“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice hardly more than a whisper. There was a clatter of pans. My father sat back on his heels.
“I wanted it to be a nice morning for us.” His voice sounded mechanical, rusty at the edges. “I was going to make you breakfast. I was going to give you your momma’s book.”
Her book! My mind flashed upstairs to where the journal slept wedged between my mattress and bed. Good thing I kept my door locked.
“What are you talking about, Abba?” I asked. My words were the words of a little girl. They sounded so afraid that I was sure he would be able to hear the lie in them. But it didn’t really matter—he was hardly paying any attention to me. Instead he just stared into the darkness of the cupboard, like it was our dented metal mixing bowls that had spoken.
“The book. She told me to give you the book. The one her mother gave her on the day we had our bloodlines read.” He let his eyelids slide closed. “I’ve looked everywhere for it. She told me about it on our wedding night. Told me she wanted our daughter to have it. I’ve looked everywhere.”
His head swiveled sharply around.
“No one else has been in our home. I know you must have it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen any book.” Lies fell easily from my lips. I had touched the book’s leather cover every night before bed, cracked open the spine and breezed my fingertip down the list of names written there. The flyleaf bore the name of every woman in my family, ending with Momma’s.
But I wouldn’t tell my father. No friend of Abel, that’s what Van had said. I knew that my father could never, ever be trusted. He wasn’t one of us.
He stalked toward me across the narrow kitchen. I leaned my spine away as he reached out his big hands and gripped me by either shoulder. I braced myself, waiting for him to give me a hard shake. He’d done it plenty of times before. But he didn’t. He held me at arm’s length.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, nearly whispering. Abba didn’t even blink—just stared intently down at me. “So much like your mother, Terra. She was my heart’s twin. Did you know that? Remember that she was my bashert. No matter what anyone tells you, I want you to remember that.”
And with that he bent down and planted a kiss on my forehead. I stayed very still, waiting for it to be over. But for a long time my father didn’t move. Like he didn’t want to let me go.
“Sure,” I said at last, prying my body away. My arms shook as nervous words poured out of my mouth. I hoped he didn’t notice. “Your destiny. Sure. I should go. Mara will kill me if I’m late.” I took a few steps through the messy galley. When I stopped to look at him, he was watching me, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Good luck today,” he said. “At the reading of the bloodlines.”
“Won’t you be there?” I asked. “It’s a mitzvah, after all.”
“No, Terra,” he said. His lips fell gently open. “No. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” For a second I just stood there, pawing at the doorknob. Finally I cracked a weak smile. “Have to work late?”
One corner of my father’s mouth lifted. He nodded.
“Okay,” I said. I grabbed my lab coat from the hook by the door. “See you later, then.” I threw the door open, stepping into the cold air. I almost didn’t hear my father’s voice past the rush of the constant winter wind.
“Good-bye,” he said.
There was no use stopping home after work. I wouldn’t find my father there, with his wavering smile and intense gaze. There would be only darkness to share between myself and the cat. So when Mara dismissed me for the evening, I just threw my overcoat on over my uniform, brushed my lank hair up under my hat, and marched off toward Koen’s quarters. As I crossed through the commerce district, I greeted no one, my hands stuffed down into my pockets to keep the cold air from biting at them. If Koen was going to marry me, I decided, he’d have to take me as I was. Rough. Grubby. Hair unkempt. Because part of me wanted to be like the botanist, as much as I couldn’t stand her sometimes. I wanted to be excellent. Unapologetic. Hard. If he was going to love me, he’d have to love that part of me too.
Standing outside the front door to the Maxwells’ quarters, I sucked in a deep breath of frozen air. Then I gritted my teeth and knocked three times.
Only Ratty answered me, his shrill yelps penetrating the wooden door. When it didn’t open, I knocked again, louder. This time it cracked open, revealing a sliver of dim light. Stella’s brown eyes gazed out at me.
“I’m not supposed to answer the door when no one is home.”
“Stella.” I sighed. “It’s me, Terra. You know me.” I smiled helpfully—hopefully. The girl stared at me.
“Terra. You were here on Orbit Day. With your dad.”
“Yes,” I said. “You remember.”
She finally opened the door.
Stella was hardly anything more than a round-faced girl. But I could see in the way that she stood, her small chin held high, that she didn’t think of herself as a child. She thought she was grown-up—important. When I spoke, I was careful to make it clear to her that I considered her grown-up too.
“Koen and I are supposed to have our bloodlines checked today. So we can marry.” Her eyes widened at that. “He’s expecting me. Can you go get him?”
Stella just clutched at the door. “I told you. No one’s home.”
“He’s not home?” My resolve wavered. But I forced my doubts down deep inside me and somehow managed to hold my head firm. “Do you know where he is?”
“I think he’s in the atrium. He always goes there after work when he’s not out with you.” She waited a beat, like this was significant. “On the lower deck.”
“The lower deck,” I repeated. “Thanks, Stella.”
I turned and started down the street again. As I did, Stella’s voice called out to me. “Terra, wait!”
I looked over my shoulder. Stella just stared, not blinking at all.
“Good luck,” she finally concluded, lamely. Then added: “With the bloodlines and all.” I nodded one more time.
“Thanks,” I replied.
17
I made my way to the lower deck, where I’d walked with my mother so many times before. It had been different then, green and bright and alive. I’d been there with Koen only once, that evening we almost kissed. Since then the few bits of autumn brown that had scattered through the landscape had disappeared completely. Everything was bone gray now, dead. Black branches craned their fingers up through to the upper levels of the dome. Vines, as brittle as white ribbon candy, grasped at the tree trunks. I hustled down the path, my breath coming out in steaming bursts as I called Koen’s name. But there was no answer—only the sound of squirrels rummaging in the hard-packed soil, and crows calling to one another in the branches above.
I don’t know what made me leave the path. I moved like I did in my dreams, as if my limbs were powered by some invisible clockwork. But in my dreams I was always happy—mindlessly, stupidly happy. Now, awake, I felt only a knot of uneasiness twisting my stomach. Just nerves, I thought as I pressed forward across a dry, ice-slick riverbed.
I heard movement in the tangled bushes ahead of me. The dumbest thought I’d ever had crossed my mind: Maybe it’s a fox! And so it was with a sort of frantic, giddy excitement that I reached out to part the branches, and stepped into a shadowed glen.
There was a rustle of movement on the forest floor. Then a moan. I pressed forward, peering between the brambles.