Leveling 5: When Water Has Overtaken Land: Episode 5: The Road Home (Leveling: Season One) Read online

  Leveling 5

  H D Knightley

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Also by H D Knightley

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book by way of the internet or by way of any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please buy only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Over Our Heads Publishing

  Created with Vellum

  For Isobel, Fiona, Gwyneth, and Ean

  Keep your chin up.

  Chapter 1

  “But you said you could, we have plans…” Luna was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of Beckett’s mountain house. The sun was setting, lighting the sky in a pink glow.

  “I know, I wish it could be different. I just can’t come. They won’t let me, there’s so much going on here — they’ve cut off all vacation for a month and sadly my weekend falls in the middle of it.” Beckett shook in the vibrating rumble of a far-off explosion.

  “What’s that noise?”

  “A train probably. Seriously, I miss you so much, if I could, if they let me have the time, I would be there in a second.”

  “When do you think you can come home?” Behind Luna, through the screen door in the kitchen, Dilly was cooking dinner. By now Luna had grown used to the comforting sounds — pots lightly clanging, water splashing, jars, cans opening, spilling, shaking, and through it all, Chickadee at the kitchen counter, working on some project, a screenplay, or really anything she had thought up that week, talking about her work. Dilly would say, “Uh huh,” when her thoughts were on the food, and occasionally, “Exactly!” when her thoughts were on Chickadee’s project. Because Dilly agreed with Chickadee on most everything, being, in Luna’s estimation, one of the most agreeable people in the world.

  Chickadee was strong-willed, and bossy, kind, but also certain and stubborn, prone to big ideas and constant implementation. Dilly on the other hand was empathetic and loving, nurturing and sweet. She had a poem for every situation.

  Luna loved them both, but she especially loved talking to Dilly, because Dilly woke up in the night and sat with Luna on the porch, for hours, if that’s what it took to calm Luna’s mind.

  Dilly got the In-Betweens as Luna’s mother used to say. The stuff inside the pauses between the words. The down deep.

  Beckett's voice brought her back to their conversation. “Since I’m missing the three month visit, they’ll definitely grant me the next leave. Once they lift the moratorium. I’ve put my name in, as soon as they tell me, I’ll call . . .”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Luna wished she was better at the In-Betweens. She was better when she was out on the ocean, but here on a porch, in a strange place, on a phone, she was out of her element. She was sure Beckett wasn’t telling her everything, but without knowing enough about how this world worked, she couldn’t guess.

  “Could I come?” She pulled her knees up and rested her head there. “Chickadee said she would drive me, even if it’s just for a few hours.”

  “They won’t let us have visitors, it might get me in trouble.”

  “That’s what Dilly thought too. I was really hoping to talk to you about some—” Her hand rested on her small rounded stomach.

  “What? Are you okay — is something going on?”

  She clenched her eyes shut. “No, I’m good. It’s nothing. I just miss you so much.”

  “I miss you too. And it’s only going to be a week or two, three at the most, and they’ll grant my leave and — we’ve only got two-and-a-half months left. We’re over halfway there.”

  “Yes, sure, time will fly.”

  “And you’ll be there? I mean, I know, but I — you will right? You’re happy living there?”

  “Yes, I’m happy. I’m also heartbroken.” A tear slid down her cheek. “Neither of those things will make me leave.”

  “I’m glad. Knowing you’re there is the only thing that keeps me going. I’ll call you next week.”

  Chapter 2

  Luna found Dilly walking along the edge of the corn rows, near the lavender walkway, spiraling around talking to herself, the way she always did when she was writing a poem. “Can I interrupt?”

  “Of course Luna, I’m singing to the bees, a little ditty masquerading itself as a poem, but you’ll hear tomorrow night at our gathering.” Dilly was wearing overalls, a tube top stretched across her chest. Her hair was, as she often said, “Growing out because it had lost all reason.” It was going gray, and Dilly, perturbed, had decided to wear it long in protest. Flowers stuck out of her hair in a few places, and the ends of her hair stuck out in all directions, curly. She called it “insensible” and “ornery.”

  “I was hoping to talk to you, I wanted to see how you were faring after your conversation last night with Beckett?”

  Luna dropped into a garden chair. “I’m okay — or, not, but . . .” Luna stared over the hedgerow. Bees spun up and around in a busy circle. Watching bees was a new experience for Luna. Her circular thoughts used to follow eddies, and currents, not insects, but here she was on a mountainside among the bees. “I don’t know what to think, I feel like Beckett isn’t telling me something.”

  Dilly nodded slowly. “I agree. He has a big thing, something he sees, that he can’t tell you about. And you have a big thing, something you feel, that you can’t tell him about. And the things, big things, are piling around you both.”

  “I want to tell him. I was planning to tell him today. Here.”

  “Yet his big thing, is keeping him from learning your big thing. And so it goes. I sense it too, and I wish I could advise you better. But this — Beckett loves you. He must feel like what he’s seeing, or doing, is too big to tell you about. He might be wrong. I have known you now for a little over three months, not long, not long enough to know your story, just little things, the way you circle the house in the night, the way you cry curled up when you can’t sleep, the way you stare off into the horizon at dusk, the way you look at the stars, and even the way you laugh, truly letting go with joy, a joy like that means there’s a sadness there too — you can’t have one without the other. But all those things makes me believe Beckett is wrong — you’re strong enough to hear
what he believes he needs to hide.” Dilly dropped into a garden chair beside Luna.

  “I am. I can handle it. Should I tell him I can?”

  “Maybe. But sometimes something is so scary it’s hard to be fearless enough to even tell someone about it. You might need to accept that he’s hiding something, but he doesn’t want to, but he has to. You might have to trust him even so.”

  “Oh. I never thought about that.”

  “You have things too. Beyond the baby. Things you’re not fearless enough to tell. Right?” Dilly peered into Luna’s face.

  Luna nodded.

  “It’s the words. They can be really hard. Sometimes it can be nice if the person you love hears you without speaking a word.”

  Luna’s eyes drifted up to the sky. “So I shouldn’t pack my suitcase and drive to his base and demand he tells me what he’s hiding?”

  Dilly squinted her eyes. “You know as well as I do that he’s not there.”

  Luna nodded. “Yeah, he’s in the east, fighting.”

  Dilly followed Luna’s eyes to the sky. “This was not what Beckett was supposed to be doing. Chickadee and I have devoted the last fifteen years to keeping him safe. But here he is. All we can do is sing to the bees begging them for distraction like me, or like Chickadee does, write congressmen, or like you—?”

  “I whisper to him by the Monarch Constellation.”

  Dilly squeezed Luna’s hand. “And that is a perfectly poetical thing to say. It’s all we can do, this — and wait.”

  “And hope it’s enough.”

  “The rest is up to Beckett coming home.”

  Chapter 3

  Luna entered the kitchen, just showered and dressed for the night. “How do I look?”

  Dilly was kneading the last fluff of dough for the party and her arms from the elbow down were coated in flour. “Beautiful, like the gossamer wings of a dragonfly.”

  Chickadee looked up from her notebook. “Bullshit, you’re insulting dear Luna’s family heritage. She looks beautiful like the soft wings of a moth.”

  “You’re both correct. But more to the point — do I look pregnant? I don’t want to look pregnant, not until Beckett knows.” She pulled the cardigan open and turned back and forth, showing off her protruding stomach.

  Dilly cocked her head to the left and right. “The cardigan covers it, perfectly.”

  Chickadee added, “Perfectly as if you’ve swallowed a watermelon half-down —

  Dilly said, “Chickie!”

  “It’s true!”

  Luna giggled. “It’s totally true.” Then her mood spiraled downward. “I thought I would have more time, but when Beckett comes home, I’ll have to hide behind a chair until I tell him.”

  Chickadee came around the counter and tugged Luna’s cardigan closed. “He’ll come home. You’ll tell him. Then you get to start your lives, both of you in the same place. No worries, right? We have poetry to read!”

  Luna nodded, sniffling to cover the tears that threatened to come.

  Chickadee returned her are of the counter that was her designated office. “I plan to read a Shakespearean sonnet, it is beautiful and has been revered for centuries, and I will read it directly to Dilly and everyone will ooh and aah, until she stands up. She’ll read a, Little Ditty, as she will call it, that she wrote herself, about wild grass—”

  “Bees,” said Dilly, rolling a pin across her flattened dough.

  “Bees — and she will turn a phrase, coat a word, and spin a phrase until we are all weeping with joy and laughing with sadness, and everyone will forget my dumbass Shakespearean poem.”

  Dilly grabbed Chickadee's face and gave her a kiss leaving a powdery handprint on her cheek. “Thanks babe, that’s why I write poetry, for the glory.”

  Chickadee wiped her cheek with a towel. “That’s how it goes, Luna, try to read your poem before her poem. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “I was going to recite a poem my mother told me about dolphins.”

  Dilly clapped her hands, sending up a cloud of dust. “Perfect! Let me toss this dough in the oven and we’ll get the chairs set up in the garden.”

  Chapter 4

  A couple of hours later, Dan, Sarah, and Rebecca, arrived through the gate and Luna bounded across the lawn.

  Dan merrily called, “Where’s Beckett?”

  “He’s not coming, he couldn’t—” Sarah and Rebecca swept Luna into a hug.

  Dan said, “Not coming? Oh no, I came to talk to him about the—”

  Sarah nudged his ribs. "Shush, keep it quiet, don't tell the whole neighborhood."

  Dan deposited the cheese and cracker tray he brought for the potluck, to the appetizer table. “Yeah, you're right, it's just every day that goes by I feel like he’s going to be more pissed.”

  Luna nodded. “It might be weeks before he can come home. And now his phone doesn’t seem to be working.”

  “Oh Luna, I’m so sorry!” Sarah hugged her again.

  People began to arrive. First, an older couple. Then a group of young women not much older than Luna. Another group of ten wandered in from the other direction. Then more people came — some from the action at the camps, a few from a dinner party weeks ago, many from the Wednesday farmer’s market, and a couple from the gas station.

  Chairs were set out in rows in front of a raised platform that acted as the impromptu stage. Luna, Dan, Sarah and Rebecca filled their plates and found seats in the front row. The crickets were singing, the sky was darkening, the little strings of lights were twinkling, and Luna thought it was the most beautiful, festive, wonderful night, except Beckett wasn't there, of course, but almost perfect.

  And then a minute later a young woman sat beside Luna.

  With a glance, Luna immediately recognized her. She was the girl from the photos on Beckett's dresser. One of them was of Beckett kissing this girl's cheek. The photos were in frames, the portraits full of smiles and hugs — they were gone now, Dilly had hustled them into a drawer out of the way, but Luna could open the drawer easily enough and study them if she wanted to. She didn't want to, but she did look sometimes, anyway.

  The young woman from the photo turned to Luna. “I’m Dryden Jones, Beckett’s friend. And you are?”

  Luna’s hands instinctively checked to make sure her cardigan was closed. “Luna.”

  “Luna? Beckett’s never mentioned a Luna. Are you from around here?”

  Luna said, “Um, I’m not, I’m—”

  Rebecca nudged Sarah, who leaned forward. “Luna and I met Beckett at sea, when he was on the Outpost.”

  Dryden shifted in her seat and searched the crowd. “I haven’t seen him yet . . .”

  “He’s not coming,” Luna said. “He didn’t get his leave.”

  “And how on earth do you know that? He didn’t mention it to me.” Dryden laughed loudly. “He’ll probably just show up. That would be so Beckett, wouldn’t it?” She flipped her hair, turned to her friends, and spoke loudly enough for Luna to hear. “I heard Beckett’s aunts had gone all in helping the Nomads, but I didn’t realize they were being allowed to set up camps here at the farm.”

  Red climbed up Luna’s ears.

  Rebecca said under her breath, “It’s okay, Luna, don’t let her bother you.”

  Sarah reached across and patted Luna on the hand, but it was all too much, even the pity, too much.

  Luna’s plight hit her like a slap across the face. Maybe she was a guest who had over-stayed her welcome. Maybe Beckett hadn’t really meant forever. Maybe he meant, come live with me, and we’ll see how it goes. Wasn’t that exactly what he said?

  And he left and — and — he didn’t even call, barely ever.

  Was he calling this other girl? Was she his mountain girl, the one that broke his heart, that he had been pining for when Luna interrupted him on the Outpost?

  Luna glanced at Dryden’s face. She was pale with light brown cascading hair. Her cheekbones were strong. And Luna had trouble with this one most: she was tall.


  Waterfolk didn’t want to be tall, but here on land, tall was best, more attractive, better. Hell, she had chosen Beckett, one of the tallest people she had ever met.

  She had chosen Beckett, but had Beckett chosen her?

  Luna was hiding Beckett’s baby, living in his home, keeping a secret, ingratiating herself to his Aunts, acting as if she was part of his family. She had even used his last name.

  She couldn’t stand up there and recite a poem in front of these people. She was a stranger in their midst. They were Beckett’s friends, and he wasn’t there to introduce her.

  Plus, and this was a big, big, big plus, her hormones were raging. She was crying constantly. The other night she had been watching one of Chickadee’s favorite shows, a comedy, and had laughed until she cried, peeing her pants a little, and then cried some more because she was such a wreck.

  Beckett’s aunts had been so nice about it.

  But seriously, she couldn’t stand up there, a big wreck of a secret-keeping, overly emotional, possible-usurper of someone else’s man. She couldn’t do it.

  Chickadee took the stage. Her hair was up in a spiky Aquamarine Mohawk. She was wearing a t-shirt that said, “Aloha!” And vibrant flowers were printed all over her tent-like skirt. She spoke into the microphone, “Hello Charlesville Adjacent Unincorporated Farm community! Welcome to Dilly’s willy-hilly poetry slam. As you know, this here world is getting wetter, the sun is getting hotter, the news more terrifying, the refugees, oy, but hey, when things get bad like this, it’s time to read poetry. Aren’t I right Dillybear?”

  Dilly said, “Right you are.”

  Chickadee grinned down at her. “Of course I’m right, in everything. I picked you, and that was the rightest of them all.” She looked out at the audience. “First, I’m going to read a poem I want to dedicate to Dilly, the love of my life, the most beautiful woman I ever saw . . .”