow.
“You okay? Everything…sorted out?” She tucks her head slyly. She means Daniel.
Lenna shrugs. She wishes she could tell her friend what Daniel actually said in the text. He’s not wrong. Thisisn’tthe Lenna he knows. To him, she isn’t a person who feels pressured or influenced by the suggestions of a friend, no matter how treasured that friend might be. Is Lenna backsliding as a human, being here with Rhiannon? It’s hard to parse the difference between the need to reconcile and the urge for Rhiannon’s acceptance, no matter what.
She wants to tell Rhiannon about her missing diapers, too, but Rhiannon is already walking toward the table. Maybe it’s silly. Maybe Lenna reallydidjust forget diapers in her scramble for the flight this dark morning.
They head to the table. Rhiannon grabs the bottles of kombucha and wine and pours them each glasses of both. “You have totry the homemade bread,” she says, gesturing at a basket in the center of the table.
Lenna selects a piece; it’s warm in her hands and smells like rosemary and olive oil. The flavors ooze on her tongue. An intense wave of pleasure washes over her, so powerful that she has to sit down.
The other women settle in. Everyone talks at once, but it’s a pleasant sort of chaos, and the echoes start to meld. A boy at the end of the table talks about aHarry Potterhe’s reading. A few of the little girls are chanting a song. Melissa gets the young children situated at a smaller table and tells the bigger kids to put their napkins on their laps. Marjorie settles herself at the head of the table and proudly beams. At one point, her gaze locks on Lenna’s. She nods toward Lenna’s glass.
“Drink up. We aren’t trying to poison you, I promise.”
