The first step in that, though, will be making sure that the baby was alright.
One of the conditions when people reached the ranch was the dissolution of marriages. Tom, ordained by the universe, was the only man who was allowed to sleep with the women. And Tom had said, from the very beginning, that the universe would bless them all with a child. And Birdie had been the first to become pregnant.
The word hadn’t been spoken—not by Tom or anyone—but it hovered in the empty spaces between sentences. The idea that the child was the messiah. That the child had been sent to alleviate the suffering that the group so eagerly avoided by coming to Revelation Ranch. The very cornerstone of the philosophy Tom had put forth was the idea that you could escape pain. It was a very powerful thought.
Now Vanessa needs to seed another powerful thought in Tom’s mind. She needs him to think it would be a good idea for her to leave the ranch and get help for Birdie. As much as Tom wants that child, Vanessa wants it more.
There had been a time in her life when children hadn’t been a concern. But now, a child is hope. A child is the future. And maybe her biological clock is ticking. But whatever it is, that baby matters more to her than him.
She goes back inside the house, leaving the pig to rot in the sun. Inside, it’s like a tomb. Jeff and Ollie had left Tom alone in the study and he hadn’t moved. She stands in the doorway, watching him.
He leans his head against the palms of his hands. His hair is a mess and wrinkles like mountain ranges on a map cover his clothes.
Vanessa waits for him to notice her.
“Oh,” he finally says when he brings his head up.
“Tom, I need to talk to you,” she says.
He groans. Her sentence never a good sign in a marriage.
“It’s about Birdie,” she says.
Tom’s eyes meet hers. Something there that Vanessa hoped she would see: fear.
“She’s not well,” she says carefully. “And I’m concerned about the baby.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think she needs to see a doctor. A real one. She’s not doing too well; I don’t think she’s felt the baby move since she was shot,” Vanessa reveals the secret slowly, peeling back the layers of the sentence one by one.
“She’s not leaving,” Tom says definitively.
“Tom—”
“Vanessa!” Tom shouts back. “If she leaves here, we’ll never see that child.”
“The infection is spreading,” Vanessa replies calmly. “And eventually, it will get to the baby. Eventually, she’ll go septic.”
Tom thinks about this for a moment.
“You really don’t think she’s felt the baby move?” Tom asks. He’s horrified.
This is just the reaction she wants.
“I don’t think she has.”
Tom inhales sharply, leaning back in his chair.
“What are we going to do?” he asks. In that moment, he is a child. Vanessa feels his terror. She feels his pain. But she shuts them both down.
“I’m going to take her to the doctor,” she says.
“No!” Tom slams a fist onto the desk making the rotary phone ring out startled.
“You need to make up your mind about what’s important, Tom,” Vanessa says, a threat. “Either you let her leave and the child lives or she stays and it dies.”
“She can’t leave,” Tom’s voice is just above a whisper.
“I guess you’ve made your choice then,” Vanessa says.
Tom looks out the window, a sullenness in his expression that reminds Vanessa of a kid not getting his way.
“Have it your way, Tom,” she says and turns.
The doubt she’s planted is enough for now. It needs time to curl its roots into Tom’s psyche. She knows it will find fertile ground there. For now, she needs to do something with the pig.
IONE
I wake to the sound of voices. The realization that I’m not alone on the bluff startles me. There’s a little cave behind me. Hardly a cave—more of a concave piece on the back of a rock formation on the bluff. I grab my sleeping bag and my backpack and scurry over the dusty gravel atop the flat surface. I scrape my knee, garnering a nice strawberry that makes me think of my days as a kid spent playing in my parents’ cul de sac.
The memory is short-lived as the voices grow nearer.
First two, then I make out a third indistinct set of words. All men. I hear them talking.
“The journalists have been coming up around here,” one of them says.
“Probably trying to get a good picture,” says the other.
I’m keenly aware of the fact that if I’m caught, they won’t find a camera in my bag.
The third man grunts in agreement and if his noise can sound annoyed, it does.
“Almost caught three of them up here yesterday afternoon. Looks like they’re leaving behind all their snack wrappers,” one says. I hear the rustling of foil packaging. Probably the man picking up a candy bar wrapper.
“They ever go up here?” asks the other. This man’s voice sounds younger, less gruff than the first.
“Nah, I don’t think so.”
“It’s probably the best place to get a good look,” says the younger man. “And look, footprints.”
Shit.
I cram myself against the rock as well as I can. My bones pop, not quite as awake as the rest of me. My heart pounds in my chest at the thought of being caught. For a brief moment it reminds me of another childhood memory—hide and seek. Although, I think something much larger might be at stake now.
I count my breaths as the men talk to each other. And then I hear footsteps approaching, coming up the side of the small hill. They scramble just like I did, trying to find footing and failing, then trying again and succeeding. The wait is excruciating. I pray that I go unnoticed when they reach the top.
“Look,” says the younger one.
I can see them now. One man
