"You're not on house arrest, you know," Sam said as Diana entered the kitchen. "You can leave if you want."
"Good to know," she replied, picking her way over to the table. Astrid had only left that morning, but already the houseboat felt lonelier—not, of course, that she would ever admit it. She was mostly worried for Sam's sake. He was a good person, willing to offer her a chance to redeem herself when she'd come crawling to him on her knees, desperate and out of luck, and it was hard to forget that. She studied the dull color of his unwashed hair, the moody set of his jaw. When Caine got this way, he usually used his powers to express his anger. But Sam withdrew, at least when Astrid wasn't around to argue with.
She sat down with a grunt, too hungry to feel self-conscious—no one had come to bring her lunch—and looked at the platter of dirt-specked vegetables sitting at the center of the table. Sam picked up a carrot and held it up to her. "They're fresh from Sinder's garden," he said. "I was just about to wash them."
Diana's stomach rumbled. "What are you gonna make with them?" she asked. It was still strange to have a source of fresh food in the FAYZ. She would trade in all of Sinder's vegetables for a good supply of Oreos or something, if she had the option, but San Francisco de Sales Island was long behind her.
Sam shrugged. "Soup, maybe." He looked at her. "You want to help?"
Diana attempted to chop carrots with a butter knife—all the sharp knives had been appropriated as weapons at some point—while Sam boiled water in a pot on the little stove. The noon sun was bright, sending streams of sunlight through the windows. It was peaceful, she thought as she sawed away at the carrots. Sam began cutting asparagus beside her. Diana couldn't help but notice that, despite the knife's dullness, he chopped with a strong and steady hand.
"Have you cooked before?" she asked.
"Yeah, sometimes. With my mom." Sam kept his eyes on the asparagus.
"Oh." Diana turned her gaze back to her unevenly, thickly cut carrot chunks and attempted to cut those into smaller slices. She didn't know what to say to the muted pain in his voice. She felt no such sympathy for her own mother. She cared more for her perverted boyfriends than for her own daughter, given how she kept bringing those men around even after Diana complained. She didn't know Nurse Temple much at all; she hadn't visited the Coates nurse's office enough to really recognize her as someone other than just an anonymous part of the faculty before the FAYZ. Her impressions of her largely came from Caine, who hadn't cared about Nurse Temple prior to learning about his true parentage and talked about her with scorn after.
"Did Caine ever talk about her?"
"What?" Diana looked at Sam, surprised. "No. Unless he wanted to insult her or something." She wished she could tell him something different. "Sorry," she added lamely.
"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "Don't be. I wasn't expecting anything different." His voice was hard and dismissive. Diana wondered why he'd asked in the first place. As if to answer her, Sam continued, "I only asked 'cause you know him better than anybody. He might've been different around you." He paused. "He must have been different around you."
Diana gave a bitter snort.
"I guess not, huh?"
"Sam, it's Caine." Diana put extra pressure on her knife. It thunked on the plastic cutting board as it sliced through the carrot. "He isn't exactly Prince Charming." He's nothing like you.
She could feel Sam looking at her, but she couldn't meet his gaze. "Right," he said after a moment. With that, they put the vegetables in the pot and let them cook.
The soup was good, Diana thought—a bit flavorless, but good. Sam insisted on clearing the dishes on his own. She wasn't about to argue with him, so she retrieved Madame Bovary from her room and sat at the kitchen table. She'd been in her room all day, and she was tired of looking at the same four walls and sitting in the same queen-size bed.
Sam dried off his hands and sat across from her. "Astrid give you that?" he asked.
"What tipped you off?" Diana lowered her book.
"I didn't really peg you for a big reader. No offense."
"I thought the same of you. No offense." She looked at him critically. "You seemed more like an athlete. Real California surfer type."
Sam grinned. "Can't argue with that."
Diana smiled back. "You must miss it—surfing."
"Oh, yeah. More than anything." He looked wistful.
"I miss—" She paused, thinking. There was nothing specific she could think of. What was she going to say, that she missed nail polish and shopping and skipping class to hang out with Drake and Caine? All of her memories seemed tainted with superficiality. "I don't know," she admitted. "I miss the general stuff, I guess. Food. The feeling of being safe, of being a kid."
Sam nodded. "It must be extra weird," he mused. "With you being pregnant."
Diana gave a little start. She'd forgotten. She placed a hand on her stomach. "Yeah. It is. I never had to worry about a baby before." I always had condoms before.
"Do you miss it? Not being—never mind. Shit, sorry, that's a weird question."
"No, it's alright. I do miss not being pregnant."
Sam cleared his throat after a pause. "Did you ever think of, uh—?"
"Not really," Diana said glumly. "It crossed my mind, I guess. But I can't. This baby...it's something I can...I don't know. Be better for." It sounded stupid out loud. She scrunched her toes in her slippers.
"Oh," Sam said quietly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"It's not a big deal." Diana's face burned.
"Astrid's pretty touchy about that, I mean."
"I'm not Astrid."
"I know."
They looked at each other for a minute. "I'm sorry she's gone," Diana admitted. The words came out awkwardly, too flat to sound sincere, and she cursed herself. She wasn't good at this, having sympathy.
"It's not your fault." Sam's voice was flat. "She just has stuff to work out. On her own, apparently."
Diana thought of Astrid curled up on the far side of her bed, sleeping completely self-contained. "She's got an interesting way of doing that," she said.
Sam nodded. "Yeah. She's interesting, alright." It was hard to miss the note of bitterness in his voice.
Diana frowned a little. How could a cold fish like Astrid could garner so much affection from a guy like him, she wondered. What was it about her, in all her chilly superiority, that Sam adored? She thought of asking him, but stopped herself. She didn't want to make him dwell on her like that; it would only hurt him to remember.
After a moment, Sam stood up from the table and gave her a nod. "Enjoy the book," he said.
"Sure," Diana replied. When he left, she stood up, turned off the light, and went to her room. She didn't know how to ask for his company again—he wanted to be alone, she suspected. He wanted to mourn Astrid's absence in peace. Lying in bed, feeling tired and pleasantly full, Diana almost missed her herself. Astrid's gangly legs always managed to jab her in some way, despite her being all the way on the other side of the bed. She definitely missed Caine—mostly the way he held her. When he was sleeping with his arms around her and his head close to hers, she could almost make believe that he was a kind, compassionate boy. A boy who'd be a good father.
She wrapped her arms around her belly and thought about what Sam had said. It wasn't true that she'd thought about having an abortion. From the minute she realized her pregnancy, she'd wanted the baby. The thought of getting rid of the little embryo growing inside her hadn't crossed her mind. She didn't have any moral objections to it, not like Astrid apparently did. She thought about Caine when she looked at the pregnancy test. She thought about the fact that it was a baby she and him had made together—the result of their having sex, or making love, or whatever you wanted to call it—and had felt her heart flutter. It was theirs, proof of their union. How could she get rid of something, someone, like that?
Diana sighed before sitting up and sliding off the bed. Sam had said she wasn't on house arrest, so why shouldn't she take advantage? A walk in the fresh air might help get her mind off things.
As she waddled down the hall, huffing a bit, she thought of something. Sam. Maybe she could invite him. It'd be nice to talk to someone—and it wasn't like anyone else in the FAYZ was clamoring for the companionship of Caine's former girlfriend. Even the boys who might still want to fool around despite her former allegiance would be turned off by her pregnancy.
She took a breath and knocked on his bedroom door. "Hey, Sam?" she called, softer than she wanted. She cleared her throat, about to call again, when the door opened.
"Diana," Sam said, looking puzzled. "Hey. What's up?"
"I was just going to go for a walk." She tried to sound casual about it, like it was no big deal. She didn't want to be alone.
His eyebrows raised slightly. "Okay. You, uh, want me to come with?"
Diana's heart dropped. He's going to say no. "Just if you want," she said quickly. "I just figured…." She silently cursed herself. Why the hell would Sam want to talk to her, of all people, when he was clearly struggling to deal with the fact that his girlfriend was essentially leaving him?
Sam's forehead creased. Just like Caine's does when he gets confused, she couldn't resist thinking. Not that that's often.
"I mean," Diana finally muttered, "you said I wasn't on house arrest, right?"
He looked thoughtful. "Yeah, I did." Diana turned away, ready to leave, when Sam stepped out of the doorway, rolling his shoulders.
"So," he asked, a little awkwardly, "where do you want to go?"
The trailer sat half a mile away from the lake. Astrid stood in the overgrown crabgrass in front of the door, holding her Bible, and prepared herself to knock. She'd visited Sinder and Jessie's garden beforehand, and they'd told her that Orc hadn't come into work that day.
Howard opened the door. His eyes narrowed when he saw her. "Astrid," he said curtly.
"Hello, Howard."
"He's drinking today."
Is there a glint in his eye? Is he proud of himself? Suppressing a frown, Astrid said, "I know," and slipped past him into the trailer.
She found Orc lying on a pile of blankets draped over a half-deflated air mattress, a bottle of Howard's cabka beside him. When his eyes focused on her, he muttered, "Hey, Astrid."
"Hi," she replied.
He moved over on the mattress. Astrid could feel Howard's disapproving eyes on her back as she sat beside him.
"What page were we on?" she asked as she opened the Bible. She looked at Orc, trying to meet his eyes. He gazed at her unsteadily. His good eye was an olive-tinged brown. Mud-brown, she thought. It wasn't a very charitable comparison. She tried to think of something more palatable, but couldn't.
"I dunno," he mumbled.
"Somewhere in Leviticus," she said, flipping through the Bible busily. "I'll remember."
She felt Orc staring at her fingers as she turned the pages, her lips as she mouthed the words from the passages she'd read time and time again. She could also feel Howard glaring at her, his arms folded.
Astrid ignored all of it; she engrossed herself in the words she used to love, read them aloud and hoped they pierced through the fog of Orc's drunkenness. Occasionally, she glanced at him and saw that his eyes were closed. Other times they were open, gazing at her. He shifted on the air mattress occasionally, unsettling Astrid's own position as the mattress compressed and bounced back under his weight. They had to constantly maneuver around each other to avoid each other's touch.
Howard went in and out of the trailer in typical restless fashion—he never seemed to deal drugs or sell cabka when Astrid was around.
Every once in a while, Orc would interrupt and ask a slurred question, and she would pause her reading to answer. Astrid liked that her theological knowledge was getting some use, and—if she was being honest with herself—she also liked the fascinated way he looked at her, as if she had all the secrets to the universe stored away in her mind. It made her feel like she was doing something important, filled her with a rosy glow of pride. Astrid didn't have her faith anymore, but that didn't mean she couldn't help others regain theirs. She could endure Howard's rolling eyes and bitter comments if it meant doing that.
She read until she grew tired. Orc asked her to stay longer. "You could stay here tonight," he said. "You could sleep here."
Astrid was suddenly aware that the hand not holding the Bible was very close to his. Their fingers just barely brushed each other.
She shook her head, face warming. "You know I can't do that, Charles," she said.
"There's no room, anyway," Howard said pointedly from where he was stationed nearby; his eyes burned holes in her back. She straightened her spine and took Orc's hand. "I'll be back tomorrow," she said in a low voice.
Orc stared at their interlocked fingers. Astrid rose off the mattress and brushed imaginary dust off her basketball shorts. "You'll be sober, right?"
Orc didn't answer.
"Charles?"
"Yeah," he grunted. "I'll be sober."
Astrid lifted her chin at Howard before she slipped out the door. To her surprise, he followed her out, shutting the trailer door behind him. She suppressed a sigh, turning around. "Yes?"
Howard didn't say anything. He just glared. "What?" she demanded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Nothing," he said at last. "I just can't believe you keep coming here."
"I don't know what you're talking about." She crossed her arms.
"It won't do him any good."
"Neither will indulging his alcoholism," she said icily.
Howard snorted. "You could be reading The Cat in the Hat for all he gets out of it."
Astrid's mouth fell open in indignation. "That's not fair," she snapped, "it's obvious he has some sort of learning disability—"
"For God's sake!" Howard cried—then, stealing a glance at the trailer just behind him, he grabbed Astrid by the elbow and, before she could yank herself out of his grasp, steered her a fair distance away so not to be overheard.
"It's because of you," he said in a low, urgent voice. "You're here all the time, he—" Howard faltered a moment. Then, sounding vaguely strangled, he continued, "He's got this big crush on you—"
Astrid went scarlet up to the tips of her ears, her face burning. She finally managed to say, "You're wrong."
"Bullshit," Howard spat.
Astrid stared at him as resolutely as she could, though inside her stomach was flip-flopping with wild abandon, her face burning as if on fire. She realized she was shaking her head. "You're making that up," she scoffed, and was surprised by how calm she sounded, how rational. "That's...that's just inane."
Howard gaped at her. "You're delusional," he said, jabbing a finger somewhere in the vicinity of her nose. "You're delusional and you're leading him on."
Her eyes flashed. "I'm helping someone who needs help," she snarled. "Orc asked me!"
Howard shook his head. "You don't see it," he sneered. "You're something he can look at and fantasize about while he gets plastered!" Astrid flinched, her face draining of color. Howard, undeterred, went on. "And you know what? I think you like it. You like having someone you can wrap around your little finger, someone who hangs on your every word and thinks you're God's gift to mankind, because Sam knows you too well to do that anymore."
Astrid stepped back as Howard spoke, turning away, wrapping her arms around herself.
"You're using him," he continued. His words, breathless with fury, lodged inside her like shards of ice. "You're using him just as much as I am, so, for God's sake, stop acting like you're doing anyone a favor but your own ego."
She hunched over a bit, trying to think of something to say. She felt so angry, choked with rage and humiliation. It wasn't true. She wasn't so cruel, so pitiless. She was redeeming herself after what happened to Little Pete. She was.
Astrid was getting a stomachache. In the dying afternoon, the treetops lit with varying shades of amber light, she wanted to go back to her trailer and take a long, dreamless nap.
Instead, she took a deep, shaky breath, turned around, strode toward Howard, and jabbed a finger at his skinny chest. "You," she said through gritted teeth, breathing hard, "are a spineless, cowardly, drug-dealing reprobate."
Howard blinked at her, then scoffed, "Is that all you got?"
Astrid stared at him. Then, she straightened up and stiffly walked away.
She could feel Howard's eyes burning holes in her back long after she'd left his sight. She felt them even when she stripped off her sweaty clothes and crawled into bed in just a grimy undershirt and a pair of Sam's boxers she hadn't the heart to return.
She buried her head in her arms and pulled a blanket over her upper torso, shrouding herself in darkness. He's wrong, she told herself. Obviously he is. Howard's never liked me, of course he'd warp my motives into something obscene.
Every tightly coiled spring within her seemed to fall apart. Astrid sagged into the air mattress and had a good, long, noisy weep. After the worst had passed, lying on her stomach and wearily wiping her nose on her pillow, Astrid had a surprising revelation.
She missed Diana.