After the Fall Ch. 03

"What would you do with it?" He wasn't nearly as impressed with the room as she seemed to be, but he wanted to know what she had come up with.

"If we could get our hands on some water lilies, we could grow them in this pool. If we could find the cultivated varieties of water lilies, think how pretty it would be! The young leaves and the flower buds are edible. So are the roots. You can even pop the seeds like popcorn. We could selectively harvest them and leave plenty blooming.

"Imagine how it would look if we find a way to put some attractive curved guides in the corner and turn the current on low. It would be easy to add a small piece where the current comes out to direct it sideways, instead of straight into the pool. All the lilies would float in a slow circle."

She was getting excited picturing it. In her mind, the room's windows were open and an evening breeze was moving windchimes that were scattered throughout the room. The bamboo chimes had a gentle woody resonance, the metal chimes rang softly, and a single glass chime tinkled. The scent of honeysuckle they could plant outside the window was floating in on the breeze. Lilies in various shades of pink, peach and white were circulating, passing by the floating candles confined to the corners of the pool by the curved guides.

Reluctantly, she shook herself out of her extravagant imaginings. "It would be a place people could come to relax."

"Sweetheart, if you want to put flowers in the swimming pool, we'll put flowers in the swimming pool. You don't have to eat them just to have them."

"You make it sound silly."

"I didn't think it was silly, but even if it was, so what? If you want flowers in the pool, we're going to have flowers in the pool."

She forced a smile. He really didn't understand. It wasn't supposed to just be for her.

The tour took a sour turn when they reached the changing rooms. He pulled the plastic cover off a small couch and asked her to sit down. Then he leaned back against the wall opposite of her and gave her a look that telegraphed the scolding to come.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on, Mariah, or do I need to call in a doctor?"

She had been so distracted by the last room that she had forgotten she didn't feel well. The reminder was unwelcome. "Don't be ridiculous. Dr. Becker has his hands full with people who are actually sick."

"I'm not talking about Dr. Becker. If I can't be sure you're okay, I'll copter in a doctor from Gregory Quinland's complex."

Mariah stared at him in disbelief. "Are you insane? Do you fly in a doctor every time you have an upset stomach? And where are you guys getting all this helicopter fuel?"

"Ah, so you have an upset stomach?"

"It's none of your business, Michael."

"I disagree. How long have you felt sick?"

Her patience was exhausted. "Ever since a controlling Neanderthal used his unsuspecting chef to make me eat breakfast."

He frowned. "Do you think you have food poisoning? I had an omelet, too, and I feel fine."

She glared at him. "I don't have food poisoning. Food poisoning takes hours to develop. It was simply too early in the morning for me to eat something that heavy."

"But you ate a muffin yesterday and you were fine."

"Yes, I did eat a muffin. You did not. Yet, you survived."

"Mariah—"

"It was a muffin, not a rich omelet with cheese. It was also later in the day."

"Why didn't you tell me you get sick if you eat breakfast?"

"I told you I don't eat breakfast. Now you think it's my fault that you made me eat it anyway?"

"But you didn't tell me it made you sick!"

"I don't owe you an explanation for my eating habits, Michael. I'm a grown woman. I've been feeding myself for years, and I do just fine without any interference."

Michael walked out. Now that he knew there was not anything seriously wrong with her, he was angry. He went outside to pace so he wouldn't end up yelling at her. She could have just told him that it made her sick to eat too early. And why didn't she tell him she was sick the first time he asked? He shouldn't have to interrogate her over every little thing.

For her part, Mariah marked up Michael's behavior in the 'asshole' column of her mental scoreboard. She was not impressed with his display of temper, either. It was fortunate that her stomach was starting to feel better, because she certainly was not going to stay here and wait for him to return once he got tired of stomping around.

One of the rear-facing doors unlocked without a key, so she let herself out and started walking back to the house. As she walked, she tried to think about it from his perspective, but it was no use. She was still too angry at him to see anything from his point of view. He seemed to think he had a right to take care of her whether she wanted him to or not. She had survived and thrived through food shortages, deadly viruses, and natural disasters while he sat in his mansion twiddling his thumbs and eating his kitchen wizard's gourmet cooking. Now he wanted to treat her like some kind of pampered poodle that wasn't capable of feeding itself. It was as insulting as it was infuriating.

She came to a sudden stop, took a deep breath, exhaled, and tilted her face up to the sun. It was a beautiful morning. The birds were singing. The air smelled like sun-warmed grass and wildflowers. She had been too absorbed in her anger to appreciate any of it. She laid down in the tall grass to soak up the sun. No matter what happened, the sun and the sky would still be there. It helped sometimes to remember her place in the world. She was one little speck in a giant kaleidoscope. Michael was just a little speck, too.

At least she was getting some time to herself out of all this. She probably ought to go back before he freaked out, but she wasn't quite ready yet. Then she heard a motor approaching quickly. She jumped up. Michael was tearing through the field much faster than a golf cart ought to be able to go. He stopped the cart and jumped out.

"I could have run over you!"

"Yes, you could have. Maybe don't drive so fast through tall grass. How are you going so fast in a golf cart anyway?"

"The speed governors have been taken off all our carts. And don't try to sidetrack me. What were you doing out here and why were you laying in the grass? Are you that sick?"

She refused to let him get under her skin this time. "I was walking to the house. I was laying in the grass because I realized what a beautiful day it is, and I didn't want to miss out on that because I was angry. I feel much better. I'll see you back at the house."

"Mariah, wait."

She turned around.

"You're right. It's a beautiful day. Let's stay out and enjoy it for a little while." He expected her to refuse, but it was worth a try.

She thought about it. She could insist on getting away from him, but what good would that do? She had to get the project started, and she couldn't do that hiding from Michael. She would rather not be mad at him all the time. If he could just stop acting like a control freak, he could be enjoyable to be around.

"Okay, but would you mind if we go sit in the herb garden outside the sunroom? Or somewhere else where there's shade? The sun's nice now, but it's going to start getting hot soon." She hoped her attempt to buy time wasn't too transparent, but she really needed a couple of minutes more before she had to try to carry on a conversation.

"That's a great idea. Can I talk to you first, though?"

"Okay."

He thought she sounded wary, but at least she was willing to listen. "I'm sorry I'm not better at this. I get angry because I just want to take care of you. I don't understand why you won't tell me anything, but I want you to know I'm trying."

She weighed his words and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt this time. "Thank you. I'm trying, too."

He kissed her gently. He thought he saw a tear in the corner of her eye, but as soon as the kiss ended, she turned away and walked to the cart. He wished he could stop hurting her feelings. If he could make her understand that she didn't have to do everything for herself, things would be better. Maybe she needed more time to learn that she could depend on him.

It was a short drive back to the house. Michael let Mariah out by the herb garden and drove the cart back to the garage entrance. He went upstairs to get Henry, then stopped by the kitchen. Marcus was there, getting lunch ready. He saw Michael moping around the refrigerators.

"Looking for something in particular?"

Michael sighed. "A peace offering."

"Oh dear. Let's see what we've got." Marcus turned the heat down on the sauce he had simmering and went over to help Michael.

Marcus pulled a pitcher out of the back of the fridge. "I'm making some sangria, but I don't know if it's ready yet. It's really better after it sits a while." He poured a little in a glass for Michael to taste. "Tell me what you think."

Michael tried it. "Tastes like a girly drink."

Marcus threw up his hands. "Michael, she is a girl."

"Good point. I'll give it a try. Thank you." Michael grabbed a couple of glasses and was on his way out the door.

"Wait, don't run off! Let's do this right." Marcus replaced the glasses with wide-mouthed wine glasses and retrieved a bottle of champagne from the chiller. "When you pour the sangria, top it off with a little champagne."

"I can't carry all this!"

Marcus showed him how to tuck the champagne under his elbow and hold the glasses by their stems in one hand so he could carry the pitcher in the other. "See? You've got it."

"Thanks. I appreciate this."

"I'm happy to help."

Michael walked to the sunroom with Henry at his heels. Fortunately, the French doors swung outward without the need for a free hand. Mariah was looking at a planter of lavender when he walked out on the brick patio at the center of the garden. Henry went running over to Mariah.

"Someone wanted to see you."

Henry jumped up and put his paws on her shoulders and waited for his kiss before he started investigating the garden. Bringing Henry was a transparent attempt by Michael to get out of the doghouse, but it was a thoughtful gesture. She watched him juggling the pitcher and glasses and champagne bottle as he set them down on a small wrought iron table.

She joined him at the table. "Michael Kincaid, are you trying to get me drunk before noon?" she joked.

He grinned sheepishly. "Maybe. Do you think it will work?"

"Only one way to find out, I suppose."

"Do you think it will be okay for your stomach?"

"Yes. It's had a chance to wake up now."

He poured her a glass of sangria and topped it with champagne. Henry appropriated the champagne cork and laid down next to a planter with his prize.

Mariah tasted the drink. "I've never had sangria with champagne before. I really like it."

Michael poured himself a glass and tried topping it with champagne. He made a face. It tasted even more girly that way.

"I have to give Marcus credit for that. He already had the sangria made, and the champagne was his idea. He even picked the glasses." He wondered why he was telling her that.

"He's amazing, but you were the one who went looking for something, so thank you."

He smiled. They sat quietly. When Mariah's glass was low, he poured her another.

"Careful," Mariah warned him. "A honeybee just landed on your shoulder."

"I blame Seth for all the bees. His flowers are all over the place." Michael's blue polo shirt was close to the color of the trumpet vine growing up the nearby post of the pergola.

"I think there's a way to make good use of his flowers. Why don't we set up some honeybee hives? I bet he'd like that, and it would be a reliable food source."

He turned the idea over in his head. "I'm sure he would like it, but he's going to be too busy to worry about taking care of bees."

"They're pretty low maintenance. You mostly just have to check on them. I could take care of harvesting the honey myself," she offered.

"Absolutely not! I don't want you anywhere near beehives."

"They're just honeybees. I'm not allergic to them."

"Sweetheart, we don't even have protective gear to wear. I can't let you do that."

"People have been collecting honey for ages. We could probably even build a smoker to calm the bees, but it's not necessary. It just requires patience and a steady hand. I don't mind getting stung."

"I said no." Michael frowned when she started to argue. "I told you that you would not be allowed to risk your safety. You agreed to that."

"No, I agreed to follow your directions relating to security. Honeybees are not a security risk."

"Mariah, if you think I'm going to let you put yourself at risk because of the way you interpret our agreement, you're mistaken. If you insist on taking care of the bees yourself, we just won't have any hives."

She was incensed until she realized that he had all but agreed to establishing hives, as long as someone else took care of them. She kept the smile off her face. Instead, she crossed her arms looked at him crossly. "This is ridiculous. Who's going to do it if I don't?"

"I'll find somebody to do it. I'll do it myself if I have to, but you are not going to do it. That's final."

"Fine, but I get to help make the hives."

"Of course you can help make the hives. I just don't want you getting stung."

Michael squeezed her hand. She only felt a little bit guilty that he was trying to console her after she let him talk himself into agreeing to what she wanted. Unfortunately, she didn't cope with even a little bit of guilt well. She wasn't used to it. She made her own rules, but she did follow them. Now, she found herself constantly in the position of lying, scheming to advance the project, and hurting Michael's feelings. It was wearing on her.

"Michael, you need to understand that my life did not start when I got dragged into your compound. Things are a lot more dangerous out there than they are in here, but I've done fine. The parts of my life that you've seen on cameras were just when I had business to take care of in town. Most of the time, I'm outside working.

"I spend hours and hours in blackberry thickets with thorns, snakes, hornets, and other things you wouldn't approve of. When I gather nuts in autumn, I avoid the bears that come to eat their share. I climb trees. I wade through swamps. I explore abandoned buildings. Now you want me to be afraid of every little thing. It's just not reasonable."

Michael sat in silence, picturing all the things that could have happened to her. His stomach knotted. He had always worried when she disappeared from the camera feeds for days at a time. He would have gone crazy if he had known just how bad it really was. Given the chance, she would go right back to doing it again. Her use of the present tense had not escaped him.

Mariah cleared her throat to get his attention. She didn't like the way he was staring in her direction without seeing her. Whatever he was thinking, she could tell her argument had not achieved the intended effect.

"You were reckless."

"No, those are normal things that people do."

"Maybe people do one of those things, or two of those things. That's bad enough. But I don't believe for a minute that everyone's out there doing all those things. I think that's just you. It doesn't even matter how many people do it. What matters is that you were behaving recklessly."

"If I was reckless, I'd be dead by now. I can and do take care of myself."

She could tell by the look on his face that she was only making matters worse. She sighed and changed the subject.

"What was the other building you were going to show me today?"

She waited for Michael to answer. He was probably too busy with plans to swaddle her in bubble wrap and keep her in a playpen.

"It's an art studio with an apartment above it."

"Was someone in your family an artist?"

"No. It was built on the property long before my family purchased it. I don't know what its history is. I thought it might be good for a doctor. He could live upstairs and convert the studio to a clinic."

Mariah nodded. "Good idea. She could."

Michael rolled his eyes. "He or she. You knew what I meant."

"Yeah, I just wanted to give you a hard time."

"When aren't you giving me a hard time?"

She raised an eyebrow and grinned wolfishly in an effort to lighten the mood.

He laughed. "I like it when your mind's in the gutter."

"You certainly seem to work at keeping it there."

"It's no trouble at all."

She watched the honeybee moving from flower to flower on the vine, oblivious to its role in the drama. 'Oh, for a Bee's experience, of Clovers, and of Noon!'

"What are you talking about?"

"It's from a poem by Emily Dickinson. She had a sort of wistful admiration for bees' hedonistic freedom."

She shook herself out of her thoughts. "Could we go look at the studio now?"

"Nope, change of plans."

"Is this because I can't work up a fear of honeybees?"

"It's because you've already gotten into enough trouble for one day. There are some maps in the conference room I wanted to show you. We can start planning where we want to build the walls for the first expansion."

She was excited and wanted to start right away. They dropped Henry off upstairs so he and Duncan could keep each other entertained. In the conference room, Michael unrolled large surveyor's maps of the estate. She found them confusing at first, but once he explained the orientation, she was able to make more sense of them.

"I'm having a hard time with the scale. How far out do you think the wall needs to go?"

He thought about it. "Actually, I don't think that's the only question we should be asking ourselves. I think we should think about where it would be easiest to build a wall, even if it ends up being further out than we need. I think a reinforced, poured concrete wall will be the fastest way to build. If the ground isn't level, we'll have to dig it out to build the molds. I think we ought to find the line that will take the least digging."

"Can you tell from the map?"

"It's got the elevations on it, so I ought to be able to get a rough idea."

"What are you planning for a gate?"

"I'm not sure. I wish we had an architectural engineer."

"We do. Or at least, we could. Laura Cook's an architectural engineer. She worked on most of the newer city buildings."

"I'm not familiar with her."

"She keeps to herself, but I'm sure you've seen her. She has to go to Lois' shop like everyone else. She's the short Filipina who shaves the sides of her head."

"Oh, her." He looked skeptical.

"Oh, come on. Her hair looks fine. Anyway, we're not asking her to be the beautician."

He couldn't resist a snide remark. "I certainly wouldn't want her touching your hair."

"Keep that up and I'll shave my whole head."

She laughed at his horrified expression.

"Is she trustworthy?"

"I don't know her well enough to vouch for her. I can only give you my impression. I don't think she is wedded to any particular ideology or allegiance. Her whole life was wrapped up in her work, and she hasn't been able to do it in years. If you give her a chance to do her work again, I think she would probably be very loyal. You should interview her, though, and see what you think."

He nodded. "Okay. I'll ask Yvonne to check her out to the extent possible, and then we can talk about how to set something up. It would be a huge relief to have that skill set at our disposal. It's not just the wall. We need to make sure the buildings we construct are architecturally sound, too. And it would really be great if she has some background in civil engineering."