The Leftovers

forefinger, she brought it to her mouth and sucked hard on the filter, as if it weren’t drawing right, squinting with grim determination.
    “I know,” she said on the exhale. “It’s the path we’ve chosen.”
    “Is it always this bad?” Meg sounded like she was about to start crying again.
    “Sometimes.” The Director shrugged. “It’s different for different people.”
    Now that Meg had broken the ice, Laurie decided it was okay to speak up.
    “It’s my fault,” she explained. “I didn’t do my job. I got too attached to my Trainee and let things get out of hand. I really screwed up.”
    “That’s not true!” Meg protested. “Laurie’s a great mentor.”
    “It’s our fault, too,” the Director admitted. “We could see what was happening. We probably should have separated you two a month ago.”
    “I’m sorry.” Laurie forced herself to meet the Director’s eyes. “I’ll try to do better next time.”
    Patti Levin shook her head. “I don’t think there’s going to be a next time.”
    Laurie didn’t argue. She knew she didn’t deserve a second chance. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted one, not if she was going to feel like this when it was over.
    “Please don’t hold it against Meg,” she said. “She’s worked really hard these past couple of months and made a lot of progress, in spite of my mistakes. I really admire her strength and determination. I know she’s going to be a great asset to the Chapter.”
    “Laurie taught me so much,” Meg chimed in. “She’s just a really good role model, you know?”
    Mercifully, the Director let that pass. In the silence that followed, Laurie found herself staring at the poster on the wall behind the desk. It showed a classroom full of adults and children, all of them dressed in white, all of them with their hands in the air, like eager A students. Every raised hand held a cigarette.
    WHO WANTS TO BE A MARTYR? the caption asked.
    “I guess you’ve noticed that it’s a little crowded around here,” the Director told them. “We keep getting new recruits. In some of the houses we’ve got people sleeping in the hallways and the garages. It’s just not a sustainable situation.”
    For a miserable moment or two, Laurie wondered if she was being kicked out of the G.R. to make room for someone more worthy than herself. But then the Director glanced at a sheet of paper on her desk.
    “You’re being transferred to Outpost 17,” she said. “You move in next Tuesday.”
    Laurie and Meg exchanged wary glances.
    “Both of us?” Meg asked.
    The Director nodded. “That’s your preference, right?”
    They assured her that it was.
    “Good.” For the first time since they’d arrived, Patti Levin smiled. “Outpost 17 is a very special place.”
    *   *   *
    THE ONE thing life had taught Jill was that things change all the time—abruptly, unpredictably, and often for no good reason. But knowing that didn’t do you that much good, apparently. You could still get blindsided by your own best friend, right in the middle of a macaroni and cheese dinner.
    “Mr. Garvey,” Aimee said. “I think it’s time I started paying some rent.”
    “Rent?” Her father chuckled, as if he enjoyed having his leg pulled as much as the next guy. He’d been in a pretty good mood for the past few weeks, ever since he’d come back from Florida. “That’s ridiculous.”
    “I mean it.” Aimee looked completely serious. “You’ve been really generous to me. But I’m starting to feel like a freeloader, you know?”
    “You’re not a freeloader. You’re a guest.”
    “I’ve been living here a looong time.” She paused, daring him to disagree. “I’m sure you guys are really sick of me.”
    “Don’t be silly. We enjoy your company.”
    Aimee frowned, as if his kindness just made things harder.
    “I’m not just sleeping here, I’m eating your food, using your washer and dryer, watching your cable TV. I’m sure there’s other stuff, too.”
    Internet, Jill thought. Heat and AC, tampons, makeup, shampoo and conditioner and toothpaste, my underwear …
    “It’s really okay.” He glanced at Jill, wondering if she had a different opinion. “Right?”
    “Absolutely,” Jill said. “It’s been fun.”
    And she meant it, too, despite her occasional complaints about Aimee’s lengthy, open-ended crash at their house. Sure, there’d been some rocky times in the fall, but things had gotten better in the past month or two. Christmas