Leveling (Luna's Story Book 1)

by Diana Knightley

  Chapter 13

  The top floor was a mess. Puddles everywhere, dripping tarps, ropes hanging, stuff bedraggled. Beckett had uncovered the kitchen and placed a coffeepot on a burner and had cooked a couple of eggs, but the rest of the place was trashed.

  Luna took a plate of food and a mug of coffee and sat in a chair right in the middle of the driest part of the rooftop. Beckett didn’t pretend to come with her. She was pretty sure that was the last of his dimply smile; he had relapsed to distracted and worried. The water had risen. He had said it was true and here it was.

  He excused himself by saying, “I need to tell the mainland what’s going on,” and stood at the kitchen counter talking into a radio while he ate. Then he paced. And then he talked some more. After a while, Luna realized the discussion was over.

  She met Beckett under the kitchen tarp, where he leaned, hands on the counter, head down. “They’re sending a chopper for me. I told them the water was rising and they’re sending a chopper.” This was what Beckett had wanted for a long time, yet here it was, and it felt like somehow he had failed.

  Luna said, “That’s good.”

  “It’s just...I’m not sure I should go. I still have a month to go here and months left of my tour and—this is all just so much harder than...”

  “Yeah.” Luna smiled.

  Beckett wanted to leave, but he didn’t want to quit. Luna could see how that would be difficult to reconcile.

  “When is the helicopter coming?”

  Beckett didn’t want to answer her. She would paddle the same expanse of deep ocean that he would fly across. He felt like a wimp. “I have twenty-four hours.”

  Luna nodded.

  He shook himself out of his self-pitying funk. “We should get you ready for your trip.”

  Luna shook her head. “No, I’ll wait and go tomorrow morning. When you go.”

  Beckett bit the side of his lip. “I really think you ought to go now—”

  “I know, but a day won’t matter in the scheme of things. I can help you pack up.”

  Beckett looked skeptical. This was his job. Should he ask for her help? She had more important things to do. “I don’t know Anna.”

  “If more Nomads show up I can help you explain the edict. And my family—they haven’t returned yet, it looks like tomorrow before they come back. I should be here.”

  Beckett screwed his eyes. “They won’t come back until tomorrow?”

  “That was a big storm. They’ll meet up with me in the morning.”

  “Okay, but promise me.”

  Luna smiled, “Due haste, east, mainland pronto, yeah, yeah, did you see how fast I was this morning? I got this thing.”

  “If something happened to you because you stayed…”

  “What could happen? I’m literally an ocean god.” Luna cocked a bicep and kissed it.

  Beckett smiled, dimples and all. “I could probably use the company, seeing the water over the floor like that kind of...”

  “I know. Tell me what we should get done.”

  Beckett and Luna spent the morning taking down tarps and storing them away in trunks. They wound straps and ropes and took down unnecessary shading. In between chores Luna walked along the garden rows eating strawberries and tiny cucumbers.

  Beckett was on one side of a tarp with Luna on the other, giving it a snap before the fold, when she said, “I never met anyone who volunteered to do something so selfless. We Waterfolk are kind of all of us together-independent.”

  Beckett stopped in mid-step-fold-together. “Waterfolk?”

  “Yes, that’s what we call ourselves, and seriously, what did they teach you in that training?”

  Beckett laughed, his low deep laugh. “Apparently not what was important.”

  They stepped together for the next fold. Beckett liked folding tarps with Luna, she mirrored him easily and sometimes their hands accidentally touched, briefly, if he was lucky.

  Then he said, “I just felt like it was my purpose, like I had always been fascinated by the Nomadic Water Dwellers, had always wondered what their lives were like, and then this volunteer opportunity came along. I thought it was what I was meant to do.”

  “Do you still feel like that?” Luna stepped up to Beckett with the last eighth of the last fold of the last tarp and Beckett rolled it and lashed it with cord.

  “No, now I’m not sure why I came.”

  Luna held out a strawberry. His hands were full, so he opened his mouth, and she popped it in.

  “Thanks.” Drips of strawberry juice ran down his chin.

  “Who will run the lights on the building when you’re gone?”

  “I can automate the signal but can only count on it working consistently for a few months. At some point someone will need to come back and check it. The big ships have GPS, so there’s no worry they’ll run into the Outpost, but the concern is the small boats and the Nomads, or, um...Waterfolk.”

  Luna spun a heart-shaped strawberry in her fingers, watching it as it turned. “I had no idea how much thought and concern went into saving our lives.”

  “Sure, people out on the open seas—the waters rising—it concerns us.”

  Chapter 14

  Luna and Beckett worked for the next hour until the sun was directly overhead. Luna said, “Hot as a ray’s sting.”

  “Have you been stung by a ray?”

  She said, “I just know.”

  He patted his forehead and neck with a towel, so Luna said, “You know what you would find refreshing? A swim.”

  “Or a shower—” but before the words were to her ear, Luna was striding toward the low wall.

  Beckett froze with the towel at his cheek.

  There was something about the way she carried herself, purposefully, that raced his heart, she was about to—

  Luna stepped onto the low wall, hummed a bugle call, and then—

  jumped.

  Right over the edge,

  down past three stories,

  plunging to the water,

  way

  way

  way

  down.

  Beckett remained frozen. His entire body listened for the splash, unable to move to the wall, to look over. He couldn’t. He needed to know—but couldn’t bring himself to look in order to know.

  He heard from the distance a tiny splash.

  Chapter 15

  Luna’s descent was terrifying and exhilarating. There wasn’t enough time to think of anything but, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, and then, splash! And down through the water. It was a perfect slice, feet first, no slap. She was super proud of her form, and hoped Beckett had seen it, had marveled at it. Maybe he would even jump in too, now that he saw how easy it was. She pulled to the surface following the fizzing, sparkling bubbles, and, “Phweshaw!” into air. The water temperature was cool. The best part was that she was right, it was refreshing.

  She turned to look up at the Outpost, treading. Where was Beckett? Not at the edge or even back from the edge.

  She swam to her paddleboard and draped her arms across, kicking her legs for a few minutes. “Hello Tree, Boosy, Steve. Did you see my jump? Marvelous, right?”

  She waited, but Beckett didn’t come through the cavernous room. Where was he? Completely uninterested in her plunge—really? She had thought it was more spectacular than that. She had also believed him to be more interested.

  She backstroked about twenty feet away from the Outpost to have another look, then swam to the opening, splashed across the floor, climbed the stairs, and pushed through the rooftop door.

  She shook her head flinging water everywhere as she stepped into the sun. Her eyes adjusted. Beckett was in the middle of the rooftop doubled over in a chair.

  “Beckett?”

  His shoulders rose and fell in jerks. His head drooped. She rushed to his side and dropped to her knees, “Beckett?” She peered up into his face.

  His eyes were screwed shut. “Can’t….breathe…can’t...” His face had turned even more pa
le.

  “Oh, oh,” she glanced around looking for something—but what?

  “Beckett, look me in the eyes, Beckett!”

  He pulled his head up. His eyes were open but rolling back, showing white, panicked.

  “Beckett, match my breathing, please, can you hear me, match my breaths.”

  He nodded once, tried to match her breath for a couple, then groaned and doubled back down over his knees.

  “Beckett you need to lie down.” She pulled him by his arms, rolling him down to the ground. Then, because he landed on his side, shoved him to his back.

  He pulled his arm over his eyes to block the direct sun.

  She crawled to his feet, lifted his legs to her lap and unbuckled his sandals, tossing them to the side. She pressed her thumbs hard into the bottom of his feet, right at the pad.

  He groaned.

  “It hurts?”

  He nodded.

  “Good, it’s supposed to.” She rubbed with constant pressure up to his toes. And did it again. And again.

  Gradually Beckett’s breathing calmed and became regular again.

  She kept rubbing.

  After a long, long time she asked, “You okay?”

  He nodded, but remained quiet.

  She patted his shins all-done and crawled up, slumping down beside the length of him, arm to arm, staring at the sky. She halfheartedly slapped his arm. “Dude, you scared me.”

  “Serves you right.”

  Then he said, “I can’t believe I’m so freaking weak and scared.”

  Luna said, “You volunteered.”

  He said, “That seems like a whole other guy.”

  “So maybe you aren’t cut out to live on an Outpost in the middle of the ocean helping strangers. Maybe you thought you were that guy, you volunteered to be that guy, and come to find out you aren’t that guy. But you did it, and now you get to go home. You get your mountain house and you can live knowing that you volunteered.”

  During her speech his arm lifted off his eyes to watch her. Finally he asked, “Who are you? I mean I know your name is Anna Barlow, like the actress, but I don’t know anything else...”

  “I’m an open book.” Luna stared up at a cloudless sky. “Ask me a question, anything.”

  “Um, anything, huh? Okay, start simple, how old are you?”

  Luna chuckled and drew out a long, “Wellllll.”

  “What? How old? Are you some kind of mysterious sea creature that looks young but is really seventy-five?”

  “No, it’s just—I don’t know.”

  Beckett raised his head to get a better look at her. “You don’t know? What did you celebrate on your last birthday?”

  “I don’t celebrate birthdays, I suppose I haven’t really thought about it, or perhaps I’ve forgotten. Ask me another.”

  “Did you go to school?”

  “Nope. Next question.”

  He chuckled. “Okay, Miss Open Book, let me phrase that another way, you seem like you know things, but living like a Nomad, how did you learn to read?”

  “Just because we’re Nomadic doesn’t mean we don’t know things. I’ve lived on just about every outer island. I’ve visited tons of Outposts. I learned to read when I was a kid, the way all kids do, someone gave me a stack of comic books and I figured it out.”

  “That is not how all or even most kids do. I learned to read in a classroom with Old Lady Gillespie forcing me to stutter-read-stutter-read-suffer in front of my classmates. I wish I learned with comic books.”

  “Feel better?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He rose to his elbow and looked down at her. “You really don’t know your age?”

  She chewed her bottom lip, thinking.

  “Do you remember anything about the year you were born?”

  “Hmmmm...Oh wait, I know! Can you walk? Can you come down to Tree?”

  She helped him steady as he stood, getting a small thrill from touching him. Then they crossed the rooftop to the stairwell and descended to the 118th floor. The carpet was fully saturated. Beckett knelt to check the water level. The ocean had swelled and was lapping aboard. A box near the opening listed about to spin afloat. Beckett said, “Oy.”

  “Try not to focus on it. Focus on my crisis instead—I have no idea how old I am!”

  Beckett attempted to get into the spirit, “It could even be your birthday today.”

  She said, “I didn’t even think about that, but Tree will tell me.”

  “I feel sort of worried. Are you going to cut Tree down and count his rings?”

  Luna gasped, feigning shock, “Never, and I hope Tree didn’t hear you.” She stepped onto the paddleboard and pulled Boosy in close.

  She felt around inside Tree’s outer pot. “It was here. I hope it still is. It’s been awhile—there!” She held up a small plastic tag. She rubbed the dirt off the tag attempting to make out the faded words, then handed it to Beckett, “A date, from the nursery. See?”

  “Six years ago—” Beckett squinted his eyes, “You, Madame, are not six.”

  “Of course not, I’m much too sophisticated. My mom gave me my own shade tree because I was twelve.”

  “So that means you’re eighteen?”

  She grinned widely. “See I told you I was an open book.”

  Beckett shook his head disapprovingly. “And you know what you missed? The tag says that today is your birthday.” He turned it toward her with his thumb obscuring the words.

  When Luna tried to look closer, he shook the tag up and down.

  When she said, “It does not,” he flung the tag over his shoulder. “Would I lie to the birthday girl?”

  Chapter 16

  Luna and Beckett returned to the rooftop and loaded and secured a few more boxes. Beckett said, “I think we’ve done all we can, tomorrow morning I’ll pack my personal things.”

  He turned to another grouping of trunks. “I was thinking about leaving these here with the packs and the edict. In case more Waterfolk arrive. They can help themselves to a pack and head east. Do you think that’s a good plan?”

  Luna watched him solemnly. “Yes, it’s a good plan.”

  “Yeah, but do you think they will? Without someone here to tell them how important it is, do you think they’ll take a pack and head east?”

  “I don’t know Beckett, but you did all you can do.”

  “Did I?” He stood with his hands on his hips looking down.

  Then he shook out of it. “We have a birthday to celebrate. I’ll make a big dinner, use up some of this food. What would you like?”

  Luna asked for meat of some kind, so Beckett offered chicken and pasta with Alfredo sauce. “I’ll warn you, I’m not a great cook, but I make up for it with exuberance.”

  Luna said, “Alfredo sauce is a favorite of mine. Is it cheesy?”

  “You didn’t let me finish. I make up for it with exuberant cream cheese overload.”

  “Perfect. And classy.”

  While Beckett cooked, Luna showered. She changed into almost the exact same clothes, another cropped tank with a pair of yoga pants, but this outfit was black, a more night dinner sort of choice.

  She emerged from Beckett’s tent, shaking water out of her hair, sticking it up all around, carrying a book of Calvin and Hobbes comics under her arm. “This is very, um, literary of you.”

  Beckett was wiping out a pot. “When I was packing, it just seemed to make sense, but in hindsight…”

  Luna pulled a chair to the edge of the kitchen and curled up with the book.

  Beckett watched her from the corner of his eye. She was fresh and a little bit wet, shiny, comfortable, reading. How did she come to be here, and how did she become so—necessary? It had been what, a day? And he wanted her here all the time. But he was leaving. She was leaving. This was over. The Outposts, the lifestyle, the Waterfolk, were all over—

  “So what’s with this tiger? He’s funny.”

  “That’s the cool part, the tiger is imaginary. Some of the com
ics,” he wiped his hands, took the book, and flipped pages looking for the one he wanted, “like this one. You can see the tiger, Hobbes, is a stuffed animal.” Luna looked confused. “Like a toy, a doll tiger. But in most of the comics, the tiger looks like a tiger. See? Hobbes comes from the imagination of the little boy.”

  “Oh, that’s cool. But the little boy must be very lonely.”

  Beckett watched Luna read the next one intently, almost sadly, but after the following one she laughed. “He and Hobbes flew down a hill on a sled!”

  Luna read comics while Beckett cooked. Occasionally she read them aloud, sometimes Beckett laughed, a few times he finished the comic from memory. He pretended to wipe tears from his eyes as he said, “I’ve been out here a long time by myself. Calvin is my very, very, very, best friend.”

  “Wow,” said Luna with the book folded against her chest, “you are seriously bringing down my festive birthday mood.”

  “Good point, and dinner is almost ready.”

  “And the sun is beginning to set. Can we move the table over there?” Luna pointed toward the west-facing wall.

  “Near, okay, but please not right beside. I’m still… you know.”

  Luna paused, wishing she could say I’m sorry. The kind of sorry that doesn’t just make someone feel better, the kind of sorry that completely takes the thing back, like it never happened.

  Luna dreamed, like she did at least once every day, for a ‘completely take back’ superpower, but instead she said, “Of course.”

  It was easier and was within her skill set.

  Luna carried the small table toward the wall, sliding it into a position she hoped would let Beckett see the sun set, without actually having to see the wide expanse of endless ocean, too. Then she pulled a sarong from her box, draped it over as a tablecloth, and set the table with dinnerware, just as Beckett announced dinner was ready.

  They served in the kitchen, giggling and crossing over each other and jostling while spooning food. But once they sat down and began to eat, they became awkward, quiet.

  “It’s good.”

  “Thank you.”