by Diane Cook
* * *
Glen was facedown on a skin at the mouth of the cave, his arm flung over his head. He looked like a pile of discarded branches. Agnes felt a pang once again. She’d only slept there with him a couple of nights before he insisted she return to the camp. He didn’t want her to become an outcast. She hadn’t gone to see him yesterday. There had been too much to do. But without her, he had no company. Agnes peered at her mother’s face as they approached, trying to register the emotion there. Would she keep Glen company now? Would he want her to? She didn’t remember ever seeing him angry after her mother left. Agnes braced for what that might look like.
Her mother toed Glen’s armpit, and he moved his arm and peered up at her.
“You’re back,” he croaked.
“I’m back,” she said.
“I heard the cheers.”
They both laughed.
Agnes frowned. There had been no cheering. She looked from face to face, her eyes like crickets pinging back and forth. This was not what she had expected.
“Sorry I didn’t get up,” Glen said, rolling over.
“It’s okay,” her mother said.
“I’m weak.”
“I know.”
“You were gone a long time.”
“I know.”
He was quiet. “It’s okay,” he said, and Agnes knew he meant it.
Agnes blinked in surprise. How could he not be angry? Her mother hadn’t even apologized.
Glen sat up a bit against a rock. “I did not think you’d come back, though.”
“I almost didn’t.” She cast her eyes toward Agnes but would not meet her gaze.
“I wish you hadn’t,” Glen said. And Agnes startled at his declaration. And at his tone. He sounded sad.
Glen scooted to the side of the skin, and her mother lay next to him.
“Oh, you poor man,” her mother said. “There’s nothing left.”
Her mother pulled a skin over the two of them and he tried to push it away, but she held tight and he relented. They lay there like that, quietly. They seemed to have forgotten that Agnes was there. She crouched at their feet.
Agnes could see her mother’s eyes, open and alert. They gleamed, catching light as she roamed them over Glen’s skinny and forlorn body. Then she closed them and they lay, as though asleep. They were so peaceful. Agnes had not imagined they could look like this ever again. Her parents together in the hum of near sleep. Agnes’s foot began to bounce. She longed to join them, but felt strangely unwelcome.
She waited a few minutes, then slipped under the pelt, at the feet of her parents. She curled up and found her mother’s ankle and encircled her hand around it. But her mother pulled it away. Agnes took this as proof that she was indeed intruding and prepared to retreat. But then, her mother’s foot returned and slid under Agnes’s side. And Agnes clamped onto her ankle so she could not take it away again.
Glen sighed. “Things have changed.”
“I can see that.”
“No, but it’s more.”
Agnes held her breath for the more. Glen lifted his head slightly, as though to peer down at her. She shut her eyes.
Her mother cleared her throat and shifted subjects. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I left?”
“I know why you left. Your mother died,” he said, his voice quieter.
She did not say anything for a few minutes.
“But when your mother died, you didn’t leave,” she said finally.
“I didn’t like my mother,” he said.
“I didn’t like your mother either,” she said.
They laughed.
“Do you feel better?” Glen asked.
“No.” She sighed. “What are things like here now?”
“Not good. What are things like in the City?”
“Not good.”
They laughed again.
Agnes didn’t think any of this was funny.
“Is Carl in charge?”
“Basically.”
“And everyone is okay with that?” Her mother’s voice was accusatory as it rushed out.
“Well, no. But enough people are. The Newcomers really flocked to him.”
“I see.” She paused. “You should still be in charge,” she said.
“I was never in charge, Bea. We all were.” He sighed, tired now of talking.
“It was never true consensus.”
“Yes, it was.” Glen raised his voice as much as Glen ever raised his voice.
“We discussed. You offered a thought and we agreed with you.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s true enough. And it worked.”
Glen sighed. “Now Carl and his people make the decisions.”
“Like not feeding you and Agnes. Or the others, as far as I could tell. How did that happen?”
“A couple of Newcomers took over dishing meals.”
“And they give you less food?”
“There’s no evidence of anything like that.”
“But—”
“They’re just taking care of their own first. It’s probably subconscious. They don’t even know they’re doing it. I mean, they’re all very nice. It’s a nice group,” he said, and Bea cackled.
“You and your bright side. There’s no way they don’t know what they’re doing.”
“Well, I guess you’d know.” His voice was sharp. He was exhausted and bewildered, and somewhere underneath all that maybe he was angry. Agnes felt foolish for not seeing it before.
Agnes heard her mother breathe quickly like she was about to spit back some explanation, her whole body tensing to make her point. But she released it all with a long slow exhale.
They were silent again.
Agnes felt her mother shift and lean into Glen. She said quietly, “So, you want me to get rid of them?”
Glen chuckled.
“And by that I mean murder them?”
Glen erupted into laughter that led to choking coughs. Agnes looked at her mother, and she was grinning quietly to herself as she enjoyed Glen’s moment of happiness. Agnes hadn’t heard him laugh this much since before her mother had left. Since before that. Since, she realized, before Madeline.
He regained his breath and squeezed her mother. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” Her mother tucked into him more, her foot shifting away from Agnes slightly. Agnes held tight.
“What can I do?” Her mother’s voice sounded small. Like Agnes’s used to. When she lived in the City. When there was so much that was bigger than her. So much beyond her control. When she didn’t realize she had any control.
“Make nice,” he said. “Just make nice.”
Agnes heard them kiss.
“I feel like such an idiot for bringing you here,” Glen said. “Both of you.”
“You know what would have happened if you hadn’t.”
“I just feel so stupid that I didn’t see this coming. I thought a group of people who wanted to be here would figure out how to be here together.”
“Should we break off from the rest of the Community?”
“I think it’s safer to be a part of it than to be a potential enemy.”
Her mother nodded.
“Besides, it’s against the Manual to splinter.”
“And we wouldn’t want to make the Manual angry.”
“Bea.”
“Sorry.”
Agnes felt them melt closer to each other. And then felt Glen soften as he drifted to sleep. But she knew her mother was awake. She knew they were both monitoring Glen’s breathing.
Birds somberly called to their friends in the sagebrush somewhere near her feet. A dark cloud lay across the sky like a dirt path.
“Why are you back?” Agnes whispered, not sure if it was more of a complaint or a question.
Her mother’s muffled reply floated down over the skin, over Glen’s small body. “Because you and Glen needed me.”
Agnes bristled. For a moment she felt
like the time away had rendered her mother readable. Agnes no longer felt so mystified by her. “Wrong,” Agnes snapped.
Her mother’s sigh floated down to her ear. “Then why am I back, Agnes?”
“Because you needed us,” Agnes said, mustering as much confidence as she would need to sound convincing.
“That is true too,” her mother said. Her voice was as flat as the shadows that crept away from them now that the sun had reached its zenith and had begun to fall. She did not say more.
Agnes was surprised into silence. Even if she was right about her mother, it hadn’t offered any relief. Knowing her mother’s reasoning didn’t mean she understood it. If her mother did indeed need her, Agnes still didn’t know what that need felt like. She tucked her hands between her knees and curled into herself to make her own warmth.
* * *
Agnes found her mother shadowing the morning chores, as though attempting to relearn them. The morning crew that day were mostly Newcomers who somehow still weren’t very good at their jobs. They seemed not to know what to do with her mother, so she simply stood to the side observing as they chaotically dished out porridge, or later haphazardly did the camp kitchen clean, her arms crossed and her brow frowning. Agnes imagined her mother was not so much relearning as critiquing.
When the food was put away, bowls cleaned, wood added and the fire stoked, Frank stood up, wiped his hands on his jeans, because he still had jeans, though they had been thoroughly patched with elk hide scraps by now, and walked over to her mother.
“Hi,” he said, extending his hand.
“Hi,” her mother said.
“I’m Frank,” he said.
“Hi, Frank,” she said, not offering her name in return.
He smiled at her expectantly. When he got no response, he nodded his head at Agnes. She reluctantly returned the gesture and sidestepped slowly up to them.
Frank smiled. “Hi, Agnes.”
“Hi.”
To Bea he said, “So you must be Agnes’s mom?”
“I am,” her mother said.
“And so you’re back from the Private Lands?”
“Excuse me?”
“You decided to come back?”
“Yes. From the City.”
“Oh.” Frank frowned. “I thought you were in the Private Lands.”
“I don’t know why you thought that, but I was in the City.”
“That’s what someone said. You ran off with a Ranger to the Private Lands and you were raising a family out there.”
“That’s absurd. My family is right here.” She pinched Agnes’s shoulder and drew her to her side.
Frank pointed at Agnes. “I thought you told me that.”
“Did you now?” her mother said.
“No,” said Agnes. “I said you were dead.”
Her mother flinched. She saw it.
Frank eyed them nervously. “Well, I don’t remember who said what. It doesn’t really matter, does it?” He laughed. “But,” he continued, “I imagine you’re proud of this girl here. I would have thought she was the leader of this Community when we first met.”
“How interesting. Just how proud do you imagine I am?”
“Well,” Frank said, eyes darting between the two, “pretty darn proud, I’d say.”
They all nodded and fell into silence, as though waiting for her mother to say she was proud. But Agnes knew she wouldn’t say that. Not when some stranger told her to. Her mother did not like being told how to feel. And Agnes could tell her mother did not like the Newcomers. Her mother then, without a word, left the camp. Headed back in the direction of Glen. Agnes stood there limp-armed, injured at not having been invited. And hesitant to visit Glen herself, something she’d never been hesitant to do before.
When her mother returned, she spent the rest of the day greeting and meeting everyone. Agnes had never seen her so social. She approached the old Originalists with hugs and whispers. First Juan. They laughed and spoke conspiratorially. “Tell me everything,” she heard him hiss. Then Debra, who embraced her mother and wouldn’t let her mother pull away until she was done. She even hugged Dr. Harold. No one seemed to have anything against her for leaving. Except Val, Agnes noted. But that’s because Val wants to protect me, she thought. Her mother didn’t approach Val, and Val pretended not to notice her mother making the rounds. Her mother approached Carl several times during the day, as though she kept remembering things to tell him. She would put her hand on his shoulder, speak, and then they would laugh, or they would turn serious. It felt like they had very important business, though they’d never had important business before. Agnes watched Val watch this. Val frowned all day.
When her mother went up to a Newcomer, she flashed smiles galore. She was ingratiating and humble. She leaned in and touched the Newcomer’s arm. She approached Frank again and had him laughing within seconds.
Once everyone was met, re-met, cajoled, placated, charmed, her mother retreated to the sidelines and observed. When she helped with chores, she did not lead, did not offer opinions, did not say much. Just watched. She was studying how the Community had come to work in her absence.
Agnes watched her mother watch everyone else. She wanted to know what her mother was seeing so she could know what her mother was thinking. She watched for what her mother would notice about everyone after time away, or on first observing them.
Agnes saw that Frank was broad and tall, but weak. His stomach skin hung wrinkled and sagging as though he’d just given birth. A formerly well-fed man. A beer-bellied man. Agnes saw his fingertips were stained and shredded and scabbed over like all of their fingertips had been when they first arrived. Unused to the coarseness of bark and stones, of the tannins of skins and nut husks, wild foods. But whereas the Newcomers’ hands were all now properly calloused, his were still scabbed over. He was not working as hard as everyone else, though he always seemed to be in the middle of some chore. He had Carl’s ear, though, and that meant something.
She noticed that Patty’s mom was unhappy with how much time Patty spent with Celeste. Agnes noticed that she was also unhappy with how much time Frank spent with Carl. Patty’s mom busied herself with chores around camp. She acted busy to hide that she was lonely, bored, and possibly feeling scorned. Agnes saw that Joven and Dolores were spending more time with Jake than with their mother, Linda, who was spending most of her time with Carl, when Carl wasn’t spending his time with Val or Frank. Or Helen, Agnes noticed. Her mother spent a lot of time watching Carl. Carl and his grayed temples, something Agnes had not noticed before. She saw that Debra was hiding a subtle limp. Agnes felt foolish for missing some of these things.
She saw that Val wore Carl’s oversized buckskin jacket as though she were hiding—or protecting—her belly. She did this whenever she hoped she was pregnant, which was often. She wanted a child so badly. But she had just had her period. It was one of those things that could not remain private in a Community like this. Agnes felt bad for Val, who she feared would scowl till her dying breath if she could not have this one thing.
Val looked small in Carl’s coat, but actually she looked healthy, plump almost. What Agnes then noticed was how skinny all the Originalists were. The Newcomers looked as though they still held onto some of their City fat. And Carl and Val looked solid and healthy. But the other Originalists were lanky, shadows of themselves. Skinniest was Glen.
She watched her mother watch Glen, and Agnes felt brokenhearted. She saw then that the Newcomers mostly avoided Glen, who had wandered back to camp for a meal, a serene look on his face as he waited in line with a bowl. His legs bowed unnaturally. His ribs showed through his hunched back. None of this was so different from the other bodies around, and it was all what Agnes had seen before. But what Agnes saw for the first time, and what she was certain her mother had noticed, was that he stumbled. His sure-footedness was gone. He walked worse than the Newcomers, who weren’t used to stones and roots, the way the ground had natural variations unlike the smooth co
ncrete floors and level streets of the City. It was a big difference. Glen’s feet seemed to have forgotten the texture of the earth. It was the kind of thing that would be hard to come back from.
* * *
That night Bea joined the Community around the fire after dinner. This was the time when everyone was able to relax. The time when stories were told or reminiscences shared. Bea knew this tradition. She knew people had questions for her. Agnes imagined that’s why she had avoided it as long as she had. She had been back for three days. When Bea sat down, the group murmured. Carl announced, “Our storyteller has arrived.” There was even a smattering of applause. Bea blushed, visible even in firelight, as she took a seat. She spoke quietly, and the Community leaned in.
She had taken four trucks and a cargo plane to get back to the City. The first thing she did was shower until the water allotment ran out. Then, twenty-four hours later, she showered again until the water allotment ran out. Then she binged on spaghetti and potato chips. Then she was sick for several days. And then for several more days she felt afraid to leave the building. The City was loud and bright, the sun gleaming off every surface. She closed all the curtains and curled into bed for days. People around the fire closed their eyes, imagining doing that too. When she gathered the courage, she went out and took care of some business, she said, flinching at the memory, and Agnes knew she meant tending to Nana’s affairs. And then, she said, she explored.
“What did you see?” they asked.
“I saw some beautiful sunsets because of the smog. There’s even more smog than before. The buildings seem taller, which I didn’t think possible, and their steel and glass reflected those sunsets in a really pretty way.”
“What else?”
“There were so many different vegetables in the market, such bright colors. I could have stood and looked at the produce forever.”
“What did you eat?”
“Well . . .” She paused, embarrassed. “The lines were incredibly long, and often, by the time I got into the store, most of the freshest food was gone. You had to go early in the morning. So I mostly ate potatoes and green peppers.” She saw their disappointment. “But a few times I did manage to purchase some beautiful fruit and greens.” She brightened.