The Leftovers

was a sacrifice she was more than willing to make.
    As a matter of fact, she was grateful for the opportunity to practice any kind of self-denial, because the Outpost offered so few of them. Life here was so much easier than at the Compound. Food was plentiful, if not fancy—mostly pasta and beans and canned vegetables—and the thermostat was kept at a civilized sixty-two degrees. You could go to bed when you felt like it, and sleep in as long as you liked. As for work, you set your own hours and filled out your own reports.
    It was almost disturbingly cushy, which was one of the reasons she was trying so hard to maintain her distance from Meg, to not fall back into the easy routine of friendship. It was bad enough being warm and well-fed and free to do as you pleased. If, on top of all that, you were happy, too, if you had a good friend to keep you company at night, then what was the point of even being in the G.R.? Why not just go back to the big house on Lovell Terrace, rejoin her husband and daughter, wear nice clothes again, renew her membership at the Mapleton Fitness Club, catch up on the TV she’d missed, redecorate the living room, cook interesting meals with seasonal produce, pretend that life was good and the world wasn’t broken?
    After all, it wasn’t too late.
    *   *   *
    “YOU’VE BEEN with us for quite a while,” Patti Levin had said at the end of their meeting last week. “I think it’s about time we made it official, don’t you?”
    The envelope she pressed into Laurie’s hand contained a single sheet of paper, a Joint Petition for Divorce. Laurie had filled in the blanks, checked the necessary boxes, and signed her name in the space reserved for Petitioner A. All that remained for her to do was to take the form to Kevin and get him to sign as Petitioner B. She had no reason to believe he’d object. How could he? Their marriage was over—it had suffered what the state called an “irretrievable breakdown”—and they both knew it. The petition was a legal formality, a bureaucratic statement of the obvious.
    So what was the problem? Why was the envelope still resting on the dresser, weighing so heavily on her conscience that it might as well have been glowing in the dark?
    Laurie wasn’t naïve. She understood that the G.R. needed money to survive. You couldn’t run an organization that large and ambitious without incurring serious expenses—all those people needing food and housing and medical care. There were new properties to be acquired, old ones to be maintained. Cigarettes. Vehicles. Computers, legal advice, public outreach. Soap, toilet paper, whatever. It added up.
    Naturally, members were expected to contribute whatever they could afford. If all you had was a monthly Social Security check, that was what you gave. If the sum total of your worldly goods consisted of a rusty Oldsmobile with a bad muffler, the G.R. could use that, as well. And if you were lucky enough to be married to a successful businessman, why shouldn’t you dissolve that union and donate your share of the proceeds to the cause?
    Well, why not?
    She wasn’t really sure how much money was involved—the lawyers would have to figure that out. The house alone was worth around a million—they’d paid one point six for it, but that was five years ago, before the market tanked—and the various retirement and investment accounts had to be worth at least that much. Whatever the final tally, fifty percent of it would be a serious outlay, substantial enough that Kevin might have to think about selling the house to meet his obligations.
    Laurie wanted to do her part for the G.R., she really did. But the thought of walking over there, ringing the doorbell, and asking Kevin for half of everything she’d turned her back on filled her with shame. She had joined the G.R. because she had no choice, because it was the only path that made any sense to her. In the process, she’d lost her family and her friends and her place in the community, all the comfort and security money could buy. That was her decision, and she didn’t regret it. But Kevin and Jill had paid a high price, too, and they hadn’t gotten anything in return. It seemed greedy—unseemly—to suddenly show up at their door with her hand out, asking for even more.
    *   *   *
    SHE MUST have drifted off because she woke with a start, conscious of some sort of movement nearby.
    “Laurie?” Meg whispered. Her nightgown emitted a ghostly