It was the only time I ever saw her look pleased to be a mother. After scarfing down her breakfast, she’d leave her dishes steeping in the gray water for her husband to wash, and rush off to work before I’d even finished my coffee.
That didn’t matter, though, because I’d stopped going to work when my father died. I didn’t ask to play hooky, and Mara didn’t offer. It just happened. Every day she rushed off. Benton bundled up his kids and then went to work himself. He was a fieldworker. I couldn’t believe that. The Council had paired Mara Stone with a farmer. I was left alone to consider that every morning at their kitchen table.
I developed a kind of routine. After breakfast I fed Pepper. Then I’d go up to Artemis’s room and curl up on my sleeping roll. I wouldn’t shower; I almost never changed my clothes. I’d take the ancient journal from my basket of belongings, clutch it against my body, and sleep.
I hoped to dream of Momma. I wanted her to take me by the hand, walk with me through the dome, and tell me what to do now that I was alone. I wanted her to give me answers: Why had my father taken his life? What had she been doing with the Children of Abel?
She never came. Instead I would be plunged into whiteout storms, the snow piling deep and burning cold around my bare knees. My dreams always started the same way: I’d stumble forward barefoot, lost, the wind doing a fickle dance around me. And then, just as I was sure I’d be swallowed up, a hand would reach out, grasp mine, and pull me forward. Lips would meet lips, and it was summer inside me, the smell of clover and magnolia sticky on the air. In my dreams we burned the winter away.
I woke only when Artemis stumbled into her room after school to put away her bag.
“Oh,” she’d say, giving me a polite smile as she ducked out. “Sorry.”
But there were other days. Dark days. Days when I couldn’t sleep, much less escape into dreams. I’d leave that ancient book sitting on the floor, and let Pepper sit on the pages, and wheeze out tears. There were no kisses. There was no love. There wasn’t even snow. All that was left was me, and I was alone.
On those days, on those low, dark days, Artemis would open her door, hear my sobs, and let it shut again, leaving me to my pain.
One afternoon Mara came home early.
I didn’t hear her come in. It was one of my good days, and I’d been dozing, flashes of lilac and fuchsia exploding beneath my eyelids. Mara grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard. I let out a cry. The space inside my covers was warm and welcoming, while both the air outside and Mara’s grimace seemed dangerously cold.
“No,” she said, gripping my shoulders, pulling at the fabric of my shirt. “Wake up, Terra.”
I tugged the blanket over my head. But Mara just snatched it down.
“Hey!” I whined. I tried to wrestle the blanket from her clutches. But she held on tight. At last I sat up, staring at her. “What do you want, Mara?”
“It’s time for you to get up.”
“My father died.” I spat the words at her like they were made of acid. But she didn’t even flinch.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s time for you to get up and tend to your duties. It’s been two weeks. You have work to do.” When I didn’t answer, crossing my arms square across my chest, she gritted her teeth.
“What’s that term your father was so fond of, girl? Mitzvah?”
I could feel it, how my gaze flickered when she said it, how tears suddenly stung my eyes. But I didn’t want to give in. I couldn’t! I couldn’t imagine going out there and facing the light of day. “What good works can I possibly owe the people on the ship?” I asked through my scowl. “Why should I help them fix the whole damned universe? What did they do to stop my father from—”
I stopped midsentence, unable to make the words move past my mouth. For a moment, too long a moment, I sat slack-jawed. Then I found myself bringing my hand to my cheek and smearing away a long stream of tears.
“Oh, Terra,” Mara said, tipping her head to one side. I hadn’t wanted to do this in front of Mara. So far, other than that the first night, I hadn’t. But here I was now, weeping openly while she forced a smile of sympathy across her sour mouth.
“I don’t know why it happened to him,” I said at last. “And Momma. I don’t know why. No one else’s parents . . . It’s not supposed to happen here. Every other family is just perfect. A mother. A father. Two kids. Even your family. But he . . .” I sucked in a sharp breath.
“You know, Terra,” she began, speaking slowly. “The founders of our society were very careful to control for certain things. So you’re right. What you’ve faced in life is rare—in our entire history few Asherati have ever had one parent struck down before they’ve reached marrying age, much less two. But no matter how carefully the original passengers were selected for resilience, no matter how many counseling sessions I’m sure they made your father attend after your mother’s death, you can’t control for sadness, not totally. You can’t control for grief.”
“Or cancer,” I said, not wanting to mention that my father had stopped attending counseling after only a few weeks. He’d pulled me and Ronen out too. We’re fine, he’d told them. I know what’s best for my family. “Momma’s cancer. They couldn’t control perfectly for that, either, right?”
Mara pressed her lips together. “Mmm,” she said. After a moment she reached up and cupped her fingers around my chin. Part of me wanted to squirm away, escape her touch.
But I didn’t. I let her run her thumb along my tear-slick jawline. “You’ve lost something. We can’t deny that. But this loss will make you a stronger person.”
“No!” The protest came out weak, shaky. Mara squeezed my jaw a little more firmly with her fingertips.
“Yes, it will.”
With that, she stood, staring down at me. I wanted nothing more than to sink down in bed, snuggling into the blankets and closing myself to the world. But I couldn’t—not with Mara watching me.
“Now,” she said. “We’ll start slowly. You’re going to get up. Shower. Get dressed. And then come to the lab with me. That’s all you have to do. Come to the lab.”
She spoke easily, but we both knew that it wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command. I had to obey. Without another word Mara turned and walked out. I waited a moment, sighed. Then I stumbled to my feet.
22
That day in the lab I sat behind Mara as she fiddled with her microscope and entered numbers into her computer terminal. At first I felt nothing but anger at my return to the messy, cramped laboratory. The only place I wanted to be was deep under the covers, hiding myself away from the world. But Mara didn’t push. In fact, she didn’t even speak to me. Instead she went about her work in silence, pecking steadily away at the keys.
“You’re not going to give me something to do?” I demanded.
Mara didn’t lift her eyes from the screen. “There are always slides to prep.”
I had no desire to prep slides, and Mara knew that. But I went to my work desk and began to set out my supplies anyway, making a show of slamming my desk drawers, hard, rattling the tools within them. I stooped over, blade in hand, and set to work.