Page 93 of A Better World

“Fix what?” she begged.

His eyes filled with water that didn’t produce tears. They were drowning.

“Mitch?” Louis called.

“Dr. Chernin?” the nurse called. “I need help with the catheter.”

Chernin pulled back. His eyes went distant with that spaciness she’d come to expect. He retreated someplace, like a floater picked clean by scavengers until all that’s left is heavy bone.

Without saying good-bye, he shut the door.

Home, Linda went. Still early, she climbed into bed and stayed there. Even after the sun shone through the windows, the Farmer-Bowen house stayed quiet. It carried the musty emotional charge of an unwound clock.

“Honey. It’s not your fault. I’m not blaming you. But can we do some damage repair?” Russell asked around noon. He stood in the doorway of their bedroom, his shadow long. Despite their soft delivery, his words felt like an accusation. “Heinrich told me the board wants a written apology.”

“Later,” she said.

He spent the day working in his increasingly chaotic office.

Hip and Josie stayed in their rooms. When they came out, she didn’t hear wrestling in the kitchen or laughter at the way one or the other garnished toast. There were no funny voices, no jitterbug delights.

In the early evening, Hip brought her a glass of juice.Are you okay, Mom?he asked as she lay open eyed in bed, too upset to sleep.They said you weren’t supposed to drink that stuff. Why did you drink that stuff?

Close the door, she told him.

The Dump

By morning, stayingin bed required more energy than getting up. She was already dressed and trying to figure out what to possibly do next when Josie knocked.

“What is it, hon?”

Shoulders hunched, Josie padded barefoot into the room. “Can we leave Plymouth Valley? Is it allowed?”

Linda misunderstood.I want to, she thought.But how do we get the rest of the family to come with us?

Josie clarified. “Could you take me to the dump? I want to find that snow globe.”

At the gate, Sally checked the car for contraband and found none. Linda couldn’t tell if it was the lingering effect of the psilocybin, or just her mental state, but she and the world were out of synchronicity, like ballerinas on separate music boxes, spinning at different speeds.

“Hey, good-lookin’. You really tied one on at Parson’s party, huh?”

“Yeah,” Linda said.

“Got everybody worked up,” Sally said without smiling. When a dumb person stops smiling, you suddenly realize they’re not as harmless as you’d thought.

“Did I? I drank the wine. It was a bad idea.”

Cheerless, Sally held on to Linda for an extra beat. “You’re not working at the clinic today. Why are you here?”

“We threw something out by accident. We want to go to the dump. See if we can find it.”

“What did you throw out?” Sally asked.

Maybe they weren’t allowed out without a reason. But that didn’t make sense. The Farmer-Bowens weren’t essential. People would literally kill to have their spots here. “A family heirloom. Do you know where the dump is at?”

With much less cordiality than Linda was accustomed to, Sally gave directions. It was three kilometers past PVE, on an unmarked road. She also pulled two gas masks from her booth, logged them as borrowed, and handed them to Linda. “You’ll want these. It’s stinky as poop!”

With that, they left PV. It was easy, Linda suddenly realized. This place wasn’t a prison. She could leave with her whole family any time. She could pack up and go.

---