Sever. Lauren DeStefano
only continent that’s left, and even it isn’t whole; there are uninhabitable pieces of what used to be known as Canada and Mexico. There used to be an entire world of people and countries out there, but they’ve all since been destroyed by wars so distant they’re hardly spoken about.
“Linden?” Cecily says, touching his arm.
He turns his head to her, but doesn’t look.
“Linden,” she tries again. “I need to eat something. I’m getting a headache.”
This gets his attention because she is four months pregnant and prone to anemia. “What would you like, love?” he says.
“I saw brownies in the cafeteria earlier.”
He frowns, tells her she should be eating things with more sustenance, but ultimately succumbs to her pouting.
Once he has left my hospital room, Cecily sits on the edge of my bed, rests her chin on my shoulder, and looks at the page. The nurse leaves us, my blood on his cart of surgical utensils.
This is the first time I’ve been alone with my sister wife since arriving at the hospital. She traces the outline of the country, swirls her finger around the Atlantic in tandem with her sigh.
“Linden is furious with me,” she says, not without remorse, but also not in her usual weepy way. “He says you could have been killed.”
I spent months in Vaughn’s basement laboratory, the subject of countless experiments, while Linden obliviously milled about upstairs. Cecily, who visited me and talked of helping me escape, never told him about any of it.
It isn’t the first time she betrayed me; though, as with the last time, I believe that she was trying to help. She would botch Vaughn’s experiments by removing IVs and tampering with the equipment. I think her goal was to get me lucid enough to walk out the back door. But Cecily is young at fourteen years old, and doesn’t understand that our father-in-law has plans much bigger than her best efforts. Neither of us stands a chance against him. He’s even had Linden believing him for all these years.
Still, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell Linden?”
She draws a shaky breath and sits more upright. I look at her, but she won’t meet my eyes. Not wanting to intimidate her with guilt, I look at the open atlas.
“Linden was so heartbroken when you left,” she says. “Angry, but sad, too. He wouldn’t talk about it. He closed your door and forbade me from opening it. He stopped drawing. He spent so much time with me and with Bowen, and I loved that, but I could tell it was because he wanted to forget you.” She takes a deep breath, turns the page.
We stare at South America for a few seconds. Then she says, “And, eventually, he started to get better. He was talking about taking me to the spring expo that’s coming up. Then you came back, and I thought, if he saw you, it would undo all the progress he’d made.” Now she looks at me, her brown eyes sharp. “And you didn’t want to be back, anyway. So I thought I could get you to escape again, and he would never have to know, and we could all just be happy.”
She says that last word, “happy,” like it’s the direst thing in the world. Her voice cracks with it. A year ago, here is where she’d have started to cry. I remember that on my last day before I ran away, I left her screaming and weeping in a snowbank when she realized how she’d betrayed our older sister wife, Jenna, by telling our father-in-law of Jenna’s efforts to help me escape, which only aided his decision to dispose of her.
But Cecily has grown since then. Having a child and enduring the loss of not one but two members of her marriage have aged her.
“Linden was right,” she says. “You could have been killed, and I—” She swallows hard, but doesn’t take her eyes from mine. “I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself. I’m sorry, Rhine.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulders, and she leans against me.
“Vaughn is dangerous,” I say into her ear. “Linden doesn’t want to believe it, but I think you do.”
“I know,” she says.
“He’s tracking your every move the way he tracked me.”
“I know.”
“He killed Jenna.”
“I know. I know that.”
“Don’t let Linden talk you into trusting him,” I say. “Don’t put yourself in a situation where you’re alone with him.”
“You can run away, but I can’t,” she says. “That’s my home. It’s all I have.”
Linden clears his throat in the doorway. Cecily bounds to him and ups herself on tiptoes to kiss him when she takes the brownie from his hand. Then she unwraps its plastic. She settles in a chair and props her swollen feet up on the window ledge. She has a way of ignoring Linden’s hints about wanting to be alone with me. It was a minor annoyance in our marriage, but right now it’s a relief. I don’t know what Linden wants to say to me, only that his fidgeting means he wants it to be in private, and I’m dreading it.
I watch as Cecily nibbles the edges of the brownie and dusts crumbs off her shirtfront. She’s aware of Linden’s restlessness, but she also knows he won’t ask her to leave. Because she’s pregnant, and because she’s the only wife left who so genuinely adores him.
Linden picks up the sketchbook he abandoned on a chair, sits, and tries to busy himself looking through his building designs. I sort of feel sorry for him. He has never been authoritative enough to ask for what he wants. Even though I know this conversation he’s itching to have will leave me feeling guilty and miserable, I owe him this much.
“Cecily,” I say.
“Mm?” she says, and crumbs fall from her lips.
“Leave us alone for a few minutes.”
She glances at Linden, who looks at her and doesn’t object, and then back to me.
“Fine,” she sighs. “I have to pee anyway.”
After she leaves, closing the door behind her, Linden shuts his notebook. “Thanks,” he says.
I push myself upright, smooth the sheets over my thighs, and nod, avoiding his eyes. “What is it?” I ask.
“They’re letting you out tomorrow,” he says, taking the seat by my bed. “Do you have any sort of plan?”
“I was never good at plans,” I say. “But I’ll figure it out.”
“How will you find your brother?” he says. “Rhode Island is hundreds of miles away.”
“One thousand three hundred miles,” I say. “Roughly. I’ve been reading up on it.”
He frowns. “You’re still recovering,” he says. “You should rest for a few days.”
“I might as well get moving.” I close the atlas. “I have nowhere else to go.”
“You know that isn’t true,” he says. “You have a—” He hesitates. “A place to stay.”
He was going to say “home.”
I don’t answer, and the silence is filled with all the things Linden wants to say. Phantom words, ghosts that haunt the pieces of dust swimming in beams of light.
“Or,” he starts up again. “There is another option. My uncle.”
That gets me to look at him, maybe too inquisitively, because he seems amused. “My father disowned him years ago, when I was very young,” he says. “I’m supposed to pretend he doesn’t exist, but he doesn’t live far from here.”
“He’s your father’s brother?” I say, skeptical.
“Just think about it,” Linden says. “He’s a little strange, but Rose liked him.” He says that last part