Page 23 of A Better World

The hazing gotworse. Saturday’s soccer game against the Alkonosts from the southwest quadrant was a slaughter. The Rocs lost 5–1.

Linda and Russell tried starting conversations, but they did so with less enthusiasm than last time, and they were met with less enthusiasm, too. With Hip beside them, witnessing their freeze-out, Linda felt worse and more responsible. No one passed to Josie. Halfway through the game, she gave up waving her hands in the air to signal that she was open.

A tide had turned. A judgment cast. Perhaps by now, they’d have been expected to have learned the secret password. The magic handshake. But they hadn’t, and now they really were outcasts.

On the drive home, Linda thought about how shitty these people were acting, as if all of Plymouth Valley were a life raft, and no one could be bothered to make room. She mentally composed a collection of questions for Zach in advance of their October meeting: if Russell lost his case, or was unsuccessful in pushing the hearing until he had the necessary data to testify accurately, would the Farmer-Bowens get kicked out immediately, or would the powers that be wait until his June review? Surely, if leaving wasn’t their choice, they were entitled to their deposit… Right?

As she pulled in, she noticed a large SUV parked at the head of their driveway—the fancy A-class hybrid kind that only the most important people drove. No one else was allotted the gas.

Were they getting kicked out so soon? With dread, the exhausted Farmer-Bowens all got out.

A gorgeous woman in a shearling jacket stepped down and out. “Dr. Farmer? Linda Farmer?”

Though she was in no mood, Linda slapped on a smile. So did Russell. The kids, sensing the prompt, smiled, too. “That’s me!”

The woman, who was as tall as Russell, looked to be in her late forties, but fit and rich, with growth factor–injected laugh lines and large, perky breasts. Possibly, she was the most beautiful woman Linda had ever seen. “You’re hard to track down. I’ve been sending texts all morning!” she called as she closed the distance between them.

“Texts to me?” Linda asked. “I’m sorry! I forgot my device.”

“Don’t you always carry your device?” It wasn’t rude. A friendly scold. Her accent wasn’t thick, either. She talked almost as fast as an outsider. “How’ll you know if your kids need you? Or your husband?” She winked at Russell and the kids.

Linda’s charm tank had run out of fuel. She meant this funny, but it came out bitchy: “They’ll use their words? I’ve been with them all day?”

“Oooh. Peppery,” the woman purred.

“I’m sorry. That was rude,” Linda said.

“But I like pepper. I like outsiders, too. I used to be one.” She turned to the kids. “You’re Josie and Hip?”

Warily—tired of niceties—the kids agreed that they were.

The woman shook Russell’s hand, too. “Russell Bowen, right? So great to meet you.”

Then she was back to Linda. “I’ve got that right, don’t I? You’re the new pediatrician who’s looking for work?”

“Emergency and general—” she started, but the woman cut her off.

“—Faboo! We convene tonight at Sirin’s Bar and Grill to talk strategic operations and budget, and after that we have dinner. You’ll be arriving for the dinner part, around eight.”

“Tonight? Is this about the medical clinic? Will I be interviewing for a position?”

“Maybe! If it works out, great. If not, I’m sure we can still be friends.”

Linda nodded like this made perfect sense, though it made nosense. The rest of her family had backed up, all making their best efforts to seem polite and benign. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

Chuckling like they were in on a joke together, the woman gripped Linda’s forearm. It was the first time anyone aside from her family had touched her since moving here, and she realized right then that she was very lonely. “Right! You’re new. I’m Daniella Bennett.”

“Are you related to Lloyd Bennett?” Lloyd Bennett was Russell’s boss’s boss; BetterWorld’s CEO, to whom Heinrich reported.

“Please extend my salutations!” Russell chimed.

Salutations?What were they, aliens?

“I will absolutely salute him,” Daniella said in a teasing way. Then, to Linda: “You can come? It’s a great group. I’m a bit of a bitch. We all are because poop it. Someone has to assert themselves among these sheep.” Then she laughed. “I mean, Hollow? Get out of here with that nonsense. It’s so many rules! How can anyone possibly remember all of them? Don’t even get me started on the birds. Can’t we just eat chicken?”

Linda didn’t dare laugh, but she grinned.

“We’re a great group. We work hard to make things better. Then we reward ourselves with too much red wine. We really do need a doctor. Say you’ll come?”

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