The Leftovers

to some minor charges and get off without any additional jail time. Any minute now, they kept saying. We should hear some good news any minute. Tom was skeptical, but the Falks seemed genuinely excited, and their optimism had rubbed off on Christine.
    “You should come back to the Ranch with us,” she told him. “You could live in one of the guesthouses.”
    Tom appreciated the offer. He’d grown attached to Christine and the baby—at least the idea of the baby—and would have liked to stay close to them. But not like that, not if it meant living in Mr. Gilchrest’s shadow.
    “You’d be welcome there,” she promised. “I’ll tell Wayne what a good friend you’ve been. He’ll be really grateful.” She waited for a response that didn’t come. “It’s not like you have anywhere else to go.”
    That wasn’t exactly true. After the baby came, when Christine didn’t need him anymore, Tom figured he’d head back home to Mapleton, spend a few days with his father and sister—he’d been thinking a lot about them in the past few months, though he hadn’t called or e-mailed—maybe say hi to his mom if he could find her. After that, though, Christine was right—his life was a blank slate.
    “Wayne’s a good man,” she said, gazing up at the poster on the ceiling, the one Tom didn’t like to look at. “Pretty soon the whole world’s gonna know it.”
    *   *   *
    LAURIE AND Meg arrived early for their nine o’clock meeting, but they weren’t invited into the Director’s office until close to noon. Patti Levin seemed genuinely embarrassed about the delay.
    “I didn’t forget about you,” she assured them. “It’s just really hectic this morning. My assistant’s out with the flu, and the whole operation just falls apart without her. I promise it’ll never happen again.”
    Laurie was puzzled by the apology, which seemed to be based on the assumption that she and Meg were busy people who didn’t like to be kept waiting. In her previous life, Laurie had been that sort of person, an overscheduled suburban mom juggling errands and kids, forever racing from one obligation to the next. Back then, when everybody thought the world would last forever, nobody had time for anything. No matter what she was doing—baking cookies, walking around the lake on a beautiful day, making love to her husband—she felt rushed and jittery, as if the last few grains of sand were at that very moment sliding through the narrow waist of an hourglass. Any unforeseen occurrence—road construction, an inexperienced cashier, a missing set of keys—could plunge her into a mood of frantic despair that could poison an entire day. But that was her old self. Her new self had nothing to do but smoke and wait, and she wasn’t all that particular about where she did it. The hallway outside the Director’s office was as good a place as any.
    “So how’s it going?” Patti Levin asked with a smile. “How are things at Outpost 17?”
    Laurie and Meg traded glances, pleasantly surprised by the Director’s friendly tone. The summons they’d received had been terse and a bit ominous— Report to HQ, 9 A.M. tomorrow —and they’d spent a good part of the previous evening trying to figure out if they might be in some kind of trouble. Laurie thought she might get scolded for her failure to return the divorce petition. Meg toyed with the idea that their house was bugged, that the leadership not only knew how regularly they violated their Vows of Silence, but exactly what they said as well. You’re being paranoid, Laurie told her, but she couldn’t help wondering if it might be true, racking her brain to see if she’d said anything over the past couple of months that might come back to haunt her.
    “We like it there,” Meg said. “It’s a really nice place.”
    “It’s got a great backyard,” Laurie added.
    “Doesn’t it?” the Director agreed, touching a match flame to the tip of her cigarette. “I bet it’s lovely this time of year.”
    Meg nodded. “It’s so lush. And there’s a little tree with the prettiest pink blossoms. I’m not sure if it’s cherry or—”
    “I’m told it’s a redbud,” the Director said. “Fairly unusual in these parts.”
    “The only problem is the birds,” Laurie observed. “You wouldn’t believe how loud they are in the morning. It’s like they’re right there in the bedroom. Hundreds of ’em, all chirping at one another.”
    “We think it might be nice to