Chapter 16
Luna and Beckettreturned to the rooftop and loaded and secured a few more boxes. Beckett said, “I think we’ve done all we can, tomorrow morning I’ll pack my personal things.”
He turned to another grouping of trunks. “I was thinking about leaving these here with the packs and the edict. In case more Waterfolk arrive. They can help themselves to a pack and head east. Do you think that’s a good plan?”
Luna watched him solemnly. “Yes, it’s a good plan.”
“Yeah, but do you think they will? Without someone here to tell them how important it is, do you think they’ll take a pack and head east?”
“I don’t know Beckett, but you did all you can do.”
“Did I?” He stood with his hands on his hips looking down.
Then he shook out of it. “We have a birthday to celebrate. I’ll make a big dinner, use up some of this food. What would you like?”
Luna asked for meat of some kind, so Beckett offered chicken and pasta with Alfredo sauce. “I’ll warn you, I’m not a great cook, but I make up for it with exuberance.”
Luna said, “Alfredo sauce is a favorite of mine. Is it cheesy?”
“You didn’t let me finish. I make up for it with exuberant cream cheese overload.”
“Perfect. And classy.”
While Beckett cooked, Luna showered. She changed into almost the exact same clothes, another cropped tank with a pair of yoga pants, but this outfit was black, a more night dinner sort of choice.
She emerged from Beckett’s tent, shaking water out of her hair, sticking it up all around, carrying a book of Calvin and Hobbes comics under her arm. “This is very, um, literary of you.”
Beckett was wiping out a pot. “When I was packing, it just seemed to make sense, but in hindsight…”
Luna pulled a chair to the edge of the kitchen and curled up with the book.
Beckett watched her from the corner of his eye. She was fresh and a little bit wet, shiny, comfortable, reading. How did she come to be here, and how did she become so—necessary? It had been what, a day? And he wanted her here all the time. But he was leaving. She was leaving. This was over. The Outposts, the lifestyle, the Waterfolk, were all over—
“So what’s with this tiger? He’s funny.”
“That’s the cool part, the tiger is imaginary. Some of the comics,” he wiped his hands, took the book, and flipped pages looking for the one he wanted, “like this one. You can see the tiger, Hobbes, is a stuffed animal.” Luna looked confused. “Like a toy, a doll tiger. But in most of the comics, the tiger looks like a tiger. See? Hobbes comes from the imagination of the little boy.”
“Oh, that’s cool. But the little boy must be very lonely.”
Beckett watched Luna read the next one intently, almost sadly, but after the following one she laughed. “He and Hobbes flew down a hill on a sled!”
Luna read comics while Beckett cooked. Occasionally she read them aloud, sometimes Beckett laughed, a few times he finished the comic from memory. He pretended to wipe tears from his eyes as he said, “I’ve been out here a long time by myself. Calvin is my very, very, very, best friend.”
“Wow,” said Luna with the book folded against her chest, “you are seriously bringing down my festive birthday mood.”
“Good point, and dinner is almost ready.”
“And the sun is beginning to set. Can we move the table over there?” Luna pointed toward the west-facing wall.
“Near, okay, but please not right beside. I’m still… you know.”
Luna paused, wishing she could say I’m sorry. The kind of sorry that doesn’t just make someone feel better, the kind of sorry that completely takes the thing back, like it never happened.
Luna dreamed, like she did at least once every day, for a ‘completely take back’ superpower, but instead she said, “Of course.”
It was easier and was within her skill set.
Luna carried the small table toward the wall, sliding it into a position she hoped would let Beckett see the sun set, without actually having to see the wide expanse of endless ocean, too. Then she pulled a sarong from her box, draped it over as a tablecloth, and set the table with dinnerware, just as Beckett announced dinner was ready.
