Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  “Just wait a minute, she may actually be done,” Kate directs, and I pause. Sure enough, Beth refuses her next bite.

  “You better gain an appetite, little one, or your sister is going to double your size!” Kate says, wiping her cherub face with a damp cloth.

  Both fed and happy, the girls are content to roll on the floor, their arms shooting out in all directions, searching for something to grasp onto. Though neither of them has crawled yet, they both have have begun rocking on their hands and knees. It’s only a matter of time.

  “Do you have anything on your agenda that is particularly pressing today?” I ask, rinsing the dishes. “I am waiting for new patient records to come in, so there’s not much I can move on at the lab. I may stop over for about an hour this afternoon to prep, but other than that, I am at your service.”

  “Well, that’s a nice surprise,” she replies, grinning. “I would love to take a shower and then I need to check in with Shari about my service assignment. It’s time for me to pick up some hours.”

  “Yeah? You are feeling like you can take that on?” I ask, stacking the small bowls on the drying rack and moving next to her.

  “I am. The girls are sleeping well at night and I am...good. I could easily do one session per week. And I think it would be beneficial for the girls to have some outside experiences. Practice taking bottles.” She winks.

  “That would be nice, give us more flexibility,” I say, running my hand along her waist, turning her toward me. “I think that’s great. Do you want me to take the girls on a walk after you shower so you can have some peace and quiet for your call?”

  “I would really appreciate that, thank you,” she says, leaning in to kiss me. A clip barely holds her loosely tied hair into a twist at the base of her neck. Her oversized cotton shirt hits her mid-thigh and there is little splash of sweet potato on one sleeve. She is beautiful. Our lips meet, short and sweet, but I pull her back in for a deeper kiss. She smiles and pulls away.

  “Shower and phone call, remember?” she says.

  “Sorry, I got distracted,” I laugh.

  “Don’t spend too long at the lab and maybe I will be distracted while the girls are napping this afternoon. Though I probably just jinxed it,” she laughs, retreating to the bedroom. I definitely won’t be staying long at the lab.

  I lie down on the floor next to the girls, pushing gently on their feet and watching them follow my hands. They love peek-a-boo, never tiring of it. Their eyes are brilliantly blue, sparkling like gemstones, and they light up each and every time they see my face emerge from my hands.

  My heart swells at the thought of Kate feeling good enough to get back to her assignment. Maybe that means she would be ready to talk about having more kids? When we paired, our minimum goal was four. With fertility treatments, we could achieve that—and possibly more—with only one more pregnancy. She worries about her age, but she handled the last one beautifully.

  A deep, familiar uneasiness rises through my stomach. As is my custom in moments like this, I methodically walk myself back through the timeline of events. I did what I was asked to do. Kate and Eric both wanted this, though they weren’t properly conditioned to follow through. I was willing to take this on despite the acute pain of rejection that continues to linger. We are making our impact, as Kate would say, and are doing this together. The fact that she required adjustment initially is irrelevant.

  Kate materializes from the bedroom, looking radiant, hair still wet. The apprehension eases slightly as I take her in, and I conclude that I need to broach the fertility topic. Worst case scenario, it’s a no. Or she gets mad at me for bringing it up and I lose distracted nap time. That last possibility is compelling, but I ultimately decide in favor of the proposition. She can’t stay mad at this handsome face for too long.

  “Hey, good shower?” I ask, easing into it. Seems like a safe opener.

  “Great, thanks. I was thinking...” She pauses and my heart leaps. Maybe I won’t have to be the one to bring it up? “...do you think those dreams I am having could be telling me something?”

  I blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?” I ask warily.

  “Well, I was just wondering if they could be serving a purpose—pushing me toward something I am supposed to accomplish. Take the dream about my mom, for example. She had such a passion for serving in Tier 3. I have been working the same service assignment for years. Maybe I need to switch it up. Do what was important to her and find something I am passionate about. I want to make an impact, Nick, you know this. I know I’m probably wearing on you with always coming back to this internal struggle, but I am feeling that drive again: to create, to build,” she looks at me questioningly, pleading for a response.

  “I think that would be great, and I am all for experimenting. If this could potentially fulfill a desire and improve your sleep, seems like a no-brainer,” I say, fully aware that I am pandering.

  She smiles gratefully. “I’ll ask Shari what my options are.”

  “You know,” I postulate, “this obviously hasn’t been approved, but maybe we could do a couple of scans for you before and after. Just see if there’s any difference or improvement,” I suggest and her eyes light up.

  “You could do that?” she asks excitedly.

  “You can’t say anything, and I’d have to figure out a way to save your scans off of the main database, but...it might be fun,” I caution, grinning at her enthusiastic response.

  “Yes! Figure it out! I would love that. Do you know much about dreaming and the brain?”

  I’m about to, I think.

  “Not much, but we could poke around.” She runs to me then, throwing her arms around my neck. I would do pretty much anything for this reaction. Holding her tightly, my eyes close in contentment.

  “Hey, I was also thinking while you were in the shower,” I start. She meets my eyes, interested. “Do you think you feel good enough—I mean, you mentioned you were feeling up to getting back to your assignment, so I wondered if you had considered...kind of the same thing you mentioned, creating, building. More kids?” I fumble through my words and her eyebrow raises in amusement. That’s a good sign.

  “Was that difficult for you to get out?” she teases.

  “I was thinking about it, but I didn’t want to make you feel like we had to go there. Or that I would be disappointed if we didn’t—”

  “Wouldn’t you be?” she asks.

  “No. If we never discussed it, that would be frustrating, but right now, I don’t want to push.”

  “You aren’t pushing, I have been thinking about it, too,” she says, relaxing her arms to her sides. “I think we should talk about it more seriously in a couple of weeks. My only hesitation is the fertility part. I don’t know if I’m ready for that again,” she shudders.

  “I know. I mean, I don’t know, but—well, my part was easy.” I shrug. She laughs, running her hands through her damp hair. This is right. All of this is right.

  51 Eric

  Sitting at the table, I rest my head in my hands, waiting for Tal to arrive home. The call I received hours ago plays on loop in my head.

  “...Tal didn’t show up to his last period of conditioning. Somehow, walking between the courtyard and the teaching kitchen he slipped away…”

  If I thought there was any chance this wasn’t his own doing, it wouldn’t be physically possible for me to sit and wait. Even knowing this, if he doesn’t walk through that door in another fifteen minutes, I won’t be able to stop myself from going out to search.

  My patience is rewarded when, a few minutes later, the doorknob turns and Tal saunters in. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for our soon-to-be conversation. The last thing I want to do is make it worse.

  “Hey, Dad,” Tal says nonchalantly, pushing his shoes onto the mat behind the door.

  “Hey, Tal,” I say evenly.

  “I’m going to—” he starts.

  “Nice try, bud. You need to come sit down so we can talk for a minut
e,” I interrupt.

  Tal gives a dramatic huff, but walks toward me nonetheless. He pulls the wooden chair out from the table and drops into it.

  “They told you?” he asks.

  “Yep.”

  “What did they say?”

  “What should they have said?”

  “That I’m not really learning anything at conditioning, so there’s no point in me being there,” he answers matter-of-factly.

  “That is definitely not what they said. Why do you feel like you aren’t learning anything?”

  “Dad, the pace is so slow. I could easily learn what I need to learn in less than five minutes. The teaching kitchen? It’s a joke. I’ve been making meals for two years now and today I think they were planning to whip up some incredibly difficult rhubarb sauce,” he says sarcastically. I smile inwardly at his confidence, maintaining a somber expression.

  “I am confused,” I say. “I thought we had a discussion with your team at the beginning of the year and they assured me that they would be able to adjust conditioning based on your abilities.”

  “Dad, this is the advanced group. I’m in with kids three years older than me. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to be with the way older kids.”

  “Hmm. I guess I didn’t realize how frustrated you were with all of this.” I pause, thinking. What is this behavior telling me? “Have you considered—well, that it might not be solely about you?”

  “What?” he asks reflexively, his head flinching, eyes narrowed.

  “I mean, conditioning isn’t there just for you to learn specific information or skills. It’s set up to be interactive and experiential for everyone’s benefit. You obviously find the requirements extremely easy, but what about the relationships? What about giving, tutoring, and mentoring? Being an example and a leader?”

  “That’s not really the point—”

  “No, it is, though,” I interrupt, attempting to maintain a gentle tone. “Think of all of those kids that find learning difficult. How much easier would it be to have a peer reinforcing those ideas? Or to have someone to practice with outside of regular conditioning? How much more successful would those kids be if they had you to help them?”

  He looks down at the floor.

  “And how much better and happier would you be to have friends? People you care about because you are serving them. And relationships with your leaders, learning from them how to be a leader yourself someday.”

  He mumbles something, but I don’t catch it, so I ask him to repeat himself.

  “What if that’s not what I want?” he asks, slightly louder this time.

  “What do you want, Tal?”

  “I want to be away from this place.”

  “From home?”

  “No, Dad. Not from you or this house. I want to be out of this system. It’s outdated and we aren’t being served by it anymore.”

  I cross my arms in front of my chest, forcing myself to ask more questions so that I don’t jump immediately into a lecture.

  “What do you mean?”

  “How many years has it been that we have had enough resources for all Tiers?” he asks and, embarrassingly, I don’t immediately know the answer.

  “Approximately sixty,” he answers for me, “with the last twenty being particularly abundant. If that’s the case, why do we need to be limited? Why can’t everyone have the chance to be Tier 1?”

  “Everyone does have the chance to be Tier 1, Tal, there are just specific requirements. And remember, ‘being Tier 1’ doesn’t mean that there is suddenly nothing required of you, it’s exactly the opposite! Aspiring to be our best is one thing, but aspiring to take on responsibility that we are not capable of shouldering is another.”

  “I know, and that’s precisely why I think our system is antiquated. We have accepted that Tier 1 responsibilities would be too much, but what if they aren’t? What if everyone were given the chance to continue to progress? What if we weren’t limited by our Tier? How does anyone truly know that someone like me couldn’t do something amazing with access to better resources? Make some discovery or invent new technology? But with the conditioning I am stuck with, I won’t ever have the chance to try.”

  I purse my lips, processing his reasoning. “There’s one flaw in your logic, son,” I say gently, “and it lies in your usage of the term ‘resources’. Your argument is that we have plenty of them at this point, correct?” Tal nods. “You are forgetting,” I continue, “that resources don’t solely include food and shelter. They include time, energy, abilities, and did I mention—time? We do not have time to condition everyone as if they were Tier 1.”

  “But if you had more training—”

  “No, Tal. We don’t have enough people to do said training! And, that would cause so much conflict. Everyone would be competing with each other. That is exactly what we are attempting to avoid. When we all work together, we see success. Not when we are trying to be better than our friends. And yes, to your point, I fully agree that a small percentage of individuals from any tier would be able to rise above their station, but it would be a very small group,” I finish, and we sit in silence for a few slow minutes.

  “I want to be the best,” he says softly.

  “That’s a noble goal, but my follow-up question would be, why?”

  “Because…” he trails off, not quite willing or able to answer.

  “If it’s because you want everyone to be impressed by you, I promise you won’t be satisfied even if you do achieve your goal. If it’s because you need to prove your value or your worth, again, you will be disappointed. If it’s because you want to be the best you can be to serve others and contribute, you will find happiness regardless of whether you end up being the best at anything. You need to find your ‘why’, Tal.”

  He nods.

  “In the meantime, I don’t expect you to bore yourself to death at conditioning, but I do expect you to fulfill your commitments and serve. Maybe I can—I don’t know,” I sigh, running my hands through my hair. “Maybe I can take over a couple of your conditioning subjects here at home. I will set up an appointment with your team to discuss options.”

  His face lights up.

  “Whatever is decided, I expect you to abide by it. No more skipping out,” I hedge sternly, and he nods.

  “Thanks, Dad. I’m sorry I—”

  “It’s ok, Tal. I love you. I’m sorry this has been difficult.” He stands, patting my shoulder, and runs to change his clothes. I breathe a sigh of relief. I think that actually went okay. If I can’t find a compromise with his conditioning instructors...Well, I’ll worry about that when I need to. For now, I will simply send the message.

  “Dad, want to go throw the disc around?” Tal calls from down the hall.

  My muscles and joints are sore from planting all morning. A deep ache emanates from my lower back and my fingers are tight, swollen from the constant friction against my gloves.

  “Sure, Tal, just let me put on a t-shirt.”

  52 Kate

  “You realize that when I said I would arrange childcare for the girls, I meant I would utilize the outdoor nursery on campus, right?” I say teasingly.

  “I know, I just didn’t want the girls to have to take a bottle from someone new without even introducing them to the space,” Shari argues. “This will be an easier transition, I think,” she explains, making excited faces at the girls.

  “Kids are resilient,” I say, “but I admit, having you here makes today a lot less stressful. I’m tired and it’s nice to have less to think about.”

  “You’re welcome,” she says dramatically. Then, to the girls in a sing-song voice, she adds, “Dreaming doesn’t make for the most restful sleep, does it?” Leah smiles and kicks in response.

  “What do you mean?” I ask Shari hesitantly.

  “About what?” she says flippantly, still playing with Leah.

  “About dreaming. What do you mean?”

  Standing up, she turns around, looking confused.
“Oh, I don’t know, I just assumed you were still having dreams interrupt your sleep. You said you were tired—”

  “Why wouldn’t you assume it was because I have twin six-month-olds?” I ask accusingly.

  “I—”

  “The only person I’ve told about having dreams since the girls were born is Nick. Did he talk to you about my dreams?” I ask, irrational fear and anger bubbling up in my chest. I don’t want anyone to know that I have dreamed about Eric. I trusted Nick. If he went directly to Shari—

  “Nick only mentioned that you were still having them, I don’t know anything beyond that. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it,” she says soothingly, rolling her eyes at my apparent overreaction.

  “When would you have even seen Nick to discuss this? Did he say it randomly in passing?” I ask, tempering my voice as I become aware that my reaction is, in fact, blown out of proportion.

  “Kate, you are going to be late. Ask Nick about it later—or we can talk about it when you get back.” She’s right, I need to get going. But the sick suspicion of betrayal makes it difficult to focus.

  “Okay, bottles are in the fridge. I’ll be back around three.”

  “Perfect. I will take the girls to the nursery for about an hour after I feed them post-nap.”

  I swallow my frustration and thank her, then stomp to the car.

  When I walk into the facility, I don’t see anyone that I recognize. I am on a different shift now, but I thought there would at least be a couple of familiar faces. I have been assigned a rotating cubicle instead of a permanent desk, which makes sense. It’s slightly inconvenient to set up my credentials each time on this display, and I don’t love the chair, but it will do. After logging in, I quickly navigate to the batch for today. Though I envisioned participating in physical sessions again, I decided I didn’t feel up to meeting in-person with patients during this initial transitional period. It’s difficult to get into a groove with only a few hours a week, and besides that, I don’t know exactly how jumping back in is going to affect me and my other responsibilities. Sorting and analyzing patient data seemed like a better use of everyone’s time and resources.