Under

by Diana Knightley

  Beckett leaned against the wall. “Tell me where you are. . .”

  She conversed off phone for a moment. “We’re nearing the blackened bridge. Dilly said to tell you that the troll still lives under it.”

  “Tell Dilly I haven’t ever believed her.”

  Luna said, “She stuck out her tongue.”

  “Tell Dilly she’s acting like a five-year-old.” He sighed. “I wish I could be there with you.”

  “Me too, but you are. I feel you all around me. And I love you so much.”

  “Did you get your paddleboard back?”

  “I did. It’s strapped in the bed of the truck right now. And our clothes from the ship. Dan and Sarah and Rebecca and Dr Mags, they all say hi by the way, and Dan said for you to do like he does and always check your surroundings in case you spring a leak.”

  Beckett chuckled, less because it was funny, more because he was supposed to find it funny.

  After all those years of thinking the water was the worst thing he could think of he had finally found something worse. Far worse.

  And he had talked to himself beforehand, he was supposed to not let Luna know, to not let on what was happening. He didn’t want to worry her.

  He asked, “And the camps will be closed by next month?”

  “Most of the Waterfolk are leaving, but some are staying. There’s actually some settlements opening for them, if they want to remain on land. But most of them want to head out on the high seas again.”

  Beckett nodded, regretting every moment of edict reading he ever did. Going east never did anyone any good. What was East? Land and more land and what did anyone do with land anymore? Fight over its dwindling size — no, he wouldn’t advise anyone to head east.

  Beckett coughed.

  Luna asked, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay. It’s just air quality. Luna I—”

  “Yes?”

  “I won’t be able to talk for a while. I’ve been in a training camp, and I leave tomorrow. I was told there wouldn’t be phone service, a lot like being on the Outpost.”

  Luna said, “Oh.” She watched the trees glide by outside her window as traffic inched forward. “For how long?”

  “Maybe months.”

  Tears welled in Luna’s eyes. “What about coming home in three months?”

  He said, “Thank you for calling it home. That means a lot to me.”

  “But will you, come home in three months?”

  “I don’t know. It might not be possible.”

  “Oh.”

  Beckett’s chest squeezed so tight he thought he might not be able to breathe. “I love you. I want you to know I’m thinking about you when I’m not there. Every minute.”

  “Me too. Plus, the Monarch constellation.”

  “Yeah. Look Luna, I have to go. I’m being called to dinner.”

  “But it’s early afternoon.”

  “Oh yeah, um, but it’s time for me to go.”

  “But you’re in the same time zone, aren’t you, Beckett? Just down the coast?”

  Chickadee said, “Tell him we can drive down there, we can come for the weekend, anytime.”

  Luna said, “If you can’t come home we can come see you on the base. Whenever you have a day off. . .”

  “I think our connection is bad again, I’ll call when I get a—” He hung up the phone and tossed it in his lap.

  Crap. Six months. This was too much. He tried to think about Luna walking up the front steps of his home, Luna sleeping curled up in his bed, Luna smiling in his living room waiting for him to come home after a long day — but it all seemed imaginary, fake, like a photograph of a perfect life before all this bullshit.

  He picked up his helmet and put it on his head. Grabbed his gun and surveyed the scene — this was one bleak shit storm of a disaster.

  Chapter 55

  Smoke filled air, rubbled buildings, pillaged towns, buildings that were wrecked bombed and ransacked. He was supposed to protect this. Not with sandbags, but with his life now. Because the thing was, until the next big leveling, it was all water coming up, nothing you could do but scrabble higher. And guess what? Everyone wanted higher land.

  And here in the East, around the industry and power and energy, the factories full of making shit to do shit with, this place, it was what everyone wanted. Because the last one standing with a factory, they win.

  And here was Beckett, last six months of his six year tour, and his job was to make sure that he was one of the last men. Or die trying.

  He could have told her of course that there had been a change of orders. That his battalion wasn’t doing sandbags anymore. They were doing this — fighting over the scraps that were left.

  But really what was the point — It was like he was gone already. Heavy heart, smoky lungs, shit to conquer. Nah, better to keep this to himself. Tell her after the fact. If he survived. . .

  _________________

  Chapter 56

  “But you said you could, we have plans…” Luna was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of Beckett’s mountain house. The sun was setting, lighting the sky in a pink glow.

  “I know, I wish it could be different. I just can’t come. They won’t let me, there’s so much going on here — they’ve cut off all vacation for a month and sadly my weekend falls in the middle of it.” Beckett shook in the vibrating rumble of a far-off explosion.

  “What’s that noise?”

  “A train probably. Seriously, I miss you so much, if I could, if they let me have the time, I would be there in a second.”

  “When do you think you can come home?” Behind Luna, through the screen door in the kitchen, Dilly was cooking dinner. By now Luna had grown used to the comforting sounds — pots lightly clanging, water splashing, jars, cans opening, spilling, shaking, and through it all, Chickadee at the kitchen counter, working on some project, a screenplay, or really anything she had thought up that week, talking about her work. Dilly would say, “Uh huh,” when her thoughts were on the food, and occasionally, “Exactly!” when her thoughts were on Chickadee’s project. Because Dilly agreed with Chickadee on most everything, being, in Luna’s estimation, one of the most agreeable people in the world.

  Chickadee was strong-willed, and bossy, kind, but also certain and stubborn, prone to big ideas and constant implementation. Dilly on the other hand was empathetic and loving, nurturing and sweet. She had a poem for every situation.

  Luna loved them both, but she especially loved talking to Dilly, because Dilly woke up in the night and sat with Luna on the porch, for hours, if that’s what it took to calm Luna’s mind.

  Dilly got the In-Betweens as Luna’s mother used to say. The stuff inside the pauses between the words. The down deep.

  Beckett's voice brought her back to their conversation. “Since I’m missing the three month visit, they’ll definitely grant me the next leave. Once they lift the moratorium. I’ve put my name in, as soon as they tell me, I’ll call . . .”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Luna wished she was better at the In-Betweens. She was better when she was out on the ocean, but here on a porch, in a strange place, on a phone, she was out of her element. She was sure Beckett wasn’t telling her everything, but without knowing enough about how this world worked, she couldn’t guess.

  “Could I come?” She pulled her knees up and rested her head there. “Chickadee said she would drive me, even if it’s just for a few hours.”

  “They won’t let us have visitors, it might get me in trouble.”

  “That’s what Dilly thought too. I was really hoping to talk to you about some—” Her hand rested on her small rounded stomach.

  “What? Are you okay — is something going on?”

  She clenched her eyes shut. “No, I’m good. It’s nothing. I just miss you so much.”

  “I miss you too. And it’s only going to be a week or two, three at the most, and they’ll grant my leave and — we’ve only got two-and-a-half months left. We’re
over halfway there.”

  “Yes, sure, time will fly.”

  “And you’ll be there? I mean, I know, but I — you will right? You’re happy living there?”

  “Yes, I’m happy. I’m also heartbroken.” A tear slid down her cheek. “Neither of those things will make me leave.”

  “I’m glad. Knowing you’re there is the only thing that keeps me going. I’ll call you next week.”

  Chapter 57

  Luna found Dilly walking along the edge of the corn rows, near the lavender walkway, spiraling around talking to herself, the way she always did when she was writing a poem. “Can I interrupt?”

  “Of course Luna, I’m singing to the bees, a little ditty masquerading itself as a poem, but you’ll hear tomorrow night at our gathering.” Dilly was wearing overalls, a tube top stretched across her chest. Her hair was, as she often said, “Growing out because it had lost all reason.” It was going gray, and Dilly, perturbed, had decided to wear it long in protest. Flowers stuck out of her hair in a few places, and the ends of her hair stuck out in all directions, curly. She called it “insensible” and “ornery.”

  “I was hoping to talk to you, I wanted to see how you were faring after your conversation last night with Beckett?”

  Luna dropped into a garden chair. “I’m okay — or, not, but . . .” Luna stared over the hedgerow. Bees spun up and around in a busy circle. Watching bees was a new experience for Luna. Her circular thoughts used to follow eddies, and currents, not insects, but here she was on a mountainside among the bees. “I don’t know what to think, I feel like Beckett isn’t telling me something.”

  Dilly nodded slowly. “I agree. He has a big thing, something he sees, that he can’t tell you about. And you have a big thing, something you feel, that you can’t tell him about. And the things, big things, are piling around you both.”

  “I want to tell him. I was planning to tell him today. Here.”

  “Yet his big thing, is keeping him from learning your big thing. And so it goes. I sense it too, and I wish I could advise you better. But this — Beckett loves you. He must feel like what he’s seeing, or doing, is too big to tell you about. He might be wrong. I have known you now for a little over three months, not long, not long enough to know your story, just little things, the way you circle the house in the night, the way you cry curled up when you can’t sleep, the way you stare off into the horizon at dusk, the way you look at the stars, and even the way you laugh, truly letting go with joy, a joy like that means there’s a sadness there too — you can’t have one without the other. But all those things makes me believe Beckett is wrong — you’re strong enough to hear what he believes he needs to hide.” Dilly dropped into a garden chair beside Luna.

  “I am. I can handle it. Should I tell him I can?”

  “Maybe. But sometimes something is so scary it’s hard to be fearless enough to even tell someone about it. You might need to accept that he’s hiding something, but he doesn’t want to, but he has to. You might have to trust him even so.”

  “Oh. I never thought about that.”

  “You have things too. Beyond the baby. Things you’re not fearless enough to tell. Right?” Dilly peered into Luna’s face.

  Luna nodded.

  “It’s the words. They can be really hard. Sometimes it can be nice if the person you love hears you without speaking a word.”

  Luna’s eyes drifted up to the sky. “So I shouldn’t pack my suitcase and drive to his base and demand he tells me what he’s hiding?”

  Dilly squinted her eyes. “You know as well as I do that he’s not there.”

  Luna nodded. “Yeah, he’s in the east, fighting.”

  Dilly followed Luna’s eyes to the sky. “This was not what Beckett was supposed to be doing. Chickadee and I have devoted the last fifteen years to keeping him safe. But here he is. All we can do is sing to the bees begging them for distraction like me, or like Chickadee does, write congressmen, or like you—?”

  “I whisper to him by the Monarch Constellation.”

  Dilly squeezed Luna’s hand. “And that is a perfectly poetical thing to say. It’s all we can do, this — and wait.”

  “And hope it’s enough.”

  “The rest is up to Beckett coming home.”

  Chapter 58

  Luna entered the kitchen, just showered and dressed for the night. “How do I look?”

  Dilly was kneading the last fluff of dough for the party and her arms from the elbow down were coated in flour. “Beautiful, like the gossamer wings of a dragonfly.”

  Chickadee looked up from her notebook. “Bullshit, you’re insulting dear Luna’s family heritage. She looks beautiful like the soft wings of a moth.”

  “You’re both correct. But more to the point — do I look pregnant? I don’t want to look pregnant, not until Beckett knows.” She pulled the cardigan open and turned back and forth, showing off her protruding stomach.

  Dilly cocked her head to the left and right. “The cardigan covers it, perfectly.”

  Chickadee added, “Perfectly as if you’ve swallowed a watermelon half-down —

  Dilly said, “Chickie!”

  “It’s true!”

  Luna giggled. “It’s totally true.” Then her mood spiraled downward. “I thought I would have more time, but when Beckett comes home, I’ll have to hide behind a chair until I tell him.”

  Chickadee came around the counter and tugged Luna’s cardigan closed. “He’ll come home. You’ll tell him. Then you get to start your lives, both of you in the same place. No worries, right? We have poetry to read!”

  Luna nodded, sniffling to cover the tears that threatened to come.

  Chickadee returned her are of the counter that was her designated office. “I plan to read a Shakespearean sonnet, it is beautiful and has been revered for centuries, and I will read it directly to Dilly and everyone will ooh and aah, until she stands up. She’ll read a, Little Ditty, as she will call it, that she wrote herself, about wild grass—”

  “Bees,” said Dilly, rolling a pin across her flattened dough.

  “Bees — and she will turn a phrase, coat a word, and spin a phrase until we are all weeping with joy and laughing with sadness, and everyone will forget my dumbass Shakespearean poem.”

  Dilly grabbed Chickadee's face and gave her a kiss leaving a powdery handprint on her cheek. “Thanks babe, that’s why I write poetry, for the glory.”

  Chickadee wiped her cheek with a towel. “That’s how it goes, Luna, try to read your poem before her poem. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “I was going to recite a poem my mother told me about dolphins.”

  Dilly clapped her hands, sending up a cloud of dust. “Perfect! Let me toss this dough in the oven and we’ll get the chairs set up in the garden.”

  Chapter 59

  A couple of hours later, Dan, Sarah, and Rebecca, arrived through the gate and Luna bounded across the lawn.

  Dan merrily called, “Where’s Beckett?”

  “He’s not coming, he couldn’t—” Sarah and Rebecca swept Luna into a hug.

  Dan said, “Not coming? Oh no, I came to talk to him about the—”

  Sarah nudged his ribs. "Shush, keep it quiet, don't tell the whole neighborhood."

  Dan deposited the cheese and cracker tray he brought for the potluck, to the appetizer table. “Yeah, you're right, it's just every day that goes by I feel like he’s going to be more pissed.”

  Luna nodded. “It might be weeks before he can come home. And now his phone doesn’t seem to be working.”

  “Oh Luna, I’m so sorry!” Sarah hugged her again.

  People began to arrive. First, an older couple. Then a group of young women not much older than Luna. Another group of ten wandered in from the other direction. Then more people came — some from the action at the camps, a few from a dinner party weeks ago, many from the Wednesday farmer’s market, and a couple from the gas station.

  Chairs were set out in rows in front of a raised platfo
rm that acted as the impromptu stage. Luna, Dan, Sarah and Rebecca filled their plates and found seats in the front row. The crickets were singing, the sky was darkening, the little strings of lights were twinkling, and Luna thought it was the most beautiful, festive, wonderful night, except Beckett wasn't there, of course, but almost perfect.

  And then a minute later a young woman sat beside Luna.

  With a glance, Luna immediately recognized her. She was the girl from the photos on Beckett's dresser. One of them was of Beckett kissing this girl's cheek. The photos were in frames, the portraits full of smiles and hugs — they were gone now, Dilly had hustled them into a drawer out of the way, but Luna could open the drawer easily enough and study them if she wanted to. She didn't want to, but she did look sometimes, anyway.

  The young woman from the photo turned to Luna. “I’m Dryden Jones, Beckett’s friend. And you are?”

  Luna’s hands instinctively checked to make sure her cardigan was closed. “Luna.”

  “Luna? Beckett’s never mentioned a Luna. Are you from around here?”

  Luna said, “Um, I’m not, I’m—”

  Rebecca nudged Sarah, who leaned forward. “Luna and I met Beckett at sea, when he was on the Outpost.”

  Dryden shifted in her seat and searched the crowd. “I haven’t seen him yet . . .”

  “He’s not coming,” Luna said. “He didn’t get his leave.”

  “And how on earth do you know that? He didn’t mention it to me.” Dryden laughed loudly. “He’ll probably just show up. That would be so Beckett, wouldn’t it?” She flipped her hair, turned to her friends, and spoke loudly enough for Luna to hear. “I heard Beckett’s aunts had gone all in helping the Nomads, but I didn’t realize they were being allowed to set up camps here at the farm.”

  Red climbed up Luna’s ears.

  Rebecca said under her breath, “It’s okay, Luna, don’t let her bother you.”