Parable of the Talents

would have made a novel up if you wrote one. You wouldn't have to find anything brand-new for your characters to do or be in a novel. I don't think you could if you wanted to.'

'Except that by definition, a novel is fiction. Don't call Earthseed fiction. You don't know anything about it except the lies told by an opportunistic politician.' I took down a copy of The First Book of the Living and handed it to him. 'Come and talk to me after you've read this.'

'You wrote this?'

'Yes.'

'And you believe in it?'

'I believe it. I wouldn't teach people that things were true if I didn't believe them.'

'Back in Robledo, I remember you were always writing. Keith used to sneak into your room and read your diary. Or at least he said he did.'

I thought about that for a moment. 'I don't think he ever read my journal,' I said. 'I mean, I know I was always chas­ing him out of my room. I chased you out, too, plenty of times. But I think if Keith had read my journal, he wouldn't have been able to resist using it against me. Besides, Keith never read anything unless he had to.'

'Yeah.' He paused, gazing down at the table. 'It's weird to think I'm older now than he ever got to be. He still seems older and bigger when I think about him. He was such a goddamn asshole.' He shook his head. 'I think I really hated him, you know, the way he was always making trou­ble for everybody, beating the rest of us up—except you. He was afraid of you because you were so much bigger. And Mama... she loved him more than she loved all of us put together.'

'It wasn't that bad, Marc.'

He looked up at me, solemn-eyed. 'It was, though. She wasn't your mother, so maybe you didn't feel it the way I did, but it was that bad and then some.'

'I felt it. Toward the end when she and I needed each other most, I'm not sure she loved me at all. But she was so scared and so desperate.... Forgive her, Marc. She was in a hellish place with four children to look out for. If it made her less rational than she should have been ... well, forgive her.'

There was a long silence. He stared at the book, open at the first page:

 

All that you touch

You Change.

All that you Change

Changes you.

The only lasting truth

Is Change.

God

Is Change.

 

I couldn't tell whether he had read the words at first. He seemed to stare the way blind people do, unseeing, blank. Then he whispered, 'Oh, god,' and it sounded like a prayer. He shut the book and closed his eyes. 'I'm not sure I want to read your book, Lauren,' he said. He opened his eyes and looked at me. 'You haven't asked how I wound up with Cougar.'

'I want to know,' I admitted.